Dead Line

by JJ Gould

  Again, she asked, “You okay?”

  John nodded.

  “What happened?”

  John shrugged. “I threw him.”

  Adrenaline was kicking in, making her knees weak and her heart race. She leaned against the door and then felt the need to sit on the steps, laughing weakly with relief. “Well, I hope you hurt him.”

  “Who is he?”

  “No idea.”

  “He try to hurt you and John?” John started to swell up, an angry grizzly bear again.

  “No, no, we’re good, John. Sure glad you came back early.” Suddenly puzzled, Claire asked, “So why did you come back so fast? I thought for sure you’d be gone an hour.”

  John gave the baby in the backpack a strange look. “It’s like he told me to.”

  Chapter 53 - Dean Ebert

  Things were slow at the Radio Shack, and Dean was out back for a smoke break when he heard the electronic beeper at the front. He pulled a quick drag and flicked the butt, exhaling as he entered the store through the back way.

  “Hey, folks, can I help you?”

  There were four of them, two rangy guys in cowboy hats and boots and a hot athletic-looking chick with curly dark hair and white teeth, with a baby in a backpack.

  “Nope,” one of the cowboys answered as both of them grabbed coaxial cable, connectors, camera equipment, and the like. They obviously knew what they were doing, and normally, Dean would have let them at it, but the woman was the kind of looker who seldom came into a Radio Shack, so Dean decided to offer the best in customer service.

  “Looks like your friends here are helping you out with a little project.”

  The woman was examining a VHS deck. “How long will this machine record?”

  Dean reached for a bundle of tapes. “You looking at some surveillance stuff? These here 3M tapes are made for that kind of work. You can record for twenty-four hours before you need to either swap in another tape or rewind.”

  The little kid on her back was staring at him. Strange little kid, with no expression to speak of.

  Maybe she’s a babysitter. “This your little tyke?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dang it. Dean didn’t like little kids, but a woman like that might make him start. The cowboys were stacking stuff at the counter, and Dean’s window of opportunity was shutting down fast.

  “One of these fellas your husband?”

  One cowboy answered for her. “Nope.”

  The other cowboy chimed in, “Cousins.”

  Some currency was on the counter, and reluctantly, Dean walked back to the till to ring the purchase. He was trying to think of witty patter, something clever and charming, but by the time he got to the till and looked up, the chick and the baby were gone, and it was just the two cowboys. Dang it.

  He gave the change and tried to get a little sympathy vote. “So, your cousin… she married?”

  Both cowboys looked at him with a hint of humor. One hefted the load of stuff in his arms. The other grabbed the bag of cables and connectors and said, “Yep.”

  Chapter 54 - Deidre Hall

  “What happened to you?” Deidre pretended to be shocked and alarmed by the scrapes and bruises on Lester LaFave, but mostly, she was interested.

  The pain of others fascinated her. When she was still a nurse, she would often hang around the emergency room and watch, sometimes probing and poking, just to see the reaction. She did the same to Lester. His right eye was swollen almost shut, and there was a nasty scrape across the top of his forehead into his hairline.

  She took a washcloth and leaned into Lester’s black eye until he yelped. “Does that hurt?”

  “Whaddaya think? Ow!” Lester pulled away suddenly, holding his left arm. “Shit!”

  Shushing him, Deidre coaxed him into getting out of the clothes he was in, partly to see what was damaged, partly to keep him under her control, and mostly to see what kind of pain he was in and what kind of pain he could be put in. When he was down to his underwear, she could see black-and-blue marks up and down the left arm, a large and nasty bruise on his left thigh, and some swelling in his left elbow and knee. No wonder he was limping when he’d walked in.

  “Does this hurt?”

  “OW! What the fuck?”

  “Hush, honey. Harrison won’t be home for a while, but we still should be careful.” She said it in a way that made Lester aroused despite his injuries. “So… what happened to the other guy?”

