by Judy Clemens
“I guess. Doesn’t seem like anybody makes much.”
“It’s not a big money maker. But it’s a huge risk for me.”
“How so?”
He dropped his chair legs to the ground. “I’m like a bank. I pay the truckers their money up front so they can buy the fuel and make their mortgage or their insurance payment, or whatever, then I wait to get paid by the company in Colorado. Sometimes it takes a month or so for the money to come in.”
“So how do you stay afloat? Make a living?”
“Lots of trucks.” He grinned. “There’s one and a half million on the road at any given time. A portion are doing jobs for me.”
“How many?”
“Well, we have access to lots of independent contractors—folks with their own rigs. Sixty to seventy of them, maybe. And a few trucking companies. They’ll have thirty to forty drivers we can use. Not all at the same time, of course, but whenever we’ve got work.”
“You said they work for other brokers, too.”
“Sure. We have to share drivers sometimes.”
“So you’re competing with other brokers?”
“I guess. But competing for truckers isn’t the problem. It’s the customers that could be the sticky part.”
“How do you work that out?”
He shrugged. “Sort of an unspoken agreement. You stay away from my customers, I’ll stay away from yours.”
“And your customers—how do you get them? Advertising? Connections?” Casey waved her hand over Evan’s photos. “These trucks are carrying all kinds of stuff—not any one particular thing.”
“Customers come from word of mouth, mostly. I just had a guy call me today, said his buddy used Southwest Trucking, and recommended us. It’s all about trust, really. A guy in Idaho calls me, I can’t exactly see his eyes and shake his hand. Sometimes we use a signed contract, but most of the time…” He held out his hands. “We take people at their word that we’ll do the job and they’ll pay us.”
“Seems…old-fashioned.”
He grinned. “You don’t trust people?”
Casey looked away. “So what do these pictures show? What do you see?”
“If you don’t trust people, how come you’re here with Davey? You didn’t know him before yesterday. And you met me fifteen minutes ago.”
“I know. I guess sometimes you just…” She took a deep breath through her nose and let it out.
Davey tapped one of the photos. “So what do you see, Tom?”
Tom hesitated, but turned to his father-in-law. “Can’t tell you right off. Nothing here looks wrong, except maybe this one picture showing this guy handing a package to the other guy. Nothing illegal about that, though, unless whatever’s in the package is illegal.”
Casey looked at the photo, with Owen Dixon handing Hank Nance an envelope. “What could they be doing?”
“That’s crooked?” Tom gave a short laugh. “Any number of things. I haven’t heard anything about these folks, so I don’t have anything to go on.”
“Examples?”
“Smuggling. Stolen goods. Drugs. Illegal Immigrants. Who knows? Unless you can get something on these guys there’s no telling what they’re doing.”
Casey went quiet, staring down at the photos. “Do you know any of these truckers?”
Tom scanned their faces. “With all of those one and a half million trucks it would be…wait. This guy.” He pointed at the one Bailey’s dad had roomed with. “He looks familiar.”
“Pat Parnell. He’s from around here. Wichita.”
“Well, that’s probably it, then. More than likely I’ve dealt with him at some point, but not recently. Just a sec.” He went to his desk and typed something into his computer. “Yup. Did some jobs for me several years ago, but dropped off my radar after that.”
“What about this guy?” She showed him another one of the pictures. “Name’s Mick Halveston. Had a bad accident a while back. Killed a family when his truck flipped under an overpass.”
Tom winced. “I remember that. Never worked with him, though. I knew a broker that did.”
“He say anything about him?”
“Just that he was glad Halveston wasn’t driving for him when the accident happened.”
“And the rest of these?”
He punched in Hank Nance, John Simones, and Sandy Greene. Greene had driven for Tom several years ago, but he’d never dealt with either of the other two.
“What about the names on these manifests? We don’t have photos of these guys. Any of them sound familiar?”
