Up the road was beach parking. Lots of cars. Lots of spaces. From there they were only two minutes away from where the wacko was hiding. They found the house, 22 Lagoon Road. Kaplan pulled up in front and cut his engine.
He said to Lockwood, “Let’s get out nice and slow. Let the guy look us over so he sees we’re not cops."
“He’ll know we’re not cops. He expects us.”
“He also has a shotgun and is maybe a bit tense.” Kaplan lowered his voice. “Here’s a plan.”
“I make the plans.”
“Okay, then here’s an option for you to consider. We wait until the guy waves us in. You introduce yourself, then you introduce me. I shake his hand, I hold on, and you shoot him.”
“That’s good, I guess. Except first shut the door.”
No shit, thought Kaplan. “Good suggestion. Where’s my head?”
“Give a tap on the horn. We don’t have all day.”
“Oh, damn. On your left. Is that him?”
A man was approaching, dressed in golfing attire. He had come from behind a thick bamboo hedge that ran from the side of the garage to the street. The man had a golf bag slung over his shoulder.
Lockwood’s hand went to the gun that was still in his bag. He said, “Yeah, I think. What’s with the golf?”
Arnold Kaplan was almost too stunned to speak. The man walking toward them looked ridiculous. He wore powder blue shorts that showed bone-white legs. His golf shirt was pink and his jacket was yellow. He wore a floppy hat, orange, that said “Cincinnati Bengals.” The clubs in his bag had those novelty headcovers. On his longest club, his driver, was a fluffy orange tiger. Another club had one of those happy face things. On his feet were two-tone golf shoes that clacked on the driveway. His face and hands were dotted with little round band-aids. He gave them a look that said, “You must be the underlings.” Lockwood spoke first. He said, “You’d be Crow?”
“I am Mister Crow. Are we ready?”
“Ready for what? You were supposed to wait inside.”
“You would be Lockwood. The description was accurate. I was not told this other man’s name.”
Kaplan was busy scanning their surroundings in the hope that no one would see this. Slowly, reluctantly, he got out of the car. Lockwood said, “This is Kaplan. Now answer my question. What’s going on with the golf?”
Crow frowned. “You said Kaplan? That’s a Jew name, is it not?”
“It’s an alias,” said Kaplan. “Don’t sweat it.”
“Why are you dressed in such gaudy attire? Why not a suit and tie like your associate?”
Kaplan couldn’t believe this. It’s the pot and the kettle. Lockwood said, “Hey, look. Never mind what we’re wearing. What the hell are you doing standing out in the open, especially in an outfit like that?”
“When in Rome, of course. Don’t you realize where you are? There are golf courses everywhere one looks on this island. There are thousands of men who are dressed in this manner. It makes an effective disguise.”
“Except here,” said Kaplan, “they understand mix and match. You look like some hick from Ohio.”
“Ohio. Precisely.” Crow did not seem offended. Just the opposite. He seemed pleased with that appraisal. He said, “These garments belonged to a man from Ohio. They flock to this place from that state for some reason. All the wiser to adopt their taste in costume, don’t you think?”
“What’s all over your face?” Kaplan asked. “That the windshield?”
“Not any longer. These are bee stings.”
“Come again?”
“Or should I say they’re from wasps? Either one. Doesn’t matter. I am reminded that golfers are stung on occasion while hunting lost balls among the trees. So if anyone should wonder what I’m doing at the hospital, I will answer that I have come there from the golf course in order to have these stings treated.”
Lockwood stood blinking. “What is this about a hospital?”
“The devil’s spokesman still lives. But we’ll see to that, won’t we? Everything that I’ll need is in this golf bag.”
Kaplan asked, “This spokesman…you mean the TV guy, right?”
Crow narrowed his eyes. He was studying Kaplan. “You look and sound Jewish. Are you sure you’re not Jewish?”
“See, that’s part of the act. Like you and your bees. Fact is, my name’s O’Malley, Southern Baptist, Jesus loves me. Now, tell me…you intend to try for Ragland again?”
“Of course. That’s why you’re here.”
“Who says?”
“Mr. Poole.”
“Wait a minute,” said Lockwood. “No one said that to me. We’re only here to help you get away.”
“Where they’ll never find you,” Kaplan added with a smile. “And now that we’ve met, I can’t wait.”