  LaFave barked a short laugh. “You think one guy could do this? Shit, I was teaching some punk in a motorcycle jacket a lesson in respect when three of his buddies jumped me from behind. Cocksuckers. You know that bar downtown, Skellys? I had him up on the roof for a little privacy and was tossing him down into the dumpster when these three pricks came behind and gang rushed me. I ducked the one and tossed him over my shoulder off the roof then laid a throat chop on the other, but the third got me. I lost my balance and fell onto the street.”

  “Oh, baby! No wonder you’re bruised.”

  “Ow! Shit, that hurts!”

  “Sorry, hon.” Deidre bit her lip and leaned closer. “Hey, Lester… you still gonna be able to help me with Harrison, like we talked about? I’m scared to death.”

  Lester winced and gave her a game smile. “Listen, doll, if I can take care of four bikers, I can take care of one pussy surgeon.”

  “Okay, honey. And can you take care of one more little thing for me right now?”

  “You got it, baby. Ready, willing, and able—ow! Holy shit, take it easy! Ow!”

  Chapter 55 - Matt Bradley

  The meeting with Stan Martin was brief. “One story of malpractice is not really a story—it’s a statistical reality. A cover-up of malpractice is a story.”

  “But he’s named Hall! The same name as the hospital!”

  Stan looked at Matt a long minute. “You run that story, and it will look like you’re picking on a guy who had a bad day.”

  “A bad day that messed up some poor old lady!”

  “And a story that will be explained away by the hospital and, more importantly, by our audience—like I say, he will be seen as a famous guy, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, who had a bad day.” Stan raised his hand before Matt could protest. “Listen, there is a bigger story here. Can’t you feel it?” He steepled his fingers and started ticking off items. “First, we have a fifth-generation surgeon with a famous name. What are the odds that every single generation of the Hall family happens to be gifted in surgery? Second, we have pride. What fifth-generation family, regardless of the business, will admit that there is a dud in the family tree? Third, we have nepotism, which means fourth, we have jealousy. Every organization I’ve ever seen has an unofficial pecking order where everyone knows who the best are and who the worst are, and that goes for teachers, lawyers, cops, mechanics, and especially doctors. If any one of those jumps the order because of their last name, it will be the biggest sore spot and the most common thing to bitch about around the watercooler.”

  Matt sighed, frustrated.

  This made Stan lean forward. “Listen! I’m not yelling at you—I’m encouraging you. This is going to be the biggest story this radio station ever breaks. I just need you to land the whole thing.”

  “How’m I gonna go that?”

  Stan smiled grimly. “Find the watercooler.”

  Chapter 56 - Wes Cole

  The day was done, the sun had sunk in the west, and there was a nip in the air that was definitely fall. Wes Cole sat on the steps of the house Claire had bought and mostly renovated. The work building the radio station was done, so he and his brother Cal had helped with some of the finish work inside the house and the rougher landscaping outside. If the truth be told, it made sense to be leaving. Wes had a small circle of friends and was comfortable with that. His closest friend and confidant was Cal. Together, they wandered around the country, answering the call of the open road with a job at the end of it.

  This Sioux Falls was an easter
n city, Wes figured, and a little too crowded for his taste—a sentiment echoed by Cal, who, out of the blue one day, answered Wes’s unspoken thought by saying, “We’ll go west next.”

  They probably wouldn’t have come to Sioux Falls in the first place except they liked radio work and they greatly liked their cousin Claire. Claire was not her real name, but it was close enough. She’d had a tough childhood and a tougher patch after that but was still a lot like the girl who used to babysit them back in the day, a girl who took them on horseback rides and told them bedtime stories and, cousin or not, was their first crush growing up.

  The radio work was mostly finished. It was time to move on, but Wes did not yet have the yearning to move, and neither did his brother. Cal had an admiration for Claire’s husband, Stan, a small, intense man with piercing eyes like sunlight off an ocean.

  Cal had been watching the station staff at work and would comment at night, often with a chuckle, “They are one brand to ride for.”

  Wes would shake his head and grin. “Yep.”

  As for Wes, he liked their little tyke, John. Sober as a judge, he would stare up at Wes for minutes on end. Wes would miss holding him for sure. Something about that kid…

  Cal came out of the house with two beers, handed one to Cal, and sat on the broad concrete railing of the porch. They sat in silence for a full twenty minutes, watching the last of the season's lightning bugs and listening to the crickets and far-off traffic.

