Too many people in too many hospitals lately. Ernie. Me. Now Nolan. I slipped into the antiseptic-smelling room on the fifth floor of Parkland Hospital, carefully shutting the door so as not to make any noise.
Nolan’s bed was upright, the white sheets accentuating her dark hair. Except for the bruising on one side, her normally olive face was now pale and drawn. But alive. She opened her eyes when I entered. An IV tube ran from the back of one hand to a plastic container suspended on a stainless steel rack. I moved to the foot of her bed. We stared at each other for a few moments, neither saying a word. I heard a siren scream outside. The only movement was the steady drip of her IV.
When the siren quieted she spoke. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
“You look like shit.” She smiled and fiddled with the plastic tubing connected to her body.
“Everything’s relative.” I did indeed look bad. The contusion and split flesh on my cheekbone from connecting with Carl Albach’s head had started to heal but it was still a nasty shade of yellow and purple. Plus I hadn’t slept much lately. But I hadn’t been through what she had either.
Silence for a minute or so. Then she said, “I don’t blame you.”
I didn’t reply.
“Tell me what happened.”
“You first,” I said.
“A round penetrated the door and hit me in the thigh.” She brushed her free hand through her hair. “There was a lot of shooting and yelling and somewhere in there I knocked my head. I think I tried to walk and my leg buckled.”
“Then what?”
“I woke up in a rat-hole apartment somewhere.” She looked out the window. “A woman brought me some water and then left me alone again.”
“What did she look like?”
“Older. Mid-sixties. Russian.” Nolan turned her head from the window. “She tried to be nice to me. My leg, it got infected.”
“When did Washington show up?” I sat in an armchair by her bed.
“When he called you.” She rubbed her eyes. “Guy needs his lights turned out. Permanently.”
“What did he do to you?” I kept my voice low.
“It wasn’t that bad,” she said. “He slapped me around a few times after I talked to you. I’ve had worse.”
A nurse came into the room. She ignored me and handed a paper cup containing several pills to Nolan. She tapped on the IV bag a couple of times and asked if the patient needed anything else. Nolan shook her head.
When the door shut I said, “He’s dead.”
“You do it?”
I nodded.
“Tell me what happened.”
I stood up and walked to the window. The sun looked like a faded tennis ball behind the smog and haze. A mass of dark clouds had gathered
in the distance; the thunderstorm promised to break the triple-digit temperatures teasing the city once again. I placed one hand on the glass and felt the heat of the day on my palm. Then I turned around and explained what had occurred, starting with the connection between Fagen Strathmore, Aaron Young, and Coleman Dupree. Next, I told her about the activities at the river and the explosion of thirty pounds of white powder. She raised her eyebrows and smiled at the mention of destroying all that cocaine. I smiled back and let her in on the secret: it hadn’t been drugs that we blew up, but rather thirty pounds of something else.
Cornstarch.
I talked faster so she wouldn’t interrupt, continuing with the story about Fagen and a Cadillac full of hookers easing down the driveway of a mansion on Strait Lane.
From the glove compartment of the car with the pest control signs on the side, I removed a battered Glock nine-millimeter last fired the month before in a liquor store robbery in Fort Worth. Delmar had provided it, and I didn’t ask questions. I could have used the pistol I took from Carl Albach at the warehouse on Gano Street but I had planted that one underneath the driver’s seat of the Cadillac.
I got out of the car. The truck headed toward me slowly. I could see Strathmore in the driver’s seat, one of the girls next to him. The silhouettes of the other three were barely visible in the backseat.
When the SUV was twenty yards out, I dumped five rounds into the radiator, as fast as I could pull the trigger. All hit their mark.
I dropped the pistol on the pavement and hopped in the car, jamming it into gear and heading north, past the Cadillac with Fagen Strathmore staring at me, his eyes wide and his face white as cotton. As I drove I removed the mask and earplugs. After two blocks I pulled
into an alley and removed the two magnetic signs on the side of the car.
Sirens sounded in the direction of where I’d left Fagen Strathmore in a shot-up truck with four prostitutes and thirty pounds of uncut cocaine, nestled in the back cargo area next to a set of golf clubs. What with the drugs, and the two dirty pistols, he’d have a challenging time explaining it all to the police. I bet that the chief and the mayor wouldn’t be very helpful, given the circumstances.
I drove the speed limit for a couple of miles, to an empty school parking lot on the other side of Preston Road. I pulled off my dark T-shirt and put on a button-down and a tie. The car was clean, no number to trace anywhere but to a recently deceased widower in Tyler. I wiped down every surface for the third time and shut the door. A few blocks away was a small strip center. I wandered into the Starbucks and got a cup of decaf. From the pay phone in the back I called Olson’s cell. Delmar had a state legislator who owed him big, as in life-or-death, for reasons I was afraid to ask. The good senator had graciously volunteered to be my alibi if need be. Hopefully, his services would never be required.
“Olson picked me up,” I said. “We took a drive down Strait Lane. They had Fagen handcuffed and facedown on the hood of the Cadillac. After that he dropped me off here.”
Nolan closed her eyes for a few moments, like she was tired. Then she said, “Ernie died.”
“Uh-huh.” I turned back to the window. The bottom of the sun kissed the horizon. The thunderclouds had increased, moving across the city from the east. A jagged flash of lightning ripped somewhere over the suburbs.
“Coleman Dupree’s MIA,” she said. “Aaron Young gets the brass ring. And Charlie Wesson is still dead.”
“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”
“Where does that leave us?”
I stared out the window at the clouds moving toward us, the edge of the rainstorm plainly visible now. “Very much alive.”