West Texas Dead: A Kailey and Shinto Mystery

by Frances Hight

  “Yes. I’m Kailey, Officer Kailey Carmichael with the Midland Police department.” Unimpressed, the doctor stared into his electronic tablet. I judged him to be about twelve going on thirty. I cleared my throat. “I think I’ve seen you when I’ve brought a prisoner or two to the ER.”

  “Uh huh. Great.” He scraped a finger up the screen, reading. When he apparently got to the page he wanted he stopped and narrowed his eyes. “I’m sorry, who are you again?”

  I leaned close to read his name tag. “Officer Kailey Carmichael, Dr. Clark. Please tell me how my mother is doing. If you can spare the time.”

  He looked at me puzzled for a moment before launching into his spiel. “She’s had an MRI and we confirmed a stroke. We’ve given her a strong anti-thrombolytic to help dissolve the clot in her brain. We’ll monitor her and keep her comfortable and transfer her to critical care as soon as a bed is available.”

  “Prognosis?”

  “Too early to say, ma’am. We are doing everything we can.”

  For some reason that ma’am really pissed me off. “Will she wake up? Is she impaired? Will she recover her brain function?” I ticked the questions off on my fingers.

  He clasped the tablet to his chest like a protective shield. “That’s a wait-and-see proposition, Ms.—?”

  “Officer—no, hell, call me Kailey, please.”

  “I’ve seen patients with serious strokes make complete recoveries. She’s responding to treatment . . . She is lucky you were there and got help so soon . . . Her prognosis is good . . . She needs to rest . . . There’s nothing much you can do here . . . You’re welcome to stay . . . Your mother’s been medicated, and we’ll keep her in ICU for a few days . . .”

  His practiced litany of med-speak faded as I focused on the sounds around me, the quiet bleeps of my mother’s heart monitor. The gentle whisper of her breathing. The squeak of rubber-soled shoes in the hallway behind me as nurses hurried back and forth. The sounds soothed me as I stepped forward to grasp her hand. It felt crepe dry and cool. “You will get through this, Momma. Don’t you worry. I’m here now.”

  The noises in the hallway escalated, and I heard the thuds of running feet and shouts from the nurses. “Police officer down. Incoming. Get the crash cart!”

  Peering out of the curtains I saw Shinto rush by, holding tight to a gurney, her face bleeding. What the hell?

  “Shinto?” I dashed over to her and followed beside her. I heard the EMT tell the nurses, “Bullet severed his brachial artery, upper arm.”

  “Excuse us, officers.” One of the nurses in the crowd stopped us as the gurney continued with its crowd of attendants. “This is as far as you go. We’ll let you know your officer’s status when we can.”

  Shinto and I stopped. Attendants wheeled the gurney down a hallway and disappeared through a double-wide, automatic door. She turned and grabbed my shoulder. “It’s Allen. Stupid son of a bitch took a bullet meant for me.” Her face turned ashen. “Damn it. Damn him!”

  She did a doubletake when she registered where we were and that I stood beside her. “Kailey? How’d you get here so fast?”

  “I’ve been here. Mom had a stroke.”

  “What? Oh, shit, Kailey. Is she—ow. Hey. Watch it.” A beefy nurse with a scowl clamped a hand on Shinto’s shoulder and pressed her down into a wheelchair. “Hey no, no. I’m good. No need to—”

  “You’re bleeding, officer, and we tend to frown on that around here. Now are you going to be difficult or smart?”

  I put my hand on Shinto’s forearm and felt it tense up. “She is going to be a model patient. The best. Right, Shinto?” I squeezed, hard. It got my friend’s attention. “This lady has a job to do, same as us. Now let her do it and tell me what happened.”

  The nurse smiled at me gratefully and guided us into another ER cubicle. She bustled about, ministering to Shinto while I coaxed the story out of her.

  Adrenaline loosened her lips and the words poured out of her. “We got a call about a homicide this morning. Saw this kid splayed out in the middle of West County Road one twenty-two, blood everywhere. Called it in. We secured the scene. Your Mike got there with the rest of the crime scene crew and we left. About a block away bullets shot through the front window of our squad car. Allen shoved me out of the way and got hit.”

