Chapter Sixteen

 

With Cash’s help, Slattery tuned in the radio station where Sabetha worked, but her show wasn’t on the air. Some guy spun surfer tunes, Jan and Dean, and The Beach Boys with a fast-paced patter. He tried to remember her phone number, but the last four digits remained uncertain. Was it 555-9213 or 555-9312 or 555-2139? He couldn’t remember, although Cash made a couple calls and got wrong numbers. Slattery phoned the station and asked for Sabetha, but the receptionist either didn’t know or wouldn’t tell. “She’s not here today,” the woman told him. “She’s taken sick leave but that’s all I know.”

He would’ve called her friends, the two he’d met briefly—a blonde named Mandy who reminded him of the Malibu Barbie doll his sister Hope had received for Christmas one year, and a black actress, Georgie, who did a few commercials while hoping to land a role in television—but he didn’t have their last names or contact numbers.

His brother suggested calling her folks in Texas, but a quick Internet search revealed ten Hills listed in Cherokee County, and Slattery couldn’t recall her mother or father’s first names.

“I’ll call them all if you want me to,” Cash said.

Slattery shook his head. “No. Maybe later, if we can’t find her any other way. She may still be in the hospital, although I didn’t think she was hurt very much.”

Beckett showed up and tried to fill Slattery in on the bust. All Slattery got out of it, his mind distracted by Sabetha’s whereabouts, was that there had indeed been a money-laundering and drug operation through The Swan. It had been, however, just one of six locations, and when officers moved in on the owner of the laundromat, he’d spilled everything he’d known. “So the fourteen months you spent undercover proved worthwhile,” Beckett told him. “Are you still planning to quit?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Pride replied. “I need a favor, though. Can’t you call around to hospitals and see if you can find Sabetha, Sabetha Hill?”

“Oh, what the hell, I’ll try.”

He headed outside to phone around. Slattery glanced at his brother, who wore a bemused smile. “I guess you’ve figured out I wasn’t just a security guard.”

“I always knew there was more to it than you said,” Cash replied. “Mama didn’t raise any dummies, Pride. I used to think you were trying to get into show business, but not for the last few years. I wondered if you might be FBI or something. So it’s been Homeland Security?”

“Yeah, but it won’t be anymore.”

“You shouldn’t have much trouble finding a job with your background.”

“I hope not.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. Beckett hadn’t returned. Around one, Cash stood up. “I’m going to go get a sandwich or something. Are you hungry?”

Slattery wasn’t. “No. Besides, they’ll bring me something.”

“Need anything else?”

He thought for a moment and nodded. “I’m leaving if we don’t locate Sabetha. She may be at home, and if she is, I want to be the one to walk through the door. I’ll sign whatever they want me to, but I’m getting the hell out of here. Do you have wheels?”

“I rented a car at the airport.”

“Can you go by my place? It’s trashed, but I need some clothes and stuff.”

“Sure.”

His brother departed and Beckett returned. “Well?”

“I don’t have much. Sabetha Hill was transported by ambulance to Cedars Sinai on Tuesday. They kept her overnight and released her. Her physical injuries were relatively minor, a few bruises and scratches, but she was apparently very upset. She thought you were killed.”

“Goddamn it! I knew it.”

“We can send an agent over to her place if you want.”

Slattery ached to weep with frustration, but he held it together. Some of the meds they were feeding him on a regular schedule must include the ones he took to control his PTSD.

“I appreciate the offer but I’ll go myself. I’m getting the hell out of here as soon as possible.”

“That’s not advisable.”

“When did I ever do anything I should?” Slattery asked.

A grin spread over Beckett’s face. “Never,” he replied. “I’ll wait for your formal resignation to hit my desk, and we’ll meet again. We may need your testimony when this goes to trial.”

“You’ll have it.”

Before Cash returned, an aide delivered a tray with a bowl of beef noodle soup and a biscuit. Slattery managed to down more than half of it. Then he rang the nurse’s station, and when Christy arrived, he informed her he would be going home.

“Get whatever paperwork you need ready and I’ll sign it.”

She waved one finger at him in warning. “I don’t recommend this, and neither will Dr. Ashok.”

“I don’t care.”

Dr. Ashok, who possessed both graying hair and a competent manner, came to visit.

“They tell me you want to be dismissed from the hospital,” he said. “It’s much too soon, and I advise against it.”

