by A W Hartoin
“Do you remember someone being there?”
“Yes, but I don’t know. It’s just an impression,” she said with a yawn. “That medicine makes me so sleepy.”
“How’s the headache?”
“Better. Why did you have that face?” The slurring got worse as the painkiller kicked in. “Tell the truth.”
Like a moron, I did. When will I learn? You never tell the truth, even when you don’t think it can get you in trouble. “The FBI wants to interview you.”
Mom’s green eyes flew open. “I don’t want to see them.”
“You don’t have to. You’re safe in here.”
“You won’t let them in.”
Mark came through the door. “I won’t let them in. Count on it, Carolina.”
Mom pulled Wallace into her lap. If it weren’t for Wallace, I think Mom would’ve burst apart at the seams. “What do they want?”
“I’ll handle it,” I said. “And Mark will keep them away.”
Mark took her latte from her and lowered the head of the bed. “Try to rest now. We’re going to take you down for your MRI in a couple hours.”
“Mercy?”
“It’s no biggie. They’ll sedate you if you’re nervous.”
She nodded and I went out to meet the FBI, ready to kick ass and take names as Dad would say.
Chuck and Sidney stood in the hall, talking with the two guys from the elevator. They were doing what I can only describe as quiet yelling. All their fists were balled up and Chuck had color on his high cheekbones, making his blue eyes glitter.
“What the hell do you mean we’re off it?” he asked.
“Exactly that, Detective Watts,” said the agent on the right, a bald man with a red-tipped hatchet nose.
“By what right?” asked Sidney.
“We don’t have to explain ourselves to local cops.”
“You son of a bitch,” said Chuck.
I walked up as casually as possible. “Well, maybe you can explain it to me.”
Hatchet nose introduced himself as Morley and his partner, a weasely guy wearing what had to be a toupee, as Harwood.
“Miss Watts, we’d like to ask you a few questions,” said Hatchet nose.
“Not until you answer some of mine.”
That stopped him for five whole seconds. He looked vaguely surprised that I could string together a full sentence. Men are like that with me sometimes. It makes me hate them, and they can never understand that. It didn’t help that his partner was looking at my chest. Dirtbag.
“We’d like you to go through all the events in Sturgis through this morning.”
“Oh, yeah?” I said. “Interesting. Where’s my father?”
“We have no information on the whereabouts of Tommy Watts.”
I crossed my arms. “Fine. Then I have no info on Sturgis or my mother or lipstick or how I’d like to kick your ass.”
Chuck and Sidney started grinning.
“We can issue a material witness warrant,” said toupee.
“Go ahead and try it. I’ve got a great lawyer, Steve Warnock. He teaches a course on constitutional law at Wash U. Give him a call.”
“Miss Watts, your mother was viciously attacked,” said Hatchet nose.
“You think I don’t know that? You’re taking the case away from the only cops that have a chance of solving it.”
“Do you think you have a chance of solving it?” asked Toupee.
“Where’s my father?”
“We have no information on the whereabouts of Tommy Watts.”
I resisted the urge to kick him in the shin. “Why are these two off the case?”
“That’s not your concern, Miss Watts,” said Hatchet nose.
“The hell it isn’t,” said Chuck. “She’s the victim’s daughter.”
“Department policy.”
I turned on my heels and went back to the ICU door before I did something they could actually arrest me for. “I’m going back. Don’t bother to stay.”
Hatchet nose called after me. “I advise you to reconsider your position, Miss Watts.”
“Right back at you!”
I rushed into the ICU and Mark jumped up. “Didn’t go well?”
“Not hardly.” I looked in Mom’s room and she was trying to touch her thumb to her fingers on her left hand. It wasn’t working out.
“Any word on your father?”
“They’re not going to cough him up anytime soon,” I said.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
“When is the TEE scheduled?” I asked.
Mark checked the schedule. “Hard to say. Not before eleven. You really should be there for it.”
Missing the TEE wasn’t an option. Mom had to swallow a probe to test her heart from the back. It would be uncomfortable at best.
“I won’t miss it.”
“Sounds like you have a plan.”
“I’m going to give the FBI an incentive to give up my dad.”
Mark frowned at me. “How are you going to do that? They’re the government. They don’t care what you think. I’m a marine. I should know.”
“They don’t, but I can make them want what I have,” I said.
“What do you have?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Huh?”
“It’s an idea in progress.” I went in and gave Wallace a scratch. “Mom, I have to leave for a while.”
She looked up, startled. “No. I need you here.”
“You need Dad here.”
“Where is he?” Her lower lip trembled.
I took her left hand and rubbed it between mine. “I don’t know, but I have an idea on how to find out.”
“I don’t want you investigating.”
Bark.
“Nobody asked the dog,” I said.
Grr.
Mom smiled, sadly very lopsided. “I agree with the dog.”
Bark.
“You need Dad. He probably doesn’t even know. The FBI has no interest in telling us where he is.”
“Why are they keeping him from me?”
“Dad’s the best. I assume they have a reason for keeping him away from this investigation,” I said.
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“They took over the police investigation, too. Chuck’s off it.”
