Yew to a Kill

by Kim Smith

“Dwayne’s been shot, meet me at Baptist. And send the troops to the cemetery. There will be a bunch of caskets and one body.”

  “Oh fuck.”

  I think that was the first time I had ever heard Sal use the “F” word.

  ###

  Baptist Hospital’s emergency room was pretty full for a mid-week evening. I supposed the rush hour and the happy hour crowd were the reason. I pounded on the glassed-off partition to get the attention of the lady behind it. She looked up, startled. Then she shoved it back, scowling. “Yes?”

  “He’s hurt, shot, get somebody quick,” I said, voice failing me. I was half-holding him up, half-keeping pressure on his arm to quell the bleeding, and the longer we stood, the more he slumped.

  I grabbed his head and tried to get him to focus. “Dwayne? Come on, buddy, don’t pass out on me now. I can’t hold onto dead weight.”

  “Don’ wanna be dead,” he muttered.

  I didn’t know if it was shock or loss of blood. I was not anywhere close to a medical student in college and refused to watch cable ER shows.

  “Hang on, sweetie,” I cooed as I saw white-clad hospital employees rushing toward us with a wheelchair. They helped me get him situated in the chair and then they whisked him away. I started to follow, but knew I needed to be available to Sal.

  “I’ll be right there,” I assured him as they fled through the swinging doors.

  I walked back to the front of the ER and waited on Ramirez. While I waited, I tried to make sense of what had happened. The only thing that came to mind was how bizarre it was caskets were being stolen through a hole in the fence of Scott’s cemetery.

  Now, of course, the cops would have to listen to him about his tales at the crypts.

  The nurse behind the partition called out “hey lady” a few times before I realized she was talking to me.

  I turned. “Yes?”

  “I need a little information about your friend.” I walked over. “Sure.”

  “You said it was a gunshot wound?”

  I nodded.

  “We have to report it, you know.”

  The look on her face was one of detached observer. She was just doing a job.

  I relaxed a tiny bit. “Yes. I actually already did that.”

  About that time, Sal entered. “And here come the police now,” I told her, pointing at the fast approaching detective. “Look, the patient’s name is Dwayne Brown. He doesn’t have insurance. At least, I don’t think he does.”

  She looked about ready to read me the riot act over no insurance when Sal strode up and put an arm around my shoulders.

  “Is he allergic to anything?” the lady asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I answered.

  Sal leaned closer so the woman could see his shield. “We need to go in with the patient. She’ll answer these questions once we get updated on his condition.”

  She nodded and buzzed us back.

  Sal held the door, and I hurried through. I was about to ask directions of the nearest nurse at the nurse’s station until I heard a loud curse coming from the last cubicle on the right. It had to be Dwayne. No one else would use such awful language in a hospital.

  I peered around the pulled curtain. A large black woman with dyed red hair, in a color Dwayne would christen magenta, tended him. Her back was to me, but I could see she was trying to apply pressure to the still-bleeding arm.

  I walked to the other side and Sal joined me. Not looking at Dwayne’s injury was as hard as not looking at the cars in a tangle after a wreck.

  “Shannon, tell her to stop,” Dwayne moaned. “She’s fuckin’ killin’ me.”

  “Naw, honey. If I wanted to kill you, you’d be drinking that Betadine, not wearing it,” she told him, jutting her chin at the nearby bottle.

  Uh oh. He’d met his match.

  “Brown,” Sal said. “What the hell have you done, man?”

  “This is gonna hurt a little,” the nurse said. Dwayne closed his eyes and grimaced as she poked around the hole.

  A long string of muffled curses filled the air and tears ran as he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain.

  “I’ll fill you in on it all later,” I told Sal. No need to let all the details flow with strangers present. “Suffice it to say, he saved my life.”

  “I’m going to go get the doctor. Do not move off that bed,” the nurse instructed Dwayne.

  He said in a hoarse voice, “Like I’m able to go somewhere?” When she left, he added, “Bitch.”

  “Dee!”