Slattery remained stubborn. “I have to go, Doctor.”

“You suffered a gunshot wound to your right thigh. Although there was no major damage, you lost a large amount of blood, and surgery to remove the bullet was performed. Although you were wearing a bulletproof vest, you took another shot directly to the chest. You have a major contusion there and will have some residual pain for several more days. You also suffered a major PTSD episode which resulted in sedation and restraint. I notice you have a prosthetic device from a previous injury, one that happened in military service. I think you need a longer recuperation, and you’ll benefit from staying until I discharge you.”

“You can’t keep me against my will.” Slattery hoped his belief was true.

“Sadly, no, I can’t. If your condition were more serious, I could, but no, I cannot force you to stay. Don’t you want more time to consider your reckless decision?”

“No, my mind is made up. I’ve eaten, I’ve pissed by myself, and I would have taken a dump if I had anything to push out. I got dressed, and I can walk across the room. I’m good to go.”

The doctor sighed. “Then I’ll have the necessary paperwork drawn up. Once you’ve signed all of it, I’ll make sure you’re provided with instructions for your recovery and a prescription for the pain. Good luck.”

Cash returned around three. With his help, Slattery managed to dress, although the jeans proved to be too tight on his wound. “That’s why I brought you some sweatpants,” Cash said.

By the time Slattery had put on his prosthesis, the sweats, and a T-shirt, he could have used a long nap, but he refused to take one. The discharge paperwork didn’t show up until almost five, and he signed where indicated on all of it without bothering to read the fine print. He accepted a prescription for Percocet with warnings how to use it without addiction. He refused the supper tray they brought, some kind of casserole he didn’t want. “I’ll eat after I’m out of here.”

At six o’clock on the dot, after being formally discharged, Slattery rode a wheelchair to the main entrance. With a little help, Cash loaded him into the passenger side of his rented Nissan sedan and they took off. “I hope you have a plan,” his brother said as they waited at a traffic light. “I have no clue where we’re going.”

“We’re going to Sabetha’s,” Slattery said. “I’ll tell you how to get there. I hope she’s home, and if so, then everything is good. If not, I don’t know.”

His brother shot him a skeptical glance. “If not, you’ll probably faint in the floor, and I’ll end up bringing you back here. You look like holy hell, Pride. How do you feel?”

“I’ve been better.” Slattery refused to admit how shaky he did feel or how weak. He’d rather not mention how much pain he suffered at the moment. “I’ll manage.”

“Yeah, you will. Do you really think she’ll be there?”

If she wasn’t, his hopes would shatter and so would he. They would have to call every Hill in Cherokee County, Texas, or camp out at the radio station until she showed up, if she ever did. Slattery didn’t dare imagine how hard it would hit him if she wasn’t. He had to find her, to allay her fears, but also because he needed her. He wanted her love, to bask in her concern and care, and to let her presence strengthen him, not in body but in soul.

“She has to be,” he said.

“I hope for your sake she’s there. You need to eat. Want a hamburger?”

Slattery shook his head. “Maybe later.”

“Goddamn it,” Cash said and slapped the steering wheel with one hand. “It’s not going to go well if you collapse. I’m driving through the next place I see, and you can eat in the damn car.”

Too frazzled to argue, he nodded. “Okay.”

He managed to eat almost half of the double cheeseburger. The warm protein settled well into his stomach. By the time he’d wrapped up what he couldn’t finish and put it back into the bag, they were turning onto Roscommon Avenue. His nerves were taut, and he prayed she’d be there, hoping God or some deity might hear him.

Cash parked. “Is her car here?”

“She doesn’t have one.”

“Tell me she lives on the ground floor, please.”

Slattery made a noise that almost became a laugh. “Nope, her apartment’s on the second floor.”

“But there’s an elevator?”

“Stairs.”

“Damn it to hell, Pride. You’re going to fall dead at her feet if you even make it up the steps.”

If he’d had enough energy, he would’ve grinned.

Climbing out of the car onto the sidewalk proved to be a major challenge, one that left him sweat-soaked and Cash cussing. He leaned against his brother long enough to catch his breath and then insisted on heading for the door.

“Tell me how you plan to get in,” Cash said.

“She gave me keys, one for the outside door, one to the apartment,” Slattery said, panting hard.

