They let me out of the hospital after they’d taken a look inside my head and decided that all was as it should be.
“Looks like you’ve had a recent blow to the head before this,” the doctor observed as he put a larger bandage where the smaller one had been. The bullet had struck me in almost the exact spot I had cut my head earlier, ducking the car.
“You’ll have a headache for a while,” he added. “Just take some aspirin.”
“And call you in the morning?” I asked.
“No, why?” he asked me, dead serious.
“Forget it. Thanks, Doc.”
I paid my bill and left. When they asked me who they could call, I thought about Brandy, but that wouldn’t have done any good. She would have had to find a cab. Shukey had a car, but when I got out it was almost seven. I didn’t want to wake her, or worry her.
So I grabbed a taxi.
By the time I got back to my place it was almost quarter to eight in the morning. I was surprised to find Brandy still there. Normally, she would have been at the track very early.
“Where the hell have you, “she began as I walked in, then she saw the new bandage on my head and started fussing.
“Hank, you’re hurt!” she shouted, catapulting off the couch and grabbing my arm, as if I were an old man she was helping across the street.
“I’m fine. It takes more than one bullet to kill us hardboiled private eyes, you of all people should know that.”
“Stop that!” she shouted, stepping back and stamping her foot. “This is not fiction, damnit, this is reality! I finally find a man I — I think I might — and you go and try to get yourself killed, you damned idiot!” she stammered, and then the tears started.
I chose that inopportune moment to have a dizzy spell.
“Oh, shit,” I said, as I realized that I wasn’t going to be able to stand up much longer.
“Hank!” she called again, and caught me before I could fall. She helped me the rest of the way to the couch and sat me down.
“Oh, I’m sorry I yelled at you. Are you all right? Tell me what happened?”
“Could you get me some aspirin first?” I asked her. “I have the Triple Crown of headaches.”
“Sure, wait here,” she told me.
You ever notice how people say stupid things in times of stress or crisis.
Where the hell would I go?
She brought two aspirin and a glass of water and sat down next to me. I was suddenly very, very sleepy and it must have showed.
“Let me help you to bed, “she insisted. “Get some sleep, and then you can tell me what happened when you wake up.”
“You can’t stay here,” I told her. “You have to ride — ”
“I’ve already canceled all my mounts for today. Besides, I only had three. I’m staying here with you, so you just get into bed and go to sleep.”
She helped me into the bedroom, where she undressed me and tucked me in. I didn’t remember falling asleep, but when I woke up it was three-thirty in the afternoon.
I swung my feet to the floor and started to stand up, but it was not to be. My legs turned into wet noodles and I sat back down on the bed. The creaking bed springs must have been a giveaway because Brandy came running in, snapping, “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m trying to get up, but my legs won’t cooperate.”
“Well, good. At least your legs have more sense than your head does.”
She came around the bed and put her hands on my shoulders, to keep me from trying to get up again.
“Just lie back, Mr. Po. We’ve got something for you to eat.”
I did as she said, then realized what she had just said. “We?”
She turned sheepish.
“I’m really not that good a cook, so I called Shukey and asked her to come over.”
“To cook?”
“And why not?” Shukey asked, walking in with a tray. “I’ve cooked for the three of us before.”
“I don’t have to eat in bed,” I told them. “I’d rather come into the kitchen.”
They looked at each other.
“I’ll make you a deal. Help me to the table and I’ll tell you what happened this morning.”
They thought about it, then Brandy nodded to Shukey.
“Let me bring the tray back, then we’ll help you,” Shukey suggested. Brandy and I waited until Shukey returned, then they both helped me to my feet — ha, ha, legs, three against two — and to the kitchen table, where the three of us ate while I recounted last night’s — or this morning’s — happenings.
“You can’t blame yourself, Henry,” Shukey assured me. “It’s not your fault.”
“Sure it is, but let’s not argue the point. At this stage of the game it’s a moot one at best.”
They both looked as though they’d rather argue some more, but they were women, weren’t they? They gave in, though, and we finished Shukey’s delicious soup before conversation resumed.
“I’ve got to get dressed,” I told them when we finished eating.
“Before you do that, I’ve got something for you,” Shukey told me.
“What?”
“I remembered what you said at Chris’ house,” Brandy put in, “about having to find out more about Louie Melendez. I called Shukey and told her, and she said she’d take care of it.”
I looked at Shukey.
“I went to his apartment, but he still hasn’t been there. At least, no one there has seen him. I asked some of the neighbors about him, though. People said he was quiet, he might have been a fop — ”
“A what?”
“ — gay, he might have been gay. If he is gay, though, he has an unusual hobby.”
“What’s that?”
“Guns, Henry. He’s a member of a gun club. That’s the only thing about him that stands out, except for the fact that he’s not a very good jockey, but insists on attempting to make a living at it.”
‘“Not very good’ is an understatement,” Brandy added. ‘As a rider he’s gross. He’s got no sensitivity, he’s heavy handed, he’s got no seat — ” she interrupted herself, shaking her head.
“Guns,” I muttered.
“What?” they said, almost in unison.
“Guns … dirt all over him … the movie … disturbed young girl … gullible … Louie could help her …” I was muttering, fitting the pieces together. I must have sounded crazy, and I wished I was.
“Hank, you’re not making any sense,” Brandy told me. Then she turned to Shukey and said, “Maybe we’d better get him back to bed.”
I had it, I knew I had it, and I was sorry I had it.
“Oh, God,” I said aloud, resting my forehead on the heels of my hands, my elbows on the table.
“Hank, are you all right?” Brandy asked with concern.
“Oh, Christ,” I said, then looked at Shukey. She was chewing her bottom lip, watching me closely.
“What is it, Henry?” she asked softly.
“I’ve got it, Shuke. I know where Penny Hopkins is. I know where she is, and God help her.”
I stood up. “Shuke, have you got your car with you?”
“Yes.”
“Mine’s still in the Village. I’m getting dressed, then we’re going to the Downs, the three of us. We’re going to find Penny Hopkins.”
Shit, yes, I knew where she was now.
How I wished I didn’t.