  “Well, she is. She hurt me and enjoyed doin’ it.” He looked at me with pain-filled eyes.

  “But you just faced down a gunman. You mean to tell me a little old nurse bothers you?” I kidded him.

  He blinked and blinked again.

  I looked at him closely. He seemed to be fading. “Did they give you something for the pain?”

  “Dunno. I...” And he was out. A second nurse entered and took up tending him as though she knew what the game was. I wondered if this hadn’t been a planned way to get him still enough to treat him.

  “Damn,” I said. “Took him right out.”

  “Fast-acting,” Sal agreed, shrugging.

  I patted the sheets on my side. “Come on, let’s go somewhere private so I can tell you what happened.”

  He followed me out. I went back to the ER waiting area for lack of somewhere better to go. We sat on hard plastic chairs off to the far side of the room from the door.

  “What happened?” Sal asked.

  “We were staked out in Scott’s cemetery watching for the vandals. I wanted to try and get a better video shot than I got the other night. I figured since Rafe was there the last time, there was a chance he might return. Especially since Bubba was being buried there.” I paused, waiting to see if he would interrupt. He couldn’t avoid the fact Rafe was interested in other men.

  Sal scrubbed his face with his hands as if coming to the same conclusion. “Go on.”

  “Well, we saw a dark car park close to where we were, and some guys got out and walked to the little forest in back of the cemetery, pretty much the same place as the other night. We followed them, expecting to catch them doing something, though neither of us had a clue what that would be. And I actually left the camera in the car after Dwayne suggested we go with our hands free, so I have no footage to show anyone of the whole event. Good thing, though, as I ended up needing both of my hands. I think Dwayne is psychic,” I rambled.

  He stopped me with a wave of his hand, and gave me a patient look. “Getting off-track a little, Shan.”

  I nodded. “So we go out there and we ended up finding a huge hole cut in the fence and a stack of caskets back there about to be shoved through it. While our backs were turned, one of the goons came up behind us and drew down. Dwayne, like, threw himself into the guy, and the gun went off.”

  Sal sat back. “Brave fellow, our Mr. Brown. He’s damn lucky. That shot could have gone through his thick skull. Did you get a good look at the shooter?”

  “Not really. It was too dark and it happened too fast. I mean, after the gun went off, Dwayne was like, pounding the guy’s head into the ground. The dude quit fighting after a minute of that,” I said, swallowing hard. “Th-then we hauled out of there like the Hounds of Hell were on our heels because those guys were rushing at us. That shot was like a doorbell, I guess. They all poured out of there, chasing us.”

  “Okay,” he answered, closing his eyes in thought. “Okay.”

  I watched as he struggled with some inner demon, but kept my peace.

  “I’m going to go make a call to see if there is any news. I sent a couple of cars after you called in. Maybe somebody has them in custody,” he finished with tired finality. As he stood he muttered something that sounded like Jesus and loco.

  I couldn’t agree more. This was a strange night.

  He walked away to a pay phone in a small alcove. I saw the nurse gesturing to me. I supposed she still had questions that had to be answ
ered since Dwayne was passed out. I stood and took two steps before realizing I was totally hammered. Weariness flooded my senses. Stumbling over to her, I struggled to maintain.

  Once I finished answering all the questions, signing all the forms, checking on Dwayne again, and going to the bathroom, Sal got off the phone. He motioned to me to come back over to our little corner. I complied.

  “Sit down,” he commanded. I gave him a small smile. He didn’t seem quite the happy camper.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Tell me again what happened.”

  I frowned. No time to argue, I filled him in yet again with the story of the evening.

  “You didn’t leave anything out?”

  I shook my head. “Why would I do that? Dwayne could have been killed. I would never do that.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t get it. Dan said when they got there, the guy who shot Dwayne was gone. No caskets to be found, and the hole had been covered up by a dumpster shoved against it.”

  “No man? No caskets?”

  He shook his head, and judging by the look on his face, the strangeness of the night could only get better from here.