Slattery hobbled up the walk but he had to sit down on the entrance steps and rest while his brother fussed and fumed. Cash used the key to open the door, because Slattery would have never managed. He needed a hand up to rise and walk inside, and then had to lean against the wall in the vestibule because his head spun. For a moment, he thought he would pass out, but he fought hard against it and won.

Two flights of stairs, each with a landing halfway up, almost proved to be his undoing. He climbed them with the slow gait of an old man, pulling himself up each step with difficulty. Slattery clung to the railing while Cash hovered at his side, apparently prepared to catch him if he went down into a heap or took a header downstairs. His brother alternated between offering encouragement and griping at him. “I should have said no to your crazy idea,” Cash muttered. “I could have come over here myself, and if she’s home, I could have brought her back to the hospital. You’re going to end up back there anyway or laid out at Rose-Neath Funeral Home back in Shreveport.”

“I’m not going to either place,” Slattery said. He didn’t speak again until they reached the second floor hallway, couldn’t because he was too short of air. A trip that should have taken less than three minutes to make had stretched to twenty. “I need to stop, though, for a minute.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Sorry, kid.” He hadn’t called Cash that in years, but his brother didn’t appear to mind.

“Sorry, my ass. I should’ve just carried you.”

“I doubt you could.”

“I’m a fireman,” Cash said. “Did you forget that? I wish I’d thought of it. I may just have to tote you the rest of the way.”

“No-fucking-way.” Slattery spit the words through clenched teeth. He sank onto a backless bench at the head of the stairs, probably put there for old ladies to take a break, but he needed it now.

He rested for five more minutes. Although he would never admit it, checking himself out of the hospital probably had been a rash decision. As long as he found Sabetha safe at home, he’d be fine. If not, Slattery had a sneaking suspicion he might topple to the floor and just stay there.

When he staggered to his feet, he swayed and might have gone down if Cash hadn’t steadied him. With his brother’s support, he managed to walk down the hallway to her door.

A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he put both hands on the wall to lean against it. Bright pinpricks of light danced behind his closed eyes, and he thought he might actually pass out. He drew hard, deep breaths.

“Are you all right?”

“Will be,” he managed. “Knock on her door.”

“What do I tell her?”

“Wing it.”

Slattery listened as his brother rapped hard on the door and waited. When she didn’t answer, Cash turned to him. “Maybe she’s not here.”

He’d come too far and risked too much for her not to be. “She’s here.”

Maybe it was sentimental bullshit, but Slattery thought he could sense her presence.

“I’ll try again.”

Cash repeated his knocks with enough force two other people opened their doors and glared.

“I don’t think anyone’s there,” one woman, head wrapped in soft pink curlers told them. “She’s been away.”

Slattery recovered himself enough to open his eyes. Most of the dizziness had receded. He changed position so his back rested against the wall. “Keep trying, please.”

His brother resumed his assault on the door, and this time, he shouted, “Miss Hill, hey, Miss Hill, would you please open the door!”

Within his sore chest, Slattery’s heart skidded to a stop. If she were present, she’d have to open the door now. He waited, almost afraid to breathe, his mind locked onto a wordless plea. Be there, baby, please be there.

He heard the rattle of the security chain guard as she undid it, then the door opened a crack. “Yes?” she said in a low voice lacking any expression.

Slattery couldn’t see her from where he stood, and as he willed his feet to step forward, his brother answered. “Ma’am, my name is Cash Slattery, and I’m…”

“You’re Pride’s brother.”

“Yes, that’s me and…”

Pride heard the sob she choked back. “And I’m so, so sorry. I love, I mean, I loved him very much. His death has hit me really hard and I’m not really into company but thank you for coming. I suppose he’ll be buried at home.”

“No, ma’am, he won’t,” Cash said. “He’s here, right here. Pride?”

With an effort, he stepped forward. Time paused and in those seconds, everything mattered and hinged on this moment. “Sabetha, honey…”

He glimpsed her face, the eyes brimming over with tears, the haunted look of anguish, and heard her cry out. Then she said his name, “Pride, oh, Pride, oh Pride.”

Sabetha stretched out her arms toward him, and he moved toward her embrace with a relief so powerful he trembled with its force. He inhaled the scent of her, and just as his fingers brushed against hers, his vision faded. Everything swirled black, and although he tried not to, he slid into the void and saw nothing more.