“Well, I got sapped in the eye, and then kicked in the head and stomach for good measure.” I didn’t bother to mention the pile driver trick.
“What about the note?”
“The note?”
“Do you still have the note he left on your car?”
I reached toward my pocket before realizing I was wearing a hospital gown. “In my jeans. Left front pocket.”
Marrano went to the closet and pulled out a pair of mud-encrusted jeans. He dug around in the left pocket, and then the right. After searching all of the pockets, he tossed the jeans back into the closet. “Note’s gone. Perp must have taken it before he scooted.”
“Sorry I can’t be of more help,” I mumbled, feeling myself slipping away. Then I remembered my revolver. “Did you find my gun in the parking lot?”
“No. What kind was it?”
“Smith and Wesson thirty-eight, Model 40. Guess he took that, too.”
“Probably, but I’ll go back in the morning and see what I can find.”
Marrano peered at me with an indecipherable expression. Was he hiding something?
“I’ll check on you tomorrow,” he said. “Maybe you’ll remember something after you get some rest. Oh, I had one of the patrolmen drive your car over. It’s downstairs in the lot. Keys are in the nightstand drawer.”
***
I drifted in and out of a restless sleep over the next three hours. Nurse Wren awakened me twice to be sure I was still breathing, and I lapsed into a serial dream involving playing hide-and-seek with dozens of predatory red eyes. They lurched forward, surrounding me, moving closer and closer. I awoke with a thundering headache and a terrible urge to piss. Both needed instant relief, but I decided to tend to my bladder first. Carefully easing myself toward the edge of the bed, I grabbed the IV stand and pulled myself to my feet. I rolled the stand toward the open door of the bathroom, my gown flapping open behind me.
My tongue tasted like I’d licked the scum from the bottom of the alligator’s pond. After relieving myself, I dipped handfuls of water from the tap and swished it around in my mouth. Slowly, I raised my head and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Not a pretty sight. Streaks of red oozed from the outside corner of my right eye and marched across the sclera in shaky lines. The puffy lid displayed the dark beginnings of a black eye.
Returning to the bed, I pulled the covers over me, suddenly cold, my arms and legs going numb. I hugged myself trying to warm my limbs, stop the shivering shaking my body. I didn’t need to be a psych major to know the shivers had nothing to do with the hospital’s air conditioning. They were a result of my near-death experience.
I had no idea why someone tried to kill me. Sure, I’d been poking around and asking a lot of questions, but few answers had been forthcoming. At least nothing particularly germane to Marrano’s death. Somehow, though, I must have hit a nerve and came too close, but too close to who? Too close to what?
Sometimes there were no answers to the violence that’s become an unfortunate fact of life these days. Daily headlines bring frightening stories of random violence and the sad state of the human species. Terrorists plotting another 9/11 style attack was one thing, but today’s violence was even scarier. It didn’t seem to matter where you were—church, school, mall, or even in a court room—there was no safe haven.
Instead of dwelling on those unsettling images, I turned my thoughts to Serena. She called the police and Buck Marrano came to the rescue. They saved my life, and even if Marrano called her back, I knew she must be worried sick.
I sat up and ran a hand behind me until I found a cord for the fluorescent light above the bed. Turning it on, I ripped the adhesive from my arm and extracted the IV needle before checking the bedside table for my watch and car keys. I grabbed them both, slipping on the watch and noting the time—3:42. This probably wasn’t the smartest decision I’d ever made, but something urged me toward the closet where I pulled out my dirty clothes and put them on.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Nurse Wren must have seen the light in my room. Her sturdy form blocked the door, bulky arms entwined across her chest, daring me to make a move.
“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I have to get going now.”
“Mr. Mitchell, the doctor will be making rounds in a few hours, why don’t you wait until he releases you? A concussion is not to be taken lightly. You need rest, and we need to monitor your symptoms to be sure—”
“Really, I’m fine.” Headache’s gone,” I lied. “You said I needed rest, and I’ll rest better in my own bed.”
