Outland

by Kiernan Kelly

  "Mr. Turner? I'm glad to hear Mr. Adams is going to be okay," Loughman said, pushing between Little Pete and Fargo to get to my side. "If you have a few minutes, I need to talk to you."

  "This ain't a good time, Loughman. In case you haven't heard, my partner's in there," I said, jerking my chin toward the ER door. "I need to be in there with him."

  "I understand, but it'll only take a couple of minutes." His eyes hardened, although his voice remained friendly, and I got the distinct impression he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

  Jethro put his hand on my arm. "How about I go in and keep Hank company for a little while, Beaver? I'd like to see him, too."

  "Me, too," Fargo said, and Skeeter echoed him.

  I sighed, clearly outnumbered. "Okay. One at a time, don't stay long, and don't tire him out." I looked at Loughman. "Now, what's going on?"

  He led me to a quiet corner of the waiting room, away from listening ears. "Ashley Wills was murdered, Mr. Turner."

  "No shit," I said sarcastically. "Tell me something I don't already know."

  Loughman looked annoyed, but to his credit, didn't snap back at me. "I meant his death has officially been ruled a homicide."

  "Okay. Thanks for telling me. Can I get back to Hank, now?" I wanted nothing more than to get away from him. My mind was already on overload; I couldn't spare the energy thinking about Ashley or Bellows or any of the rest of it.

  "Listen, Mr. Turner... can I call you Beaver?" When I nodded, he continued. "Beaver, the local police aren't being especially cooperative. You mentioned that you filled out an official report on Fargo Green's beating, but I'll be damned if I can find it. The local boys say they don't know anything about it. Said you told them Fargo fell off the roof while he was laying a few new shingles."

  "What?" The word exploded past my lips with such force, Loughman stumbled back a step. I cast a glance behind me and saw every head in the waiting room had swiveled in our direction. It was an effort, but I lowered my voice. "That's a load of horseshit! We never said any such thing! We told the cop who came to the hospital, and that asshole, Sergeant Smith, that Fargo was beat! Haven't you seen the reports from the hospital? Don't they say he was attacked?"

  "The reports have disappeared. The hospital doesn't have any record of Fargo being here."

  "He had surgery! We have photos of him in his hospital bed!"

  Loughman put up a hand, as if that would calm my ass down. "We know it. We've found the surgeon who operated on him, and he said he thought he remembered Fargo's case. None of the surgical nurses would admit to it, though, and his file has gone missing."

  "Somebody must be covering up for Bellows and Matthews!"

  "I'm beginning to suspect there's a rotten link in the chain of command at the local police department. I got the cold shoulder when I started asking questions. That's why I'm here. This is off the record, Beaver, understand?"

  I nodded, and his voice lowered until I could barely hear him. "I wanted to warn you. If there's somebody in the local force who's willing to mess with official reports, make hospital records disappear, and intimidate witnesses, then there's no telling how far they'd go to protect themselves, Bellows, and the rest. You need to be careful, Beaver. You, Mr. Adams, and Mr. Green need to keep your heads low for a while."

  "You believe us?"

  "Yeah, I think I do. I also heard about what happened at the cemetery today. I'm going to bust some chops at the local station over it. The only thing I can do is slap Bellows with disturbing the peace, maybe protesting without a permit, but I'll do what I can. It might ruffle enough feathers to spook the hen and give me a peek at what eggs she's sitting on."

  "Okay. I wasn't going to open the bar anytime soon, anyway, not with Hank being so sick. I'll try to keep Fargo with us, too." I paused, then looked Loughman directly in the eyes. "Now, since we're off the record, here's my own warning, Detective. If'n anybody tries to hurt any of us again, I will defend us. I have a weapon and a license to use it. Hank and me are both dead shots. I don't want to, but I won't sit back and let anybody I love get hurt again."