  Wes cleared his throat. “We could stay on a bit, till spring, say. Maybe help Claire on the house till it’s all the way done. I’d kinda like to see what Stan does with that radio station. Kinda fun.”

  Cal stood up, went inside, and came back with two more beers. Sitting down, he set the lip of the beer bottle on the lip of the concrete. With a gentle thump, he knocked the cap off the bottle, and he took a long sip. He belched and finished the conversation. “Yep.”

  Chapter 57 - Harriet Winkler

  Harriet pulled off her surgical mask, blew out a sigh, and plopped down in the Hall-Hauptmann break room, checking the clock as she sat. Five hours!

  Jane Brewster was already there, eating a yogurt. “Hard day, huh?”

  “Five freaking hours for an ankle plate? You gotta be kidding me!”

  Jane shrugged. “You got ol’ Amblin’ Al. Whaddaya expect?” Orthopedic surgeon Dr. Alan C. Selby was known to take his sweet time in surgery, a fact that miffed the staff, but what could you do about it?

  Harriet checked the board to confirm her suspicions. “Great. I gotta get scrubbed and ready by two forty-five for a leg pin in OR3. That means twenty minutes, tops, to eat.” Grumbling, she heaved her aching back out of the chair and opened the fridge. Tuna fish and whole wheat.

  “Hey, Jane, you got some change for the machine? I’m gonna need more than this sandwich.”

  Jane handed her some change. “Knock yourself out. If you want a Coke, the machine’s out.”

  “Nah. Snickers is what I need. I’ll get some water from the cooler.”

  She fed the vending machine and watched the Snickers drop. “They’re making them smaller all of the time.” She fished the bar out and frowned. Oh well. Turning to the watercooler, she saw that it was empty. “Oh, great. Perfect.”

  Jane looked up from her novel. “What?”

  “Now we’re outta water.”

  “No. Lookit.” Jane pointed. A guy was just heading into the room with two five-gallon bottles, carrying them by the necks.

  “Just in time, buddy.” Harriet was not joking.

  The guy set the bottles down, tucked in his shirttail, and leaned against the door frame. “Sorry. New route. This the nurses’ break room?”

  “Sure is, pal. Unload that bottle. I need a drink.” Harriet pointed to where the cooler was.

  The guy hefted the bottle easily and shuffled over to the cooler. “I gotta deliver some of these to the…” He consulted a piece of paper. “Cafeteria. Main level. But they don’t want it till three. Mind if I eat my lunch here?”

  Jane looked at him. He was a rumpled guy, more like a kid, with beat-up tennis shoes and a gloomy face.

  “Sure. Make yourself at home.”

  The kid plopped down at the small circular break table facing the surgical scheduling board. He fished out a crumpled brown paper sack. “Thanks.”

  Chapter 58 - Stan

  Stan was looking at the balance sheet that Doris had printed out. He shook his head. “What’s it mean?”

  Doris had her own copy and was sitting across the table. “It means you’re losing money.”

  Stan smiled wryly. “I don’t need a balance sheet to tell me that. And by me, you mean Charlie Hofer.”

  Doris nodded. “Not as bad as I thought, really. Most businesses need three years to make their first dollar. You might be clear by the end of the year.”

  “Donnie?”

  Doris rolled her eyes. “Donnie. That guy can sell Spandex to a spinster.”

  “I honestly never thought this place could make a go of it without Charlie’s cash. Too labor-intensive. But it might. You think Charlie would stick around for that?”

  “For what?” Doris asked.

  “For long enough to see if KCAH can make a profit? Maybe to own it, like a regular profitable business?”

  Doris scoffed. “Nope. Charlie started this radio station project for one reason only—to get even. I bet he has a list of all the members of the Oaks and is carefully marking down all the dirt you find on them. And when all the dirt is found, he’ll say, ‘Screw them, and screw you.’ He will drop this station like a worn-out whore and go find someone else to ruin.”