She stared at me, her dark eyes narrowing, trying to will me back into the bed. I slipped on my muddy deck shoes, jiggled the car keys and she stepped aside.
“I can’t force you to stay here, but you have to sign a release before you can leave.”
“No problem.”
She continued staring as though she wanted to take me over her knee and whack away until I came to my senses. “I’m going to find my supervisor who will bring the release for you to sign. You wait right here until we return. You hear me?”
I agreed to wait and she gave me two more Tylenol before walking away. At the door, she turned back to me. “One more thing, if you feel nauseous or dizzy you better get your skinny ass back here at once. And you’ll want to put an ice pack on that eye to keep the swelling down.”
Five minutes later, I’d signed the release form and made my way down the hall to the elevator. I felt Nurse Wren’s eyes on me all the way, but managed not to trip and fall on my face.
THIRTY-SIX
I wasn’t lying when I told Nurse Wren I’d rest better in my own bed. My plan had been to drive myself home and call Serena along the way to reassure her I was still among the living. But when I contemplated the long drive home and the serious pounding in my head, I found myself turning back toward St. Augustine Beach and Serena’s apartment.
As I drove, I fought battles with myself about the wisdom of showing up at her door in my condition at four in the morning.
Look in the mirror, asshole. You’re not thinking straight. What is she going to think when she opens that door and finds her big lug of an ex-boyfriend beaten to a pulp?
One side of the argument bounced around in my aching skull and I looked in the rearview mirror confirming Mr. Negative’s assessment. But then, the other voice piped up.
You’re in no condition to drive home. You need some TLC. If you had a choice, and you do, where would you rather look for solace and bed rest, at home with your dog or with Serena?
Couldn’t deny the logic in the second argument, so I continued on to Serena’s apartment.
Instead of banging on her front door and scaring the hell out of her, I decided to call. After three rings she answered with a sleepy hello, and moments later the door swung open. Serena was dressed only in an oversized pink T-shirt. Her eyes sparked briefly with annoyance until she saw my face.
“Oh, my God, Quint. Are you all right?”
“Can I come in?”
“Of course. I’m sorry.” She pulled me gently inside and closed the door behind me.
She flipped on lights as we moved through the apartment into the kitchen. Sitting me down at the kitchen table, she studied my face under the overhead fluorescents, holding my chin and turning it from one side to the other.
“Sergeant Marrano called to let me know he’d found you, but he didn’t … I had no idea.” I gave her an edited version of my night at the Alligator Farm and how I awakened at Flagler Hospital. “The nurse said I should use ice packs to bring down the swelling, and I remembered you had an ice maker.”
Serena grabbed a plastic storage bag from a drawer and filled it with ice cubes, wrapped it in a towel and pressed it carefully against my eye. “When I didn’t hear from you I got worried and called …” she hesitated a moment before finishing her sentence. “I called the police.”
“It’s a good thing you did and that Buck Marrano happened to be in neigh
borhood. I know you’re not crazy about the Marrano family, but Buck saved my ass. I don’t know why, but he did, and I owe him.”
Her hand rested gently on the back of my neck. “Can I get you anything? I think I have some aspirin.”
“Took some before I left the hospital. What I need is to lie down.”
Serena helped me to my feet and together we walked into the bedroom.
She touched my muddy shirt and wrinkled her nose. “You should get out of these clothes. Do you feel up to taking a shower?”
I told her a shower sounded good, and we moved slowly toward the bathroom where she helped me out of my shirt and blue jeans. Naked, with the ice pack pressed against my face, I waited as Serena tested the water with her fingers. When she was satisfied, she took the ice pack and nudged me into the shower enclosure.
“You soak for a while, and I’ll throw your clothes into the washer.”
Warm and gentle spray washed over me. I let the water sluice over my bruised head and face. Slowly, I shampooed and scrubbed myself, washing away the stench of the alligator pond from my hair and body. Little by little, life returned to my aching limbs.