Kaplan could have done without saying that, he realized. His meaning, however went over Crow’s head. But Crow would catch on in another few minutes if they ever got this turkey off the street.
The Jesus guy said, “Yes, but first you must assist me. My work isn’t finished. All you two need do is create a diversion while I finish what poor Leonard started. Oh, and first I’ll need you to locate his room.”
Lockwood turned to Kaplan. “Who’s Leonard?” he asked.
“Vern…please. Not now. Not out here.”
“He’s the other guy, right? The one who’s a vedge? He’s the one the girl stuck with the knife.”
“Vernon…not now, for Christ’s sake.”
But Lockwood already had got Crow’s attention. “What girl?” he asked, startled. “A woman did that?”
“We’ll tell you all about it inside,” Kaplan answered. He started to walk toward the house. “Front door open?”
Crow shook his head. “No, go through the garage. But first answer my question. Are you saying that some barroom tramp attacked Leonard?”
“Yeah, that’s it pretty much.” Kaplan shot a hard glare at Lockwood, asking him, please, if they could leave it at that. He lifted the nearest of the two garage doors. He saw the Dodge van with Ohio plates. It had two bikes leaning against it. Inside, he saw luggage and groceries strewn about. Another set of golf clubs. A couple of beach chairs. The keys were still in the ignition. He said, “Let’s all get in here before someone sees this. Mr. Crow, would you show me to the bathroom?”
“Off the kitchen.”
“Would you show me? I’m suddenly not feeling so good.”
All Kaplan wanted was to get this man indoors. Never mind the front hall. Shove him into a bathroom. Throw him into the shower, pop him once in the head, then open some arteries to let the guy drain. That’s poetic, come to think of it. This way, he dies kosher. He dies fast and easy; the shower cleans the mess; it makes chopping him up that much easier.
This was Kaplan’s new plan until Lockwood started thinking. You can tell Lockwood’s thinking when he suddenly has lips. He starts pushing at them with his tongue. Lockwood said, “Wait a minute. You don’t know about Whistler?”
“Vernon…do you mind? Get him into the garage.”
The Jesus guy asked, “Who is Whistler? Who’s this girl?” But he did step through the overhead door. At least he was out of public view.
“Whistler is the one who tried to shoot you last night.” Lockwood said this as Kaplan pulled the door down and shut. “He’s the one who gave you all your bee stings from the glass. The girl is the one who knifed whatzizname… Leonard. She should not have done that to poor Leonard.”
Kaplan glared at him again. “Hold that thought, okay, Vernon? First I need him to show me the bathroom.”
Crow’s eyes had become slits. “Where are these people now?”
Lockwood turned to Kaplan. “It’s only right he should know.” He said this in all innocence, as in what’s fair is fair.
Kaplan had enough. “No, I’ll tell you what’s right. What’s right is we do what we’re paid for, okay? Vern, I know you. I don’t like where this is going.”
L
ockwood said, “Hold your water. Let me think.”
This man thinking, thought Kaplan, was never good news. He was going to tell Crow about Whistler and his boat. He was thinking what we’ll do is show him the boat. He was thinking, “Aubrey said don’t touch Whistler, so we don’t. We let this guy whack him, both him and the girl, and then, after that, we finish Crow.”
Sure enough, Lockwood said, “They’re still around. They’re on a boat.”
“You will point them out to me?”
“My pleasure,” said Lockwood.
“But the hospital first. Those two will have to wait.”
Kaplan couldn’t help asking, “What did you have in mind? You waltz into this hospital and blast him?”
“So to speak,” Crow answered. He patted his golf bag. “As I’ve said, I have everything I need.”
“So, what’s in there?”
“My shotgun, of course, and I’ve made us some sandwiches. I’ve brought a thermos of milk for myself and two bottles of Snapple Iced Tea. I’m sure that you’re accustomed to a proper lunch, but we may find ourselves pressed for time.”
“Good planning,” said Kaplan. “Never short-change nutrition.”
“There is also my scanner to keep track of the police. There’s some literature that I wish to distribute while we are departing the hospital. Oh, and of course the explosives.”
Lockwood’s eyes came to life. “You got explosives?”
“Three bombs. They should suffice. They use thermite. Very hot. I assembled them while I was waiting for you.”
“And how do you plan to deliver these bombs?”