  "I hear you," Loughman said. He ducked his head in closer, whispering. "If you have to pull the trigger, then shoot to kill, Beaver. You wing 'em, and they'll have you in court charged with attempted murder before the smoke clears."

  I barely kept my mouth from dropping open. I was shocked, although I appreciated his candor, and shook his hand before turning away. Of course, the door barely finished sliding shut after he left the waiting room before everyone started talking at once.

  "What did he want, Beaver?"

  "They arresting Bellows for what he done today?"

  I put up my hands, urging them to be quiet. "Settle down. No, they ain't arresting anybody. Loughman only wanted to ask after Hank, and tell me that they've officially ruled Ashley's death a homicide. We met him the night they discovered Ashley's body. Now, thank y'all for coming, but there's no sense in you hanging around here. All y'all go home. We'll call you when we find out more about Hank's condition." I turned to Skeeter and Fargo, pulling them aside as the crowd began to disperse. "You two stay put. I'm going to see Hank and pull Jethro out of there. Then the four of us need to talk."

  "What's going on, Beaver?" Fargo asked, looking worried. I patted his shoulder, trying to reassure him, although I didn't feel very calm myself.

  I felt as if, while I was busy trying to put out the small fires, all Hell had broken loose and the flames were threatening to burn me to a cinder. Not only did I have to worry on Hank and Bellows, now I had to worry about the local police. Our troubles felt like they'd grown so out of control, I'd never be able to cope again. "Just wait here, okay?"

  I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself. I plastered a fake smile on my face, then marched back into the Emergency Room. Hank looked up when I walked into the cubicle, and I could tell from the frown instantly puckering his forehead that I hadn't done a very good job of keeping the worry from my expression. "How're you feeling now, Hank?" I asked. "Jethro? He give you any trouble while I was gone?"

  "Nope. He's just been laying here, the lazy bastard," Jethro said with a smile. "The nurse said they have a room for him, and they'll be by directly to bring him on upstairs."

  Jethro didn't seem to sense anything was wrong, but then again, he didn't know me as well as Hank. I knew I sure as shit wasn't going to tell Hank about my conversation with Loughman, not all of it anyway, but I also knew I couldn't keep any secrets from Hank for very long. My mind whirled, trying to put together a censored version of what Loughman had told me.

  "Good. Go on outside, Jethro. I want to talk to Hank for a piece."

  Hank started in on me immediately, as soon as we were alone. His eyes were wary, his voice still weak, and I could see the blips on his heart monitor picking up speed. "What's going on, Beaver? What's happened now?"

  "Nothing," I lied. "Settle your ass down. That detective came around, that's all. You remember him? Loughman?"

  "I had a heart attack, Beaver, not brain failure. Of course, I remember. What did he want?"

  "He just stopped by to tell us they're convinced Ashley was murdered. Nothing we didn't already know," I said, hedging on telling him the full truth. It was enough, and all he was going to hear from my lips. He certainly didn't need any more stress. I'd given him one heart attack already that day. I wasn't about to go for a double-header.

  "That all?"

  "Yup. That's it."

  "Why don't I believe you?" His eyes narrowed at me, but before he could say anything else, the nurse and an orderly came in, pushing a gurney.

  "Oh, look, Hank. You're limo's here," I said. "I'll see you upstairs in your room. Gonna run out to the waiting room, tell the boys you're being transferred."

  "He'll be up in Room 407," the nurse told me. "Take the elevator in the main lobby to the fourth floor, and turn right."

  I could see from the scowl on Hank's face that he wasn't happy, but he didn't have time to call me on
it as the nurse and the orderly began unplugging him from the machines, fiddling with his IV, and preparing him to be moved upstairs.

  I thanked God for small favors, using them as my excuse to get away and not have to lie to Hank anymore, at least for the time being. Eventually, I'd have to tell him about the new threat, but for now I was off the hook, and ducked out of the cubicle.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I told Fargo, Skeeter, and Jethro about my conversation with Loughman, and warned them not to breathe a word of it to Hank, following my warning with the threat of having my size-twelve boot shoved up their asses if they slipped up.

