First sound…an alarm clock near his right ear. First smell…antiseptic. Alcohol? Probably. First taste…blood, probably old. First sight…Cindy’s beautiful face in profile, aglow in a soft wash of dawn sunshine. First thought…sure would love a hot cup of coffee right now.
A nurse stood beside his bed, fussing with an intravenous drip bag. The alarm he heard was not a clock, but the electronic monitoring device on the IV pole which buzzes when a bag runs empty. He followed the path of the colorless liquid down into the crook of his own right elbow. Probably saline or glucose, maybe with a painkiller and a mild sedative. The best patients are those who stay asleep.
The scratchy sheets meant a public hospital. A private room meant they knew who he was and somebody had sent money. He was Hannibal Jones and a trio of sadists had beaten him rather badly because he got stupid and made a statement by knocking their mobster boss across the room in a fit of anger. He must learn to control that. The when and where he would have to investigate. Cindy sat in a chair six feet away, against the far wall. She faced the door, which was not far beyond his feet. She wore jeans and the green sweatshirt she brought back from her vacation in Barcelona. Her makeup was almost gone. Her hair and clothes looked like she spent the night in that chair. He lifted his head from the flat spongy pillow and tried to whistle to her. That was how he found out about his split lip.
“Hannibal!” Cindy sprang from her chair and threw an arm around him. She smelled of jasmine and honey and her soft, pliant flesh pressed into his chest made him want to do things he probably was not up to.
“Okay, I’m healed,” he said. “Let’s go home.” He hoped his words were not as slurred as they sounded to him.
“Not until a lot of paperwork’s done,” she said, carefully kissing his forehead. “God, you had me worried this time.”
“You too, huh?” Hannibal smiled as best he could. “Look, Babe, I’m a little fuzzy on the chain of events here. How long have I been here, and just where is here, anyway?”
Cindy stood back and put on her stern mother face. “Here is the hospital, where people go when they do very risky things without any backup. The Jersey Shore Medical Center, to be exact, in the sleepy little town of Neptune, New Jersey. Which, by the way, is a good sixty-five miles farther up the coast than you told me you’d be. It’s where you’ve been lying since late last evening. God, they could have killed you.”
“But they didn’t,” Hannibal said. “I hurt everywhere I can think of, which probably means these guys were very good and very careful. Any real injuries?”
“Your doctor says no,” she said. “A lot of bruises and lumps, you’re black and blue from head to toe, but no broken bones and no damaged organs. Said he’s seen it before. Says they must have worked on you for quite a while, and what you needed most was rest. They patched what they could and kept you asleep. Hannibal, I was here for hours, waiting while they did x-rays, ultrasounds, even an MRI.”
“Whoa. Who authorized all that?”
She put her hand on his forearm and stared seriously into his eyes. “Now listen closely, all right? I got a phone call last night. All the guy said was you were here and the bill is paid, including every reasonable test. Then he said something really funny. He said, no hard feelings. Hannibal, when they brought you in here, they found a thousand dollars in one of your tennis shoes. I don’t know all of what went on, but I think this time you ought to take the hint. Whoever you were messing with, back off.”
Cindy’s lecture trailed off into a plea at the end. And this time, he considered, she may be right. This beating was Zack King’s way of saying back off. But if he was guilty of anything serious, Hannibal would have simply disappeared. So Zack was also telling Hannibal he was on the wrong trail. Was Zack concerned about Hannibal’s condition being traced to him? It would explain why they took him so far away. No, the long ride was probably Zack’s way of saying get out of town and stay out.
Still, he was more certain than ever that things were not as they appeared. And while he rolled in a drug induced stupor, his mind had been pushing the parts of the Angela puzzle around. They would not fit together, but the pattern he saw said they would fit into the Paton/Louis puzzle. He was about to sit up when the door eased open.
“So, he’s alive I see.” Ray’s face revealed genuine concern his voice tried to cover up. “I leave for a minute to grab a little breakfast and he recovers.”
“You here too?” Hannibal asked, lifting his head. The pain came in a burst, then faded back.
“You okay, Paco?” Ray asked, moving in until he stood beside his daughter. “You still don’t look too good.”
“You were worried, eh?”
“About you?” Ray asked, with a wave of his palm. “Hell, no. You harder to kill than crabgrass, man. But Cynthia wanted to get up here right away and it was easiest just to drive her on up, you know?”
“Yeah, Ray,” Hannibal said, grasping his friend’s hand. “I do know. Now, it’s time I checked myself out of this place.” Using Ray’s hand for balance, he pulled himself up and swung his feet around toward the floor. His green hospital gown almost choked him, until he shifted so he was not sitting on it.
“You loco, Paco?” Ray asked. “What’s the rush?”
Hannibal looked around the room for anything that might be his. “I guess my mind’s been running while I was asleep. But I’m surer than ever that this Angela is a fake. And if Doctor Lippincott stops looking for a donor because of her, it only cuts Kyle’s chances. Where the hell are my clothes?”
“What can you do about it?” Cindy asked, pulling Hannibal’s sweat clothes out of the room’s locker.
“Well, that depends,” Hannibal said. He took his sweatpants from Cindy and squirmed into them under the covers. “Am I still on the payroll at Nieswand and Balor?”
“Yes, until Mister Nieswand specifically says you’re not. I expect that will be soon, but not until he’s sure Mister Mortimer is satisfied.”
Hannibal disappeared for a second, then his head popped through the neck of his sweat shirt. “Then I don’t have much time. Ray, are you willing to be on my payroll again?”
“Sure,” Ray said, rubbing the back of his neck, “long as I don’t end up looking like you, Paco.”
Leaning forward to pull on socks set off the pressure charges in Hannibal’s head again. He opened his mouth and screwed his eyes shut until this latest blast of pain subsided. “Okay, first I need you to get me to my car. Then we’ll drop you at the airport. I need you to do a little research for me and your language skills might come in handy.”
“Somewhere out of town?” Ray asked, handing Hannibal his Nikes. “I’m no detective, you know. Why you not doing it yourself?”
Hannibal pulled his shoes on and fumbled with the laces. He tried not to show it was taking all his concentration to form the simple knot. “Cindy and I will be back in Baltimore. If I’m right, we can do a little digging of our own.”