Mom started wringing her hands and Wallace crept onto her lap, nosing under her hands. “They’re covering something up. Chuck’s the only one to hold a candle to your father.”
“Hey. I don’t exactly suck,” I said, hands going to hips.
“I didn’t mean that.”
“So you think I can do this without Dad or Chuck?” I gave her the puppy dog eyes.
“Well…”
“You don’t think I can. I knew it.”
“Mercy, someone tried to kill me and…rape me,” Mom said and the trembling came back.
I hugged her. “I know, but I’m not going to sit here and do nothing.”
Mom gave me a sly look. “What are you going to do?”
I thought about it for a second. A good general rule was to tell Mom nothing. I learned that when I wanted to go to my first rave. Like an idiot, I told her where I was going and got grounded for two weeks just for thinking about it. But Mom couldn’t ground me anymore and she wanted Dad.
“I’m going out to Hunt.”
“No. That’s out of the question. Blankenship could be behind this.”
“That’s why I’m going.”
“No.”
“You want Dad. This is how to bring him back. I’ll get something the FBI wants,” I said with more confidence than I felt. Blankenship was slippery at best.
Mom said nothing and I knew I had her.
“I’ll take a bodyguard, if that helps.”
“Tiny?”
“Sure.”
She took my hand. “You promise?”
“I promise and I’ll be back for your test.”
“What test?”
<
br /> “Er…Mark will explain it. I’ve got to go if I’m going to get back in time.”
Mom agreed. Her need for Dad was overwhelming. It blinded her to my lie about Tiny. Normally, she never would’ve believed me on that. Carolina Watts take my word for something? Nope. Not gonna happen. Or maybe it was the stroke.
Whatever it was, I snuck out through the service exit and dashed down the stairs. I got away clean. Or so I thought.
Chapter Eight
I JOGGED THROUGH the hospital, trying to figure out the best place for an Uber to pick me up. It would cost an arm and three legs to have them drive me all the way out to Hunt, but it’d be worth it not to have Tiny or Fats dogging my every move. The thought of the two of them crammed together again was too gross to be considered.
The hospital lobby was nearly empty at six in the morning and a quick scan told me that nobody I knew was there. I hid behind a fichus and ordered an Uber to pick me up. I got the car description and a mere five-minute wait time. All I had to do was hang out and stay out of sight until a 2011 silver Camry showed up.
After three minutes, I broke down and got a latte. It was a dangerous move, but I was feeling good about it. No sense that I was being watched. No Dad feeling about something not being right. I was all good.
That is until the Camry pulled up and I went outside. My hand reached for the car door and an enormous hand wrapped around my wrist so fast, I didn’t have time to squeak.
“Going somewhere?” asked Fats.
“Dammit. Where did you come from?”
“I can’t give away all my secrets.”
“Let go. I ordered this car and I’m leaving.”
Fats didn’t let go. Nobody listens to me. “I’ll take you wherever you need to go. Calpurnia’s orders.”
“I’m good.” I tried to reach the door handle, but didn’t manage to move my hand an inch. Kinda depressing. I didn’t know I was that much of a weakling.
The window rolled down and a guy with a pair of thick glasses, greasy hair, and a washed out polo called out, “You ordered an Uber?”
“Yes,” I said.
“No,” said Fats.
“Did you order this car or not?” he asked, getting irritated and I didn’t blame him.
Fats leaned down and looked at him. He quickly retreated to his side of the car and gripped the steering wheel tightly.
“She ordered it, but she changed her mind,” said Fats.
“No, I didn’t,” I said.
Fats pulled out a hundred bucks and tossed it on the passenger seat. “Have a nice day.”
“Sweet,” said the Uber driver and he drove away with a squeal.
“Thanks a lot,” I said.
Fats steered me toward the closest parking lot. “You were going to go with that guy? He looks like every serial killer ever.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“I have one word for you. BTK.”
“That’s technically not a word,” I said. “It’s initials and hello, let go.”
She didn’t let go. She installed me in a Yukon Denali with a well-placed threat before getting in on the driver’s side. I thought about making a break for it. But who was I kidding? Fats would catch me and I’d end up where I started. I might as well save myself the trouble, so I sat back in the cushy seat as she pulled out.
“Where are we going?”
“Hunt Hospital for the Criminally Insane,” I said.
“Nailed it.” She held up her hand and another hand came from the backseat and high-fived her.
“What the…” I swiveled in my seat and there was Aaron, dwarfed by the expanse of leather—not that that was hard—and eating a puffy taco with molé sauce dripping onto his grubby jean shorts. “You kidnapped my partner?” I asked Fats.
“Not kidnapped. Picked up.”
“Is there really any difference with you?”
“Not much.” She paused. “No, no difference. I told him to get in the truck and he did. They always do.”
“Why did you get Aaron?” I asked.
“He’s your partner.”
I looked back at my partner and watched him try to lick sauce off his chin. He gave up after a second and left it there. “Well, I don’t know how you think he can help.”
Aaron reached over and dropped a paper bag in my lap.
“There’s that, for starters,” said Fats.