When I finished, I carefully climbed out of the shower and onto the mat. Serena handed me a clean towel and I began drying myself. When I reached around to wipe my back, hot rivets of pain shot through my shoulders. I groaned loudly.
“Here, I’ll do that.” She took the towel from my hands and stepped behind me. I felt the thick material gently easing over aching muscles, her fingers kneading my shoulders before sliding down my spine to my lower back.
“God, that feels good.” I turned around and Serena gazed sadly at my wounded face.
She reached up and ran a finger around my eye before taking my head in both hands. With only the slightest of pressure she pulled me to her and tenderly kissed my injured eye. Her lips eased down my cheek to my mouth.
As I responded to her touch, to her kisses, to the suppleness of her body against mine, a strange blend of emotions engulfed me. Swept up in a sudden joy bordering on rapture, I embraced Serena yet somehow felt isolated, as though watching through a window. I saw myself peering at the scene with a deepening melancholy, a grim awareness of my own mortality. How close had I come to never feeling Serena’s touch again—to sharing the same fate as my brother’s?
Shaking off the shroud of gloom, I ran a hand under Serena’s T-shirt, over her smooth skin. She raised her arms and I tugged the shirt up over her head, letting it drop to the floor next to the towel. Hungrily, I kissed her, my hands caressing her breasts, cupping her buttocks and pulling her against me. I felt an urgency to lose myself inside her unlike anything I’d ever felt before.
Sensing my need, Serena led me into the bedroom. She lowered herself onto the bed, then pulled me gently onto her. Electricity charged my skin, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through my body. The tingling grew as our bodies met and melted into one another. Serena shifted under me, moving up, lifting her legs. I followed, pushing forward.
She stroked the back of my head, my shoulders, murmuring indistinct words in my ear. I moved by instinct, all raw emotion. Feeling the heat of our bodies as we shifted and slid against one another, tasting her sweetness, I wanted to possess every part of her. Unconsciously, I wanted to erase the memories of my close call and celebrate the fact I’d been given one more chance at life. My hands wandered over her smooth body: clutching a breast, palming her nipples, trailing trembling fingers down her sides, pushing them beneath her thighs and lifting them higher as I plunged deeper.
Our breathing seemed to be synchronized. Faster, shorter breaths. Our hips moved as one in the ancient rhythms of love until finally, with animal cries and our sweaty fingers interlaced, I collapsed with a moan.
“Oh, God.”
“It’s all right,” she whispered. “It’s all right.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
I awoke to find myself the lone passenger in Serena’s bed. Sitting up, I stretched my arms out, forgetting the hellish beating I’d endured at the Alligator Farm. Immediately, pockets of pain hammered up my spine and I envisioned a miniature mountain climber scaling my back and wedging his chocks deep within the fissures of my backbone. On the plus side, the sharp pangs, which now ascended vertebrae by vertebrae towards my neck, made me forget my aching head for the moment.
The pounding in my temple returned soon enough, and I applied pressure with the heel of my hand hoping to suppress the torment. I shut my eyes thinking that no job was worth this kind of punishment. Then I remembered Jeffrey Poe. He was depending on me. Any career changes would have to wait.
I rolled over and buried my face in the pillow, inhaling the scent of last night’s lovemaking still clinging to the rumpled bedclothes. My frustrations and self-pity vanished as memories of Serena flooded through me. Listening intently, I swore I could still hear tiny outbursts of pleasure burbling up from deep in her throat.
From the doorway, Serena asked, “How are you feeling?”
Surprised, I turned over and sat up too quickly. Dizziness forced me back to the bed. “Great. I feel great.”
“Sure you do. Should I hire a nurse to look after you?”
I used my elbows to force myself into a sitting position. “There’s nothing wrong with me that a little breakfast and a lot of coffee won’t cure.” I patted the bed beside me. “And maybe a little encore of last night’s show.”