  There was truth in Doris’s words and bitterness too. Stan didn’t know what to say. After a pause, she lifted her head and found the words for him.

  “But I’ll tell you something.” She set her jaw. “Charlie don’t have a corner on vengeance. There’s more than one that can play at that game.”

  Chapter 59 - Charlie Hofer

  Charlie Hofer read the KCAH morning news with glee. Reading news printed out from a radio station, sent to your computer daily, was amazing. Stan Martin was worth twice what Charlie was paying him, three times even. He’d bought a radio station because that was the only thing he could buy. The way Martin had figured out to send out stories on a computer was genius. Charlie liked to sleep in late, and printing out the morning news to read at his leisure was the greatest pleasure of his day.

  Better yet, this morning’s news added another name to Charlie’s hit list: “Sampson Sanitary Service Accused of Collusion in Neighborhood Contracts.”

  Charlie pursed his lips and followed the story with a grim smile. Apparently, Sampson had approached other haulers in a scheme to divide the city into sections, removing competition and allowing for higher rates. The unnamed source suggested that this added a good ten percent to each citizen's garbage bill, and no, Sandra Sampson could not be reached for comment.

  Charlie crowed loud and long, reaching for his hit list. There… Kevin and Sandra Sampson, board members of the Oaks. The piece of paper had eight lines drawn through it. Not bad at all for a few months’ work.

  “So long, assholes!”

  So far, his premise that all the stuck-up jerks at the Oaks were crooked was not only cynical but also accurate. At this rate, every hypocritical-snob member of that place would be cast down into the mud. The thought made his one-sided smile wider.

  If Doris had still been there, it would have been perfect. Frowning, Charlie poured more bourbon into his morning coffee. Ungrateful bitch. He’d reached out to her a few weeks back, offering to let her come home—a generous offer for sure—and she had the gall to hang up on him. Then he tried to get Stan to fire her from the radio station, and Stan Martin had hung up on him. Ungrateful prick. Well, those two can wait. Everyone will get paid.

  Chapter 60 - Stan

  Stan’s eyebrows were raised. “So when I said to find out the watercooler talk, you actually went to find a waterc
ooler?”

  Matt Bradley shrugged and adjusted his glasses then went through the routine Stan was used to—he stood up, tucked in his pants, adjusted his glasses again, and settled into the door frame like he was bracing for a sou’wester. “My Uncle Dave has the Culligan dealership. He’s always looking for help, so I asked if I could take the hospital.”

  “And?”

  “You were right—they talk a lot. They have a dry-erase board in the break room, with lists of operating suites, docs, and nurses.”

  “See anything?”

  Matt heaved a sigh and fished for a notebook in his pants pocket. “There’s a list of docs, and I started writing down all the initials then checked the hospital directory to see who is who. I figure the busier docs are the better docs.”

  Stan shrugged. Maybe.

  “Guess which surgeon had the least amount of surgeries? H-5.”

  “You think that stands for Hall the Fifth?”

  Matt sighed again. “So I find out what this Hall doc operates on—hips mainly. I start asking, on behalf of my aunt Gretchen, which doc I should try to have do her hip replacement. They all say, ‘Try Andresen. He’s good.’ Then I ask about Dr. Hall the Fifth, and they all get uncomfortable and say, ‘He’s good too,’ but then as I’m leaving, one of the nurses says, ‘I’d go with Andresen.’ And she says it like it’s a secret tip at a racetrack.”

  Stan felt the tingle up his spine that happened when a story started to pull at him. “That’s not proof. You need a source.”

  Matt nodded glumly. “Yeah, so my cousin Ty works at the Coachlite, a dive bar that some nurses hang out at. I told him to keep an eye out for something out of the ordinary. He called me yesterday, said two nurses were deep into the Long Islands, talking loud about a cover-up, so I got over there.” Matt made it sound like he’d strolled down the street, though Stan knew him enough to know that many traffic laws had been broken. “And he’s right. Two nurses—a gas-passer guy and a chick—both freaking out about that nurse that’s gone missing.”