He glanced over them, but shook his head. “Don’t know any. Now, that doesn’t mean they’ve never driven for me, because I can’t remember everybody, but I really don’t think so.” He keyed in their names, just in case, but none of them showed up in his driver history.
“Another question.” Casey tapped the paper. “Can you think of any reason a trucker would drive under a different name?”
He grinned. “Legally?”
“Let’s say not.”
“Then there would be lots of reasons.”
“Like?”
“If under your real name your license was suspended, you have a medical condition that prevents you from driving, you’ve had a DUI, you’re wanted by the cops…what kind of thing are you looking for?”
“Reasons these guys,” she tapped the photos, “would actually be these guys.” She tapped the stack of manifests.
“Any of those things I mentioned.” He shrugged. “Fake IDs are easy to get. You can buy a license over the Internet these days.”
“Really?”
“Might not be the greatest fakes, but they’d get past most people.”
Casey wondered how much they cost. A fake license could solve her own problems. She’d no longer have to worry about the cops or Pegasus or even her brother tracking her down. How could she get one without anyone knowing where the money from her account ended up?
Tom was still talking. “Wish I could help more.”
She shook herself. “Maybe you can. Do you have a database on your computer where you could look up any trucker you want?”
“Nope. There is such a thing, but you have to purchase it.”
“You know anybody who has one?”
“I could ask around.”
“That would be great. But…can you do it without giving too many details?”
“I can try.” He studied her face. “You look scared, Casey. What do you think is going on?”
Casey shook her head. “I don’t know. But it’s something bad. Something worth killing for. And I really don’t want you to get in these guys’ sightlines.”
He swallowed, and glanced at Davey. “Thanks a lot, Dad.”
Davey shrugged. “When you know something’s the right thing to do, Tom, you gotta do it. You know that.”
Tom nodded, and stood up, extending his hand once again to Casey. “Here’s to doing the right thing.”
Casey clasped his hand, praying with all her might she hadn’t just brought Tom Haab an early visit from Death.
Chapter Fourteen
“So where were you?” Casey looked at Death in the hospital bathroom’s mirror. She’d allowed Davey to take her as far as the edge of town, then insisted on being dropped at a quiet intersection. She’d ducked quickly down a side street and zig-zagged through the neighborhood, making sure he didn’t follow. The last thing she needed was for the guys in the hospital to see him. The one—Craig Mifflin, according to Evan’s photos—had been unconscious when Davey had come out of the trailer with Randy Westing’s gun at his head, but the second guy—Bruce Willoughby—could probably ID Davey, unless he’d been in such pain from his knee he didn’t remember anything.
Casey finished lining her eyes and put on the mascara, topping it off with a dusting of eye shadow.
“Those high school boys aren’t going to know what to do with themselves tonight when they show up at the shed,” Death said. “You’re turning hot.”
<
br /> “Teenage boys don’t have eyes for old ladies like me.”
Death snorted. “And I have wings and shoot arrows at lovers. Come on, Casey. Do you not remember what boys that age are like?”
“I guess not.” She stepped back, trying to view herself in the slanted, handicapped-accessible mirror. She’d locked herself into the one-person bathroom after ducking onto the cardiac wing. The floor was dark and quiet, the patients bedded down for the night.
“And I was wrong about the scrubs,” Death said. “They’re more attractive than I thought they’d be, in a professional, woman-in-charge sort of way. Except you really should take off your other clothes instead of wearing the scrubs over them.”
“And put them where?”
“I don’t know. Nurse’s locker?”
Casey considered it, but shook her head. “Too much opportunity for seeing other nurses who would know I don’t belong.” She put on the lipstick and blotted her lips with a paper towel. “So, anyway, where were you? I thought you wanted to be there when I was questioning the trucking guy.”
“I did, and was planning on meeting you there, but I was called away. Business.”
“What happened to the whole Santa Claus comparison you gave me last week? That you can be in multiple places at once?”