Serena shook her head. “Better save your strength if you expect to make it through the day. Do you know what time it is?”
I looked around the room for a clock.
“It’s almost one-thirty. I’ll make you some coffee and scramble some eggs, but I want to talk with you first.”
“One-thirty? Gawd, I’ve got to get moving.” I swung my legs around, planting my feet on the floor. Noticing my naked thighs, I asked, “Clothes?”
Serena lowered herself onto the bed next to me, an outstretched arm across my legs keeping me from getting up. “I have your clothes, but first I have to tell you something.”
I tried to read her face, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes. “What is it?”
“I haven’t been entirely truthful with you.”
I waited for her to continue.
“I told you I called the police last night, and—”
“And you saved my life.”
“Only because I called Buck Marrano.”
“I know, he told me you called the SAPD and he responded to the call.”
She shook her head. “No, Quint, you’re not listening. I didn’t call the police department, I called Buck Marrano at home and begged him to find you.”
Knowing Buck’s grandfather had crippled her uncle, I couldn’t imagine Serena asking help from any of the Marrano clan, particularly a closet racist like Buck.
“You’re saying you have Buck’s home number? You know him personally?”
She surveyed my ruined face for a moment before telling me, “In college, I discovered white men were as attracted to me as black men. When I returned home to St. Augustine, I opened myself up to the possibility that I could rise above the stereotypes. Help bring St. Augustine into the twentieth century.”
“And Buck helped you do that?”
“I thought so. For all his brashness and occasional arrogance, Buck has a surprisingly sensitive core.”
I snorted.
“I’ll admit he keeps it well hidden.”
“So you, what? Dated?”
“For a brief time. You have to remember this was twelve years ago. I was young, and I hadn’t heard Uncle Walter’s story yet. Someone told my father I was dating a Marrano, and he had Uncle Walter tell me how Bat Marrano and his grandson crippled him. I broke it off with Buck the very same day.”
This explained Marrano’s hostility toward me from the outset, and perhaps his less than forthcoming behavior at the hospital. I reminded myself that Serena’s life before she met me was her own business, and attempted to dismiss the graphic pictures of Buck and
Serena flitting through my head.
“Thanks for telling me, but like you said, it’s ancient history.” I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her. “Today is what counts, and after last night, who knows.”
“Quint, you’re the first white man I’ve dated since Buck Marrano. I wanted you to know that. I do care for you, but last night was mostly a reaction to the trauma you suffered mixed with my own guilt.”
“Guilt? Guilt for what?”
“Guilt comes with the territory, I guess. What I’m trying to say is we should take this one day at a time and not jump to any happily ever after conclusions. Besides, I don’t want to worry about whether someone is going to kill you every time you go to work.”
“I know this doesn’t look good,” I said, pointing to my eye, “but it won’t happen again. Believe me.”
“How can you be sure? I’m sorry, but I can’t live with something like this hanging over my head all the time.”
Maybe last night’s lovemaking was exactly what she said it was—a visceral reaction to my trauma, but there must have been more to it than the sex. A connection had been made on a level I’d never experienced before. But then, near-death experiences probably have that affect.
Confused, I sputtered, “Fine, whatever you say. We’ll take it one day at a time. Now, can I get dressed?”
***
While Serena fixed me breakfast, I made a quick call to Charla and asked her to run by my apartment and take care of Dudley and Bogie. Next I visited the bathroom. Flicking on the light, I stared at the battered face in the mirror. It reminded me of a boxer after enduring ten-rounds of punishment with a young Mike Tyson. Last night, a small platoon of red had made inroads across the white of my eye. This morning, the red army had clearly won the battle. My entire eye was bathed in what looked like fresh blood, so thick I imagined it spilling out of the socket and pouring down my face. Dark, purplish bruises decorated both eyes and I wondered how Serena allowed such a creature into her bed.
Quint Mitchell 01 - Matanzas Bay Page 22