  The nurse pointed to the exam table. Shinto eased onto it. “The shattered window cut me a bit.” She touched her forehead gingerly and then winced when the nurse wiped it with gauze. “Those windows are supposed to be fucking shatterproof.”

  “Are you hurt anywhere else?” the nurse asked.

  Shinto shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll get the doctor.” The nurse exited the cubicle with a flourish.

  Dr. Clark stuck his head in before the curtains could close. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” He came over to me. “Your mom’s been moved to intensive care.” Briefly distracted, he grabbed Shinto’s chart. “Well, well. What do we have here?” He flipped a page and read for a moment. “What are you doing, Ms. Carmichael, trying to fill our emergency room singlehandedly?”

  “Officer Carmichael,” I said.

  The nurse returned with a tray of various implements. I saw a hypodermic needle, a vial of clear liquid, gauze, tape, and an assortment of sewing needles.

  “Excellent, nurse,” Dr. Clark said. “Do we have a double-oh needle? Ah, I see we do. Perfect. Let’s you and I get one of Midland’s finest sewn up and back doing her job, shall we?”

  Shinto stopped the doctor short before he could begin. “Doctor, how’s my partner doing?”

  “He’s in surgery.”

  We heard a commotion. Captain Samosa stripped open the curtain. “How is she doing, doc?”

  “She’ll survive, and if I can convince her to stay still, without a scar.” He shot some Novocain into Shinto’s head and started stitching.

  Captain Samosa motioned for me to follow him. “They tell me Allen’s stable, Kailey. Tell me about your mom. What do we know?”

  “She’s in intensive care from a stroke. I don’t know if she’s going to . . . going to be . . . if she’ll ever . . .”

  He put his arm around me and hugged me. I felt ten years old again. I didn’t care.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Junior

  “Miguel? What the hell? Your gang of stupid wrecked my place.”

  “You need to get over here. You didn’t answer your phone, asshole.”

  “I was in class. It’s called an education. I’m not one of your kids, and I’m not on call, got it? I’ll work with you when I can. That’s it. ”

  “Screw you. Put your phone on vibrate. Be available for me.”

  “What’s so urgent?”

  “The Snakes are on the move.”

  “The who?”

  “The Snakes. New gang just cropped up. They’re moving in on my turf. I need everyone. This is going to get ugly, man. I need your help, Junior.”

  “I’ll help when I can. I’m my own man, not one of your damn lackeys.”

  “Understood. I’ll pay for any damage as a peace offering. I’ll speak to Freddie. Now get your ass over here. We got a situation.”

  “I’ve got a shitload of schoolwork and my place is in shambles. Classes begin at eight tomorrow morning. I’ll be to your place around two tomorrow afternoon. That’s the best I can do.”

  “Mother fu—” cut off as I ended the call.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Kailey

  I stayed with momma for a couple of hours. Before I left the hospital, I sneaked in to see Allen in recovery. “You look terrible.” I smiled and sat next to the pole with bags of hanging medicines. A heartrate monitor beeped.

  He opened his eyes. The top of the bed rose until he semi sat up. “Hey, Kailey,” he croaked. “Thanks for coming,”

  “I wanted to stop in before I leave. Momma’s had a stroke, and we’re down the hall.”

  “I’m sorry, Kailey. I know you and
your mom are close.”

  I forced an upbeat tone I didn’t feel. “We’ll be fine. Doctors are optimistic."

  Allen closed his eyes as if gathering energy. “Did they find who shot me?”

  “No, I’m sure everyone’s busting their butt to find the bastards. I’ll be out there, too, soon’s I leave here.”

  He opened his eyes and fixed them on me. “Get them, Kailey, okay? You and Shinto. Make them pay for—”

  Allen’s wife and kids blew through the door to his room, “Daddy, Daddy.” The kids ran up to his bed.

  He looked at me with a dumb grin.

  “I’ll leave you to your fan club, Allen.” I patted the covers on his bed. “We’ll get the bast—I mean, suspects. Count on it.”