I opened the bag and luscious smells wafted out: Aaron’s homemade sausage, extra-creamy scrambled eggs made with heavy cream, no doubt, some kind of sheep’s milk cheese, and paper-thin tortillas.
“That there is the best breakfast burrito you’ll ever have,” said Fats. “I can’t believe I didn’t know about Kronos until last night.”
I groaned. “You went to Kronos.”
“Don’t worry. Everyone recognized me,” Fats said with a grin. Somehow, the combo of Wayfarer sunglasses, pale pink lipstick, and the big sock bun on top of her head made her seem more threatening instead of less.
“That’s swell.”
“I thought so.” She merged onto Highway 40 and flipped an aftermarket switch on the dash. There was a series of dings and then a green light flashed. Fats put on so much speed I was thrown back against the seat.
“What is that?” I asked a bit breathless.
“Newest generation of radar detector. Not available to the general public yet. Calpurnia knows a guy.”
“I wonder if he wants to know her.”
“Don’t you worry. He’s doing alright.” She turned on the stereo. “You like Ludacris?”
“Uh…”
Fats didn’t wait. Ludacris burst out of the speakers, making me feel like I was back in Sturgis surrounded by Harleys. I looked back at Aaron, who definitely did not seem like a Ludacris kind of guy and I was right about that. He had paper napkins sticking out of his ears and was writing furiously in his recipe notebook, apparently inspired by the driving beat.
He handed me two napkins without looking up and continued to write.
“Don’t be a wuss,” said Fats.
“Aaron’s a wuss,” I pointed out, desperately wanting to use my napkins. The music was rattling the windows.
“He’s a weirdo.”
“And I’m normal?” That didn’t seem right.
“Closer to it,” she said before singing, “I say move, you move.”
I didn’t stuff napkins in my ears. I’d probably regret it when I was seventy, but Fats gave me the stink eye and I caved, suffering the incredible clamor.
On the upside, we made it out to Hunt in record time. That happens when you’re driving a hundred and twelve miles an hour. I feared for my life, but I wasn’t about to complain. If we survived, I’d make it back to Mom in plenty of time for her TEE.
Fats pulled onto the long driveway and turned down Ludacris. “It’s like we’re going to a university. The psychos have it pretty nice.” Her head swiveled as she looked at the wide, manicured lawns, mature trees, and the main building that would’ve fit right in in the antebellum South. The razor wire and guard towers kinda ruined the effect though.
“I don’t think they let the psychos out to see it.”
“Good thinking. I hear they’ve got some real whack-a-dos out here.”
“Yeah, they do.” My stomach threatened to bring up Aaron’s excellent burrito with the thought of seeing Blankenship. Whack-a-do didn’t come close to covering that guy.
Fats stopped at the first gate and we got out. They ran metal detectors over us and asked for Fats’ ID. That was new. Of course, I usually came out alone and everyone with a TV knew who I was.
One guard took the ID and the other one told us to get back in. We drove through that gate and went through the process again with the addition of hand swabbing for explosive materials and a full check of the truck. They even checked the oil, which seemed over the top, but Fats didn’t seem to think so.
The second set of gates opened and the guard handed back Fats’ ID. We drove through and up to the ma
in building.
“What was that about?” I asked Fats.
“Checking to see if I have any warrants out.”
“Er…”
She snorted. “Please. I’m cleaner than you.”
“I don’t find that comforting,” I said.
“As a cop’s daughter, you shouldn’t, but it’s the way it is.”
“What does your ID say?”
“Mary Elizabeth Licata.”
I looked at the ceiling. “This is so going to get back to my dad.”
“Maybe not. Nothing popped on me.”
“I guess as long as they don’t tell the director, I might get away with it.”
“Do you really care?” she asked. “You’ve got to do this.”
I thought about Mom, sitting in her hospital bed all alone. “No. Not one bit.”
“Good. Glad to have you on board.” She inclined her head to the right. “FBI.”
I followed her gaze. Sure enough, there were two men loitering by the visitor’s entrance, smoking cigarettes and gnawing on long strips of jerky.
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
“Well, you can’t come in. They might know you.”
“It’s the FBI. They know me alright. I don’t exactly blend.”
“I guess not. I wonder if they’ll tell my father about you?”
“Depends,” said Fats.
“On what?”
“On how they feel about him.”
“Well, they’re keeping him on the down-low instead of telling him about my mom.”
She parked and gave them a finger wave. “Then you’re probably good for now, but they’ll blackmail you later.”
“Swell.”
“Feds. What are you going to do?”
“Back soon, I hope.”
She nodded and pulled a battered copy of Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian out of the zebra-striped backpack at my feet.
“Do you understand that book?” I asked as I got out. I’d tried to read it once in college. It cramped my brain.
“Not yet, but I’ll get it.”
“Good luck,” I said.
“You, too.” Fats started reading and I walked straight to the FBI. They were both young, blond, and handsome in a bland sort of way. I wondered if the Feds decided that they might get some cooperation if a more pleasant package was asking. Obviously, they hadn’t done their homework on me. I didn’t cooperate that well with anyone, even Chuck, and he was super-hot.