  Chapter Nine

  The hospital decided to keep Dwayne overnight for observation. The bullet had entered and exited without doing much damage other than a hole in the meaty part of his upper arm. Probably the only meaty part on his whole skinny body. He would be without the use of his left hand for a while, and he would be a total terror to anyone who tried to baby him, but he was going to be okay.

  After he gave a statement to Sal and received a shot of something to dope him up again, our visit wasn’t worth writing home about. I promised to return bright and early to pick him up, and we left.

  Sal followed me to The Delicate Petal so I could return the van. I put the camera in my tote and dumped them in the passenger seat of my car.

  “You sure you don’t want me to just drive you home?” he asked. “It’s no trouble.”

  “Nah, I need to think. I do my best thinking in my car, stereo up, windows down.”

  “Well, don’t keep the windows down tonight. You’re in enough trouble already. Don’t need a ticket for noise, too. I’ll follow you, just to be sure you make it in one piece.”

  He got back in his green Taurus and patiently waited for me at to lead the way. He’d been really quiet since getting word that nothing was left of substance at the cemetery, and on the ride to my apartment, I considered what that meant. Jason Scott would have to do a thorough inventory of his caskets and report to Sal personally now. Someone had them, but why?

  I called Sal on his cell and posed this very question.

  “Who knows why? But if he is missing caskets, that substantiates your story and proves a theft occurred. Then we can relieve you and Dwayne of your duties as detectives. No sense in your continuing to visit the graveyard in hopes of finding evidence to support his case. Really didn’t think that was such a good idea anyway.”

  This statement didn’t thrill me. Now I wanted to play detective. Dwayne had nearly been killed thanks to a stack of stashed body boxes, and I wanted to know why.

  “Well, I hope you’re going to keep us informed if you find out who was responsible for shooting Dwayne.”

  He muttered something about the public and right to know. I hung up and turned on my signal at the driveway to the apartments. After I pulled into my slot and waved at him to let him know I had made it, he took the hint and drove off. Knowing him, he would probably just double back and park once I was inside.

  I took my gear out of the trunk. Tripods are dangerous. The heavy end dangled down, and the legs opened out like an umbrella, mangling my fingers. I screamed and cussed a blue streak before getting them out of the grip of the torture device. Then I looked around to see if anyone heard me, shoved my aching fingers in my mouth, and continued on. Throwing the offensive thing across the parking lot crossed my mind, but I refrained.

  Once I had the tote with the camera in it over my shoulder, I picked up the tripod once again, and headed for the peace of home. Well, the peace I would have once I found myself safely locked inside my apartment. I glanced around for some mysterious slinky figure lying in wait to do me harm. Too much had happened not to be alert.

  The darkness didn’t help my nerves, but hefting the tripod gave me courage. A tripod could be a great weapon. Dwayne had used it on a purse-snatcher at the mall one time and made a believer out of the guy. Nothing sinister appeared, so I hustled across the lot. I was almost to the curb by the door, when a shadow passed my peripheral vision and a second sense kicked in making me look up.

  “Who’s there?” I shouted. My voice was hoarse with exhaustion and maybe a bit of fear. I strained to see into the shadows of the bushes, the dumpster, the cars.

  Nothing.

  I hurried, nearly running to the stairs. Was that the scuffle of feet behind me? I strained to hear. If it was, they were going the wrong way. I stopped at the stairs and tried to catch my breath. My heart pounded so hard I saw stars. No one was coming. No one stalked me. Or if they did, they had changed their mind.

  I started climbing, keys in my hand, intent on getting inside my apartment and locking the door, until I remembered I hadn’t locked my car. The clicker battery was dead and I had to lock it with the key. I had been too busy trying to fend off the tripod to lock the door.

  “Damn it!”

  I jogged to my apartment, unlocked the door, threw the gear inside the foyer, locked the door, and ran back to my car.

  Well, where my car used to be. Now, there was just an empty slot. Just like the movie Gone in Sixty Seconds, a car thief had made off with old Betsy, and I stood turning circles wondering what else could go wrong.