  "Y'all head over to Jethro's and stay put. I'll be by later tonight, after visiting hours are over," I said. "Don't talk to nobody, don't go nowhere else, and don't open the door for anybody but me. We'll figure this out when I get there."

  For once, they listened without an argument, for which I was grateful. They each hugged me, and then left, and I weaved my way through the hospital, following a blue line to the main lobby, anxious to get back to Hank.

  I stopped at the tiny gift store next to the elevators and bought a teddy bear wearing a cowboy hat and boots, and holding a sign in its paws that read "Get Well, Partner," then stabbed the button next to the elevator.

  Hank's bed was the one next to the window, and he had a roommate, a man roughly our age, who nodded pleasantly at me when I walked in. I felt instantly relieved -- at least Hank wouldn't be alone at night, after visiting hours were over. With someone else in the room, it seemed less likely that anyone would sneak in and try to hurt him.

  "What in the hell is this?" Hank asked when I placed the teddy bear in his hands.

  "What does it look like? It's a bear, partner," I said, giving him a wink. "Kinda looks like you."

  Hank laughed, and it did my heart good to see the twinkle in his eyes. "I'm not furry."

  "Yeah? You ain't looked in the mirror lately. You've got hair growing in so many new places you're starting to look like a goddamn Chia Pet."

  "Hey! I'm sick. You're not supposed to be picking on me, Beaver."

  I placed the bear on the windowsill. "Me? Pick on you? Why, Hank, you know I'd never do that!"

  He laughed again, but then sobered, his expression growing soft. He glanced toward the privacy curtain, as if to make sure it was drawn between the two beds, then reached for my hand. "Thanks for being here, Beaver. For seeing me through this. For everything."

  I lifted his hand and brushed a quick kiss across his knuckles. "You'd do the same for me. You know how it is," I said, giving Hank a look that I hoped expressed what I was feeling in my heart. I wanted to say the words, but knew it wouldn't be a good idea. The curtain might be drawn, but it sure as hell wasn't soundproof. No matter what we'd discussed earlier, I was leery of public demonstrations of our feelings.

  I guess Hank was right, and I was still in the closet.

  "I know, Beaver. Me, too."

  I felt a lump in my throat and swallowed hard. He still looked so pale, drawn, and fragile, that I was reminded of how close I'd come to losing him that very morning. It's funny how people take each other for granted, thinking there'll always be time to say what needs to be said. I made myself a promise never to do that again with Hank. Once I got him home, I was going to say the words a lot more often, and love him every chance I got.

  The curtain pushed aside and an orderly stepped through. "Mr. Adams? We're going to take you down for a CAT scan now." He looked at me, smiling. "He'll be about an hour or so."

  "Okay."

  "Go on home, Beaver. No sense in you hanging around here waiting on me," Hank said, as the orderly pulled a wheelchair up to the bed. It frightened me to see how out of breath he got, just swinging his legs over the side of the bed and easing himself into the wheelchair.

  "Nah, I'll wait. You just behave yourself down there," I added with a smile I didn't feel. What I really wanted was to follow along, not to leave his side for a minute, but I knew the hospital would never allow it. I forced myself to stay in my seat as they wheeled him away, and spent the next hour and a half staring at his empty bed, trying to reassure myself that it was only temporary, that he'd be back in it in no time. Finally, I picked up the teddy bear, clutching it in my hands, just to have something to hold.

  ***

  The cardiologist came and went. Hank's tests were looking good, all things considered, and he didn't think Hank would need surgery. They planned to keep him for a few days, just to monitor him. He'd be released just as he'd predicted, with a fistful of new pills, a new diet, and a stern warning not to overdo.