  Allen’s wife slid past me to plant a kiss on her husband’s lips. “Sweetheart.”

  I felt extraneous. “I gotta bounce, officer. You get better. We’ll take care of the rest.”

  Allen’s wife grabbed my arm before I could escape. “Please don’t leave because we came. It’s wonderful how everyone on the force has been kind to us.” She smiled and said, “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Cindy, and these two hellions are Thomas and Noah. Boys say hi to . . .?”

  “Kailey. Kailey Carmichael.” I shook her hand. Her expensive perfume wafted toward me. Platinum hair pulled back, bangs cut across her forehead. The woman wore her tailored suit like a second skin.

  The boys said, “Hi” without seeing me and scrambled onto Allen’s bed. Thomas, the spitting image of his father, grabbed the TV remote and clicked through the channels. Allen winced as Noah, a cute redhead, nestled in his father’s free arm.

  “Noah,” Cindy said, “be careful. Your father’s got a bad booboo.”

  “I’m fine, Cindy. Don’t be such worrier. He didn’t know.”

  I took the opportunity to bail. “I’ve gotta go. Good to meet you, Cindy, Thomas, and Noah.”

  “Oh, don’t run out on our account.” Cindy didn’t even look my way when she said it.

  Allen spoke around her. “Thanks for stopping, Kailey. Prayers for your mom.”

  “Same for you. I’ll keep you updated on our progress.”

  I ran out of the room and bumped smack into Captain Samosa.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Junior

  Rolling up to Miguel’s I noticed a lot more guys milling around than usual. Some I’d never seen. I felt the excitement electrify the air. Crap. I didn’t want to be part of a gang rumble. Skirting the mob, I rounded the back of his house.

  Miguel sat on a plastic folding chair on the ten-by-ten slab of concrete that served as a patio. He nursed a cerveza, deep in conversation with Yolanda.

  “Hola.”

  “Hola, gringo. You missed a great fight.”

  “Oh, yeah? When? We talked late last night.”

  Yolanda kissed Miguel and left. He smiled as he watched her ass and then turned to me. “We whipped ’em. Lost only one of ours. Mouse was a casualty for the greater good of Los Demonios. His death will be celebrated.” He raised his bottle in salute.

  “Mouse’s dead? How did the little guy go?”

  “Bastards shot him down like a dog. Shit, man, we agreed on a safe meet this morning around ten. Over by the tracks where it’s all industrial. They shot him down in the middle of the street.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Yep.” Miguel laughed and took a sip. “’Course he strutted around, talking smack, being a genuine pain in the ass. If they hadn’t shot him I might have. Dude was toasted, buzzin’ on something.” He motioned me toward a galvanized tub filled with beer and ice. “Then all hell broke loose. We heard sirens and booked feet out of there. Later on television I heard the Snakes shot a couple of cops.”

  “Stupid,” I said. “You don’t shoot cops. Folks in blue got long memories.”

  I stared at Miguel to see where he might land on the subject of gunning down police. He stared back at me with a little smile. Didn’t take the bait.

  “Listen, bro,” he said instead. “Something else you should know. Freddie is pissed. I mean fuck-you pissed. Watch your back, vato. He’s a slow burn and has a longer memory than cops. Be careful with that one.”

  “Tell him to bring it. I’ll show him what real pissed feels like.”

  “All I’m saying, man, is he is one crafty dude. I’ve seen him play out some freaky shit on people he thinks have crossed him. I’ll try to talk some sense into him. No guarantees. When you least expect it, he will live up to that stupid tattoo on his forehead. That thing’s a warning, not a statement.”

  “Noted.”

  “Now, let’s talk about how school crap is more important than when I want you here.”

  “Let’s do it. You’ve got a shitload of people you can use. I’m no use to you as a soldier. I need to get an education. I’ve got a thirst.”

  “You are one messed up dude. I’ve never heard of anyone who wants to go to school. But hey,” he spread his arms like a benevolent genie, “let’s see how far you can go. I’m feeling generous. Just remember you owe me.” Miguel held his longneck out, and we clinked bottles.