  How did this even happen? Hotwiring a car couldn’t be THAT easy!

  My cell clock said three AM Thursday, and I didn’t argue. I dialed South Lake PD, and after assuring Sal I was not hurt, and didn’t need special attention, he sent out a pair of uniformed officers to take my statement. I answered all the questions asked, and locked the door and all the windows after they left. This was the worst thing that could happen right now. Being without a car was like being without arms and legs.

  I had to be able to go places. I had no food in the house, my cable bill was due, and I always took it to the bank (which was also a cable bill paying place), and worst of all, I had promised to pick Dwayne up.

  No other choice. I had to rent a car at least for a short while. But I had to have a way to get to the car rental place. Could my sucky luck get any suckier? I called the Mamas and was assured that I could get a ride to the car place in the morning. I cringed when I hung up. I hated being a burden. Even when they assured me I wasn’t, I felt like I was.

  Disgruntled, I plopped on the couch, remote in my hand, trying to decide between old reruns of Andy Griffith or reruns of the national news. Andy must have won out; I vaguely recalled hearing a plaintive “Aunt Bea!” just as I fell into dreamless sleep.

  When the morning sun beamed down on me, slobbering in sleep on the sofa, I rubbed my eyes, stretched until I nearly pulled a calf muscle, and sat up. I looked at my phone clock. 7:30 AM. I had only slept three hours at the most. This was ridiculous.

  I peered into the gloom of my living room. The first thing to greet me was my tote bag tossed at the end of the sofa, oddly shaped thanks to the camera tucked away inside. The thought of anything as intense as watching a funeral on video at this ungodly hour gave my stomach reason to flip over, but I knew I needed to see that footage. It was too bad I’d left the camcorder in the van while Dee and I traipsed into the debacle that followed the funeral. My heart cringed thinking about how my friend was now in the hospital with a gunshot wound.

  I padded to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee, and popped a couple of toaster pastries in the toaster as well. Might as well eat and drink while doing the viewing. Properly armed with food and caffeine, I hooked the camcorder to my television with a few cables I kept stashed for s
uch a purpose.

  The first frame was a long shot of the viewing room. I panned faces as they stepped down from the dais where the casket sat, to walk to their seats. Everyone seemed normal. They all seemed genuinely sorrowful. By the time I had gone through the mourners and focused on the Thames family, it was nearly nine AM. I flipped it off with the remote, and gathered all the camera equipment together in one place for easy exit, and darted to the shower.

  I had to get moving. The early bird caught the best rental car. I hoped they had something sporty.

  Aunt Tillie drove me in her little blue Accord to the office to drop off the equipment and cameras, then to the rental car place in the quiet cove off Greenman Road. I climbed out, turning back to offer her money for gas. She refused emphatically and waved at me as she drove off in the direction of the restaurant.

  The young executive-looking type behind the Formica counter took all my information and offered me a deal for three days at a cost of nearly three hundred dollars. I tried not to take my disgruntled feelings out on him.

  I accepted the keys to a brand new dove-gray Frontier truck. I really didn’t want a truck, but no sporty compact car was to be had, and Dwayne was waiting.

  I dialed my insurance company as I drove to the hospital. The nice lady told me I had rental car coverage and the insurance would pay for the truck. I let out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t my Betsy, but it was definitely not bad. The many amenities of a new vehicle would be nice, but parking and maneuvering might not be.

  I pulled under the awning at the discharge area of the hospital, climbed out and went inside. I didn’t see Dwayne anywhere so I went to the elevators, punched in his floor number, and rode up to find him.

  He was sitting in a wheelchair watching television.

  “What are you doing?” I asked him, a grin plastering itself across my face. It was good to see him. Alive and whole.

  “Waiting on a ride. My stuff is over there,” he told me. I grabbed the white plastic bag full of papers and draped it over the handle of the wheelchair.

  “Hang on, mister, you’re in for the ride of your life.”