  I went home only once, to throw some clothes and toiletries into a bag for both me and Hank. I spent the days at the hospital, sitting by Hank's bed, reading to him and watching television, and the nights at Jethro's place. Fargo and Skeeter stayed there, too, along with Leroy, sleeping on his foldout in the living room with the dog curled up on a rag rug next to the sofa bed.

  On the day before Hank was scheduled to be released, Skeeter and Fargo showed up in the hospital room, both of them wearing grins, and as excited as two pups finding their mama's teat for the first time.

  "How'd you get up here?" I asked, surprised to see them both at the same time. The receptionist downstairs at the desk was like the Gestapo, refusing to let more than two visitors at a time up to the rooms.

  "Snuck in through the Emergency Room," Fargo said, grinning. "We got news, Beaver!"

  "Oh, Lord," I sighed, exchanging a wary look with Hank. "What now?"

  I bit my lip, hoping Fargo didn't let it slip about my conversation with Loughman. I still hadn't told Hank the whole truth, and wanted to wait until he was home and comfortable before telling him everything.

  "Remember that news fella who came into Outland with Bellows when we first opened?" Fargo asked, fairly bouncing on his toes. "He found out about Bellows causing a commotion at the cemetery, and about Hank's heart attack, and all. He left a message on the phone at home, wanting to know if'n we'd talk to him!"

  Oh, Lord, no! Just what we need, I thought. "Please tell me you didn't call him, Fargo!"

  "'Course I did! Told him everything, too, and gave him the link to the video we put up on YouTube," he replied, completely oblivious to what he'd done. His hand strayed to his crotch, rubbing it in that way he did when he was overly excited. Skeeter slapped it away before I could.

  I jumped up, only barely resisting the urge to wrap my hands around his skinny neck and throttle him. "Fargo," I said, taking care to keep my voice even and not yell. "Don't you remember the conversation we had the day Hank came into the hospital? About how we agreed to keep our heads low for a while?"

  "What are you talking about, Beaver? What conversation? I think it's great!" Hank cut in, frowning at me. "Maybe somebody will finally see what that bastard Bellows is doing to us."

  "They will see! I mean, they did! The reporter talked about it on the morning news!" Skeeter said, with a grin so wide it nearly split his face in half. "They showed the YouTube video, and talked about Fargo and Ashley, and the peacock, and everything! Even mentioned how Fargo's hospital records went missing, and how the police say they don't have a report about Fargo's beating!"

  "Yeah, Beaver," Fargo said, still completely oblivious to the warning in my eyes. "Everybody knows now! Lordy, Bellows and Matthews must be shitting their Fruit of the Looms over this!"

  "Oh, my God..." I sat down into my chair with a thump, bent over, and buried my face in my hands. "Oh, my God..."

  "Beaver? What the hell's wrong with you?" Hank asked. "Beaver? Something's going on and you're not telling me. What is it?"

  I looked up at him, and realized I couldn't wait until he got home. I had to tell him now, and for that alone, I wanted to pull Fargo's and Skeeter's hair out by the roots. I decided to keep the worst of it to myself, and said a silent prayer that Fargo and Skeeter wouldn't make a liar out of me. "Remember how I told you Detective Loughman stopped by the day you were admitted? He told me
that he thinks somebody in the police department is covering up for Bellows."

  "Oh, Lord," Hank breathed, his face turning a chalky white. He slumped back in the bed, his eyes wide. "When were you going to tell me this, Beaver?"

  "After I got you home," I said weakly. "I didn't want to upset you, is all, Hank. Besides, there was nothing you could do about it, anyway. Loughman suggested that we lay low for a while."

  "He thinks there may be more trouble, doesn't he?" Hank asked, locking eyes with me, daring me to lie.

  I didn't. The time for lying was over. "Yeah, he does."

  "Good God," he whispered. "What do we do now?"

  "We don't have to do nothing!" Fargo put in. "Don't you see? People know now. Nobody's going to do anything to us anymore."