  “I’ll do what I can, man.” We chugged beer. I took a deep breath and felt better than in a long time. In the middle of godforsaken Midland, Texas desert, and I’m working it. Hell yes.

  Chapter Thirty

  Kailey and Shinto

  Captain Samosa grabbed my shoulders and stopped my momentum. His blue uniform stood out in the sea of green scrubs. “Where are you going in such a rush?”

  “Crime scene, sir.”

  “Hold up a minute, Kailey. We need to talk. Let’s grab a cup of coffee at the cafeteria.”

  “But sir—”

  “Not a request, Kailey.” He turned and headed down the hall to the cafeteria and I followed, hurrying to keep up.

  Minutes later, I perched on the edge of a plastic chair in the

  noisy cafeteria, waiting. My knee bounced involuntarily. I wanted to crack my knuckles so badly my fingers twitched. Sitting here is the last thing I needed right now.

  “Kailey, I know your mother is in intensive care. This is a tough time for you to be out on the street.”

  I blew on my coffee, waiting, dreading what came next. Fluorescent lights blinked over the deli meat station. That’s me, dead meat.

  “Allen is going to be in the hospital and will need physical therapy for I don’t know how long,” the captain said. “Shinto is going to need a new partner. I was thinking of you.”

  “I didn’t know his injuries were that bad, sir. Besides, I have a partner. Mike and I have been together ever since—”

  Samosa grimaced. “It’s only temporary, Kailey, for now. Until Allen is a hundred percent. Mike is an old dog who can handle himself. I’m worried Shinto may go a little ballistic over Allen getting hit. You’re the only one I can count on who can control her.”

  “You want me to babysit Shinto Elliot.”

  “I want you to do your job, whatever that entails.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Good answer.”

  “We’ll get the assholes that shot Allen, sir. You can count on it.”

  “I know you will. I need to count on you for something else while we’re at it.”

  “Sir?”

  “Did you know Allen signed up to teach a class at Midland College?”

  “I—what? No, sir I didn’t.” More important, why would I care?

  “Introduction to Police Procedure. It’s more of a public service class, but in our current political climate a great foundation for public understanding and trust.”

  “Sounds great, sir. He’ll be an inspiration to anyone taking the class.”

  “He’s not going anywhere anytime soon, and classes start in a week. I want you to take his place.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” My mind reeled. Me? Teach a class? “Are you friggin’—I mean, seriously sir? I’m no teacher.”

  Samosa nar
rowed his eyes. “With all you’ve got on your plate, and I’m talking about your mother specifically, I believe you’d be most effective doing this for the department. Shinto and the others will have this investigation wrapped up soon enough.”

  “Can I think about it?”

  “Think all you want. It’ll make you a better teacher. Thanks for being a team player. I took the liberty of dropping off Allen’s notes and binders in your mom’s room. Ask him to fill you in on procedure at the school.” He stood and stuck out his hand.

  I rose and shook it. “Yes, sir. I’ll be happy to. I appreciate the unique opportunity.”

  “Cut the crap, Kailey. I know it’s not what you signed up for.” He chuckled and angled for the door. “Oh.” He turned back. “One more thing.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Keep me up to date on your progress. Last thing I need is the dean of the university busting my chops for our less-than-enthusiastic involvement in its programs.”

  “No worries, Captain. I’ve got your back.”

  He smiled. “I know you do. It’s another reason I’m giving this to you. Keep me up to date on your mother as well.” He strode off and didn’t look back.

  I flopped down on the chair and put my head in my hands. A minute later I heard his footsteps returning. I groaned inwardly.

  “Here’s a thought,” Samosa stuck his head in the door. “Since you’re partners now. How about you ask Shinto to co-teach the class with you? I mean, if you feel it’s too much for you to handle alone.”

  Shinto would be so pissed she might hate me forever. “Perfect, sir. That’s a great idea. I’m sure she’d love to help.”

  Finally, a break. Teach a class, be a role model, with my smiling, happy-go-lucky, best friend by my side. We might have fun, if she doesn’t kill me first.

  An hour later I lugged all the binders from Allen’s college course to Momma’s room at the hospital. Shinto was already there, sitting bedside.