Death made a face. “Do you really want to know? I was trying to spare you.”
“Oh. Okay, forget it.”
“Suicide bomber in Iraq, military action in Afghanistan, and an earthquake in Peru. All at the same time. Very messy.”
“I said forget it!”
Someone knocked on the door. “Everything okay in there?”
Casey glared at Death. “Fine, thank you!”
“You’re not on the phone, are you? You know you can’t use them on this floor.”
“No phone. Just talking to myself.”
Death gave a little giggle, but quickly smothered it.
The person stopped talking, and Casey hoped she’d gone away. Casey slid the reading glasses on, and Death’s nose wrinkled. “Well, that kills the hotness factor.”
It did. It also added several years to her appearance, as Bailey had predicted. An added benefit was the hiding of her eyes. She really did look different. She hoped it was enough to get her into the hospital room and close enough for her questioning.
She gave Death another silencing glance and reached for the door, putting the make-up in the bag with Evan’s photos. She peeked out. The closest person was a woman in pink scrubs, who sat behind the counter at the nurse’s station. Casey went the other direction, toward the elevator.
“So where are these guys?” Death asked.
“I asked at the visitors’ desk when I got here. Craig Mifflin’s already been released. Bruce Willoughby is still here to get his knee worked on. Orthopedics.”
“Let’s go get him.”
Orthopedics, illogically, was on the third floor. Casey would’ve thought people who needed help walking should be on the first.
They were almost to the elevator when a familiar person came out of a room, coat flapping. “Nurse, can you please make sure the patient in 113B gets a new gown? We made a little mess.”
“Yes, Doctor.” Casey nodded her head deferentially, as she imagined a nurse might do, and kept walking. Of all the people to run into, did she have to find Dr. Shinnob? She glanced back, and he was watching her with a confused expression, as if he wasn’t sure what to think. Great.
She scooted into the next room and stood up against the wall, peering back out into the hallway through the door’s little window. Dr. Shinnob still looked her way. He was taking a step. Casey gritted her teeth. What was she going to do?
Dr. Shinnob stopped, and the woman in the pink scrubs came up to him with a chart. He took it, gave one more look Casey’s way, then followed the nurse in the other direction. Casey heaved a sigh of relief and leaned against the wall, her heart pounding. Her disguise obviously wasn’t enough.
“Um, Casey,” Death said.
She looked up. A man lay in the hospital bed, sunk deep into his pillows. He was alone. And he was watching her, smiling.
“Hello, sweetheart. Did you come to take me away?”
Casey glanced at Death, who gave a subtle shake of the head. “No, sir,” Casey said. “Just checking in.”
“Come sit with me a minute.” The man patted the bed beside him.
“I don’t really have time—”
His smile faded. “Of course. You’re all so busy.”
Casey’s stomach fell. “I’ve got a minute or two.”
“No, you don’t,” Death said. “That doctor’s going to come in here and find out you’re a fraud.”
Casey went to stand beside the bed. “What would you like to talk about?”
The man lifted his skinny arm, his hand feeling for hers. She clasped his fingers.
“I don’t want to talk,” he said, his voice weak. “You talk. Tell me something happy.”
Death groaned.
Something happy? The poor man had asked precisely the wrong person. “I don’t know what—”
“Anything,” the man said. “You have to have something to say, a young, pretty girl like you.”
Casey tried to clear her mind of everything that had happened during the past day, the past week, the past year. When had she ever been happy? Or young? Or even pretty? What did that feel like?
“My wedding day,” she said aloud.
The man smiled again. “Yes.”
She thought back. “We weren’t sure if it was going to rain. The clouds were heavy and gray, with just a hint of blue sky in-between, and the air was chilly, with a light breeze. But they always say rain on your wedding day is lucky, right? So we didn’t care. We got married in a little church, with just a small group of family and friends. My mom and brother, a few cousins, the guys from my dojang.” She glanced at the man, who didn’t seem to notice she’d just said something unusual. “I wore my mother’s wedding dress, an ivory sheath, with just a bit of lace, and he wore a new gray suit, with a red sash. He’s Mexican,” she explained.
