Georgetown Kraft Credit Union Debit Card
BankAmericard Rewards Visa – Expired
Driver’s License – Issued to one Rickard Bertram Hairre. Rickard? Must be a family name.
Hair Club of Georgetown membership card, ID #4747
Humana Medical Insurance Card issued by city council of Murrell’s Inlet.
Five city council business cards
Post-It Note with address: 700 S. Kawasaki – googled for SC, no match. Closest match JFK Auto in NC.
Receipt from Lee’s Inlet Kitchen
Something dawned on him as he read through the list. The zip drive hadn’t asked for a password. He tossed the yellow pad into the passenger’s seat and pulled his laptop open. He clicked the zip drive icon – F: and the box popped up asking him to login. It read: Username:______ PIN:______
“That’s it!” he exclaimed, reaching for the credit union customer file.
As he did, he accidentally pulled the steering wheel and veered the cruiser into the oncoming traffic lane. But Wachesaw Road is a side street and has zero traffic late at night, so no one was coming. His coffee sloshed over the edge of the cup and burned his hand, startling him as he pulled back into his lane. He mopped at a few stray drops on the passenger’s seat.
Ouch, Chesney thought as he put the laptop down and wiped the coffee from his hand. That was a close one; it could’ve poured into my lap… CRAP!
While distracted with the coffee cup, Chesney had missed the stop sign and pulled straight out onto Business 17 and rammed t-bone style into the side of a black Lincoln Towncar.
In the driver’s side window of the car, Chesney could see a very pissed off black man wearing a black suit and tie… with a black patch over one eye.
“Willie?”
He couldn’t hear the extremely animated ice cream truck driver, but he could clearly see him mouth the words, You Sumbitch!
Ellie Mae Gallup kicked the gravel parking lot with her beat up cowboy boot and banged her fist on the hood of the Camaro. Smoke billowed out from the edges and from the front grill.
“I cain’t believe ‘is P.O.S. decides ta give up right when we got ‘im!”
She turned to peer down Ocean Drive, but there was no sign of the Black Lincoln Towncar they had been chasing.
“Gall dangit!” she spat and kicked the driver’s side tire, accidentally shearing the top off of the dry-rotted air nozzle. Air hissed out and the tire flattened in seconds.
“Are you freakin’ kiddin’ me?!” She kicked the tire again. “Piece ‘a junk.”
From inside the car she heard a low moaning. Daisy Mae Gallup was sitting in the passenger’s side seat holding onto her stomach.
“What’s takin’ so long?” she yelled out her own window, “he’s gettin’ away!”
“I kin see ‘at, Daisy Mae.” Ellie Mae looked around the parking lot of Frank’s. It served a clientele that had pricier vehicles, which were naturally harder to hotwire, but right next door, oddly, sat a Dollar General. The cars parked there looked much easier to—
“Miss?”
Her thought was interrupted by someone tapping her on the shoulder.
She whirled around. “What inna hell do you wa—”
She stopped mid-sentence. He was a cute young man, maybe twenty-five, lots of blonde hair and fairly muscled. He was wearing a Pawleys Island tank top and had sunglasses propped up on his head, even though it was nearly dark. Obviously a tourist. He’d apparently just stepped down out of a brand new, fire engine red, jacked up, decked out Jeep Wrangler Unlimited… and it was still running.
“Are you having some trouble with your car?
Ellie Mae had a sudden flash of brilliance. “Oh, yes, thank you so much! This dang tire jus’ blew up on me!”
The young man knelt down to inspect it and Ellie Mae gestured wildly over his back to Daisy Mae to get out of the car. She pointed to the Jeep and mouthed, get in.
The man looked up at her holding a broken air nozzle in his hand. “Here’s your problem. You got a spare?”
“Oh my,” Ellie Mae said and leaned over, exposing her cleavage—familiar territory to a former stripper—and said, “I do, but shore ‘nuff, I cain’t change no spare.”
“Ma’am, I’d be happy to change it for you,” he said, moving back to the trunk.
In a few minutes, he was hard at work on changing out the flattened tire for the spare. So hard, in fact, that he never noticed Ellie Mae climbing into the driver’s seat of his Jeep.
He did notice when the Jeep suddenly gunned and kicked up gravel as it screeched out of Frank’s parking lot.
Ellie Mae thought she could hear the man yelling as they turned onto Ocean Drive.
“Poor fella,” Daisy Mae groaned.
Ellie Mae looked over at her sister. She was sweating bullets and breathing hard in a regular, pulsing rhythm. She had one hand on the door handle and one on her belly.
“Daisy Mae?” She brushed her sister’s hair out of her face. “How you feelin’?”
“Ah think ah’m havin’ a baby.”
Troy was thrown into the passenger’s side door of One-Eyed Willie’s Black Lincoln Towncar, but not hard enough to injure him. However, it was hard enough to throw him from the car.
He had seen the other car coming and knew there would be a crash, but didn’t have time to warn Willie. He jumped sideways a split second before the collision and as he slammed into the passenger’s side door, it popped open, spilling him gently onto the pavement. It then rocked back and forth a few times, essentially dropping Troy off on the ground unharmed.
He could hear Willie had gotten out of the car and was yelling at the other driver.
“Ya got ta be kiddin’ me!” he heard the old man exclaim. “Two times in da same week?? And by da same dang po-leese car?”
Police car? He hadn’t noticed it was a police car as it barreled toward them. Glancing back down Business 17 the way they had come, he didn’t see any sign of the Gallup sisters on the road. He wondered if they’d given up the chase. Then he remembered why Willie had stopped at the condos in the first place… probably enough weed to get them both arrested. He mentally apologized to the ice cream man/Uber driver, and crawled as quietly as he could to the side of the road. Ducking behind a scraggly bush on the corner, he peeked back at the scene of the accident.
Willie was gesturing wildly at the damage to his Black Lincoln Towncar and the cop was having no luck getting a word in edgewise. Neither man was paying attention to the passenger. Troy quickly sprinted away. He wasn’t far from Drunken Jack’s and figured he could make it pretty quickly on foot. He glanced at his cellphone. No messages. 1:47am.
Dammit. He quickly tapped out a text to Karah.
-“You still there?”
No response. He quickened his pace to a slow trot in the direction of DJ’s and tapped out a second message.
-“I’m almost there. More craziness. Tell you all about it when I get there.”
Then he added,
-“Sorry, I’ll make it up to you.”
He shoved his phone into his pocket and started jogging. So much for a few casual beers and a quiet night.
Daisy Mae Gallup was breathing hard in between what Ellie Mae was now certain were contractions. Although they hadn’t quite reached the magical 5-1-1 rhythm yet—five minutes apart, one minute long for one hour—Ellie Mae thought this baby was coming sooner rather than later. But they still had time to catch that rat, Troy, and get him to the hospital with them.
“Ah don’t think I’m gon’ make it, Ellie Mae,” Daisy Mae wheezed between her Lamaze breathing. “We gotta git to the hospital now!”
In between her breaths of hee hee hee and hoo hoo hoo, she grabbed the wheel of the Jeep and jerked. Ellie Mae jerked it back, but not before they had swerved off Ocean Drive and onto the alternate road, Business 17.
“What in tarnation are you tryin’ ta do, Daisy Mae?” she yelled as she steadied the racing Jeep into the proper lane. “Now ya
done got us lost!”
Daisy Mae couldn’t answer, she just grunted a long, slow, pushing grunt. Ellie Mae finally registered what was happening… this baby was coming now. She put her hand on her sister’s stomach, and said, “Okay sis, ta haile with that creep. Let’s get you and Troy junior to the hospital.”
Daisy Mae grunted again and nodded.
Ellie Mae slammed the Jeep’s accelerator to the floor.
“Shit, hold on,” she said and put both hands on the steering wheel. “There’s a dang cop up ahead.”
“Don’t stop, sis-uhgghhh,” Daisy Mae groaned out the last.
“I ain’t plannin’ ta.”
Chesney was having no luck getting through to One-Eyed Willie. The department’s insurance would naturally pay for all the damages, but Willie was in a tirade… and rightfully so. Just a day ago, Chesney had slammed into the rear end of his beautiful ice cream truck and here he sat with the hood of his cruiser buried into the side of Willie’s Towncar. Luckily it had been just behind the driver’s side door, so no bodily harm had come to the old man.