The man nodded.
“There was lots of singing, and good food planned for the reception—homemade soup in bread bowls, and my mother’s famous German Chocolate cake. But during the ceremony, just after Reuben slid the ring on my finger and the minister declared us husband and wife, a bolt of lightening lit up the sky outside the windows, and thunder rolled over, shaking the floor. The rain came so suddenly, pounding the roof, running down the windows. Reuben kissed me, and I laughed, happy we would be together forever.” Her voice cracked, and she came back to the hospital room.
“Forever,” the old man said. “That’s a long time.”
Casey looked at her finger, and thought about the rings, hanging with the rest of her things in a garage in Clymer, Ohio. “Yes.”
“My Joyce is already gone. But I’ll be joining her soon.” His voice wavered, and a spark of fear entered his eyes.
Death swooped over the man, sniffing, peering into the man’s eyes. “Maybe. Maybe not. I haven’t heard anything yet.”
“It will be all right,” Casey said to the man. “You don’t need to be afraid. Death is…” She glanced at her companion. “Death isn’t always as terrible as you think.”
The man looked at her. “You’ve dealt with it?”
“More than I like. It’s with me constantly.”
“Yes,” the man said. “I believe you. I can see it in your face.”
Casey smiled gently. “I’m sorry, but I really need to be going. Can I get you anything?”
“A drink of water would be nice.”
Casey picked up the blue hospital cup from the bedside table and tilted the straw toward the man’s mouth, supporting his shoulders while he drank.
He took several swallows before sinking back into the pillows. “Thank you, dear.”
“You’re welcome.” She set the cup down and patted his hand. “Do you have anyone to come vi
sit?”
“My children and grandchildren come in and out, but no one stays. Everyone’s busy, has places to go. It’s all right.”
Casey’s face went hot. “Aren’t there at least volunteers who will sit with you?”
“No. The candystripers want to spend their time in the pediatrics ward. I can’t blame them. No one—especially a teen-aged volunteer—wants to spend time with old people. We’re boring. And crabby.”
Casey gently squeezed his hand. “I think you’re nice.”
He smiled. “You’re nice, too. Now go on. Go do whatever it is you have to do. Even if you don’t really work for the hospital.”
She gasped.
“You’re afraid of something, honey, even if it’s not death, like me. I hope you can conquer it.”
She bit her lip, not sure what to say.
“Now go on, get moving. Save the world. Run away. Whatever it is you’re doing.”
“I’m sorry,” Casey said. “I wish—”
He flapped his hand toward the door. “Go.”
Casey set his hand down and escaped, leaving the man and Dr. Shinnob behind.
Chapter Fifteen
The orthopedic floor was still and dark. No one rushed around, pushing carts and checking vitals. Casey could hear the hum of machines, but other than that it was as if the floor were deserted. She had opted for the stairway, figuring the elevator would open right at a desk, and she was glad she’d thought of it. A young man in green scrubs—of course not blue—stood at the counter with his back to her, examining an x-ray on a lighted screen.
From the numbers Casey could see by the room doors, Bruce Willoughby’s would be down the hall. Casey would have to go past the man at the desk.
“Here’s where the costume comes into play,” Death whispered.
“Or I just wait till he goes to the bathroom.”
“By that time, someone else will be there.”
True.
A rolling desk with a computer sat just down the hallway—the kind used by nurses when making their rounds. Casey figured the staff didn’t need to worry about patients on the ortho wing running off with it. Casey began pushing it down the hall, checking the room numbers. As she went past the desk the man glanced up, and Casey nodded, much as she had nodded to Dr. Shinnob only minutes before. The man nodded back, and returned to the x-ray he was examining on the lighted screen.