“Willie,” Chesney said and held up both hands as he backed slowly toward his cruiser, “let me radio the station and get you a tow. They’ll get you a rental in the meantime.”
“A rental?!” Willie yelled. “Ah, don’t need no rental. I jus’ need cops ta stop crashin’ inta mah vee-hicles.”
Chesney ducked into his car and radioed Todd. “This is Chesney. I need a tow truck out on Business 17, a block south of Drunken Jack’s.”
Thankfully, Todd didn’t retort with any middle school humor. Maybe he was finally getting bored with it.
“Willie, the tow should be here any minute,” Chesney called out his window as he started to pull away from the Towncar.
One-Eyed Willie just threw his hands up, and said, “Well, don’t dat jus’ beat all? I gotta sit ‘n wait ona tow truck and you git ta ride off in da sunset? Sheeii—”
His expletive was cut off by the sudden screeching of tires as a brand new, fire engine red, jacked up, decked out Jeep Wrangler Unlimited swerved around the right side of Willie’s Black Lincoln Towncar. The driver of the Jeep must not have realized the passenger’s side door was still open from the wreck. The Jeep slammed into it, shearing it away from the car, and sent it flying down the road bouncing and spraying sparks as it tumbled.
Chesney had hunched down instinctively from the sound of the impact. He rose to see Willie hunched over with his hands on the side of his head… thankfully unhurt.
“Ya got ta be effin’ kiddin’ me…” was all Chesney could hear him say as he turned on his lights and took off after the Jeep.
“Todd, I got a lifted red Jeep Wrangler running high speed down on 17. In pursuit, may need backup.”
“10-4 Officer Dick Biggins, we got your rear,” came the radio squelched reply with a smattering of snickers in the background.
“Dammit, Todd,” he yelled into the receiver, “this is serious. Get your shit together and stop with the wisecracks.”
“Settle down, Ches, jeez! Nothing ever happens around here. Just trying to stay awake.”
“Well, give it a rest and send me some backup.”
“10-4.”
The more things change… Chesney clicked the receiver down and focused on catching the Jeep. His cruiser groaned with the effort… it had taken too many beatings to give much chase. He stomped the accelerator to the ground and hoped for the best.
Daisy Mae Gallup was now having regular contractions and was pushing involuntarily.
Ellie Mae found herself breathing along with her, when suddenly Daisy Mae screamed. Ellie Mae looked in the rear-view mirror, and saw no sign of the cop car that had been following them since they took the open door off the black car sitting in the middle of the road.
“Oh, mah Gawd! I think he’s comin’ now! Pull over, PULL OVER!”
Ellie Mae jerked the Jeep into the next parking lot and skidded to a stop. Gravel was still flying as she jumped out of the Jeep and ran around to the other side.
“It’s gon’ be alright, Daisy Mae,” she said, opening the passenger door and taking her sister’s hand. “Let’s git you inside and call a doctor. They gon’ have ta come ta us tonight.”
As Daisy Mae gingerly dropped down from the Jeep she looked up at the building situated at the rear of the gravel lot. “Drunken Jack’s? Why’d you stop here?”
“It ain’t like ya give me much choice!” Ellie Mae helped her sister walk toward the building. “Hell, it’s good as any. I’m shore they gotta pho—”
Suddenly, through a blinding red haze forming in her eyes, she saw him standing at the top of the stairs leading into Drunken Jack’s.
“TROYYYYYY!!!!!”
Someone behind him screamed his name. It was a guttural scream, like a gladiator calling him out to die. Troy turned around to face his opponent. Cinnamon and Starr—or rather, Daisy Mae and Ellie Mae Gallup—were lurching across the parking lot toward him. Daisy Mae was leaning on Ellie Mae and breathing hard. She had one hand on her belly and looked like she might pop her baby out at any moment.
As they got closer, Ellie Mae pointed a finger at him. “You did ‘is ta mah sister. Ya don’ got her pregnant and runned off.”
“What?” was all Troy could muster.
“Ain’t a man’s job to take care o’ ‘is family? Ta support his little ‘uns?”
“Wait… what?” Troy raised his hands.
“Donchu act like you don’t know this here baby is yours,” Ellie Mae said, and pointed to Daisy Mae’s belly. “She don’ told me he was yers!”
A light began to flicker on in Troy’s mind. Oh, sweet Jesus, he thought, they’re crazier than I remember. They’re trying to say Daisy Mae’s baby is mine.
“Now, Ellie Mae, hold on just a second,” he said in low, gentle tones. “Don’t you realize I haven’t worked at the Hippo in over ten years?”
“We know ‘at, stupid!” Ellie Mae shook her finger at Troy. “She’s talkin’ bout that night you spent back in Vegas fer yer brother’s bachelor party! He’s yers alright!”
Troy’s mind raced… what the hell were they talking about? He hadn’t spoken to his brother, Ryan, since he left Afghanistan… his brother, who had been discharged (reason unknown) had returned stateside and gone completely off the grid.
“Ellie Mae, my brother and I haven’t spoken since before I worked at the Hippo. Hell, I haven’t seen him since I was shipped off to Afghanistan.”
Confusion spread across the girl’s face. He could see her certainty falter.
“I’m not sure who you think, um… did this to your sister,” he said, pointing to Daisy Mae, “but it couldn’t have been me.”
She thought for a second, then an evil smile spread on her face. “Oh yeah? Then explain ‘is pitcher!”
She reached into her bra and brought out a faded but clearly recent Polaroid photograph of Daisy Mae looking slim and not pregnant. In one hand she held a cigarette, while her other arm was draped around a man holding a bottle of champagne. The man had longer, curly black hair, a short stubble beard, a decent tan and dark eyes… much like Troy.
She flipped it over and pointed to a date printed on the back. “See ‘at? And you ev’n signed it!”
She handed the photo to Troy and smiled the smile of a victorious lawyer giving a perfect closing argument to seal the fate of the defendant.
Troy took a close look at the photo. It was clearly not him, though the man did bear a striking resemblance to him. He flipped it over to check out his signature on the back. The date did correspond to the impending baby… just about eight and a half months ago. He could barely make out the scrawling text, but it became immediately clear what their mistake had been.
He handed the photo back to Ellie Mae, and said, “You’ve got the wrong man. Read it again.”
Ellie Mae snatched it out of his hand suspiciously, and turned it over.
Thanks for one hell of a bachelor party! My brother and I
will never forget it!
With love from Troy.
And a little farther down, in almost illegible script, the signature:
Eric Bana
When he saw the look of understanding slowly creep over her face, he said, “Hey, it’s not all that bad. Apparently, you spent the night with Eric Bana. You know, from the movie, Troy?”
“Ho-lee-she-it,” Ellie Mae said slowly.
“Yeah,” said Troy, letting the silence hang for just a few seconds, “and I guess maybe also having his love child?”
“Hey, you two,” Daisy Mae suddenly said out of nowhere, “can we ‘scuss this later? My water jus’ broke.”
19
Hospitable Hospital
Darren “The Body” McGlashen was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he pulled into the emergency room valet area at the St. Francis Hospital in Litchfield. His list of injuries was growing more severe by the minute and all of them threatened to render him unconscious… but he couldn’t afford to waste time with passing out, there was too much to do.
Unbelievably, there was a pay phone in the lobby of the emergency room, and though Darren had no change to his name he felt sure the boss would accept his collect call.
“Sir?” Someone tapped him on the shoulder. “We need you to fill out these forms.”
An emergency room nurse with almost black curly hair stood behind him holding out a bright pink clipboard and pen. He turned around so quickly that it must’ve startled her. She stepped back and shoved the clipboard at him as if she didn’t want to catch whatever pestilence he hosted. Darren almost laughed at her.
“Look, um…” —he tapped her nametag with the bloody nub of his right forefinger— “Rachel, is it? Ah ain’t got no insurance. Ah ain’t from ‘is godforsaken country and from da way ah feel, ahm bettin’ I got infections all ova me body. So, why don’t we dispense wif dees forms and get me a docta, eh?”
The Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Series Boxset Page 10