“As I’ve told you, I will need you to create a diversion so that I can get near Ragland’s room. You will do that by setting off one of these bombs. They’re quite safe; they have timing devices. I will then use the bigger one on Ragland himself. That explosion will create still another diversion. I will then make my way to poor Leonard’s bed. You will have located it for me. I have decided to use the third bomb, if needed, to send Leonard to the glory that awaits him.”
Kaplan said, “I need that bathroom. Come show me.”
Lockwood knew what this meant. He said, “Wait. Hold your water.”
Screw this, thought Kaplan. He would pop the guy right here. He said, “Vern, back away a few feet.” You don’t want this schmuck’s brains on your suit.
Lockwood said, “Will you wait? We got new options here.” He asked Crow, “You got stuff for more bombs?”
“Only these.”
“But you don’t need all three for the hospital, right? For your guy, all you do is pull a plug.”
“That or a pillow. I’ve considered a pillow.” Then Crow almost smiled. “I can see what you’re proposing.”
“One for the boat. We keep one for the boat.”
“Vern...don’t do this.”
“I’m just thinking,” said Lockwood. “You don’t like it, go inside.”
“Screw it. I’ll wait in the car.”
TWENTY SIX
The campus of the Hilton head Medical Center was a sprawling, modern-looking affair that was located close to the airport. There were several low buildings that housed Doctors’ offices. There were two larger structures at the campus’s core. One of these housed facilities for treating outpatients; the other was the actual hospital.
Whistler had made several passes in the Taurus, getting a feel for the campus. He looked for unusual activity. He saw none. Just patients and visitors coming and going. No police presence that he could see. It was quieter than he’d expected.
Whistler patted his pockets. “Did you bring the cell phone?”
“No. Did you forget it?”
He answered with a dismissive grunt. The cell phone, he thought darkly, must have slipped his mind as Claudia went charging up the slip with the M-87 in her hand. He spotted a sign for a public phone at the entrance of the outpatient building. He pulled up to it, got out, and called the hospital building. He asked what room Ragland was in.
The operator told him that she’d been instructed not to give out that information. She said that the Raglands were not taking calls, but that he could leave a message if he wished.
“No visitors either?” Whistler asked hopefully.
“Only those pre-announced and approved.”
“Does that include the press?”
“I think especially the press.”
“Well, how is he doing? Is he still in ICU?”
“Sir, I can tell you that he’s listed as stable. That’s all I’m permitted to say.”
Whistler thanked the operator and broke the connection. He returned to the car and told Claudia what she’d said. He said, “So there you have it. No visitors.”
“Adam, she said without prior approval. They’ve both asked to see us. That means we’re approved.”
“But we’re not pre-announced. We’re not going to be either. We wouldn’t know what we’re walking into.”
“Adam…park the car. You can wait in the car.”
“You’re not going in there alone.”
“Then come with me.”
He said, “Hold it. You promised that you’d do as I ask.”
“Not when you’re going to look for every tiny little reason to keep me from seeing him, Adam. I mean, those people you used to go after…didn’t some of them have ‘No Trespassing’ signs? Would you have said, ‘Well, that’s that,” and gone home?”
“Big difference, Claudia. What I did was…never mind. If you want to go in by yourself, go ahead.”
“You’ll follow me anyway, so come.”
Another lost argument. But this time she was right. He would not have let her out of his sight. He picked a parking spot that was near the main entrance, one that wouldn’t be easy to block in.
As with most hospitals, the building had two entrances. The main entrance was more like that of a hotel, designed to seem inviting and comforting. Double doors led in to a lobby area that was furnished with comfortable chairs. Off the lobby were the gift shop and snack bar. A reception desk stood at the far end. Two pleasant-looking women sat behind it. Volunteers. Their job was directing visitors to patients or to say that no visitors were allowed. He had probably just spoken to one of them.
Claudia had begun to approach the double doors. Whistler said, “Wait, we’re not going in that way.”
“Do you see metal detectors? I don’t.”
He said, “I don’t either, but they might be built-in. We’ll walk down and around to the Emergency Room entrance. Look worried and they won’t even notice us.”
That had always seemed true of Emergency Rooms. Look sick, you’re a patient. Look worried, you’re a relative. No one will bother to ask who you’re there for. At most, they will point you to the waiting room. The doors almost never had detection devices. Too many policemen coming through at all hours. Too much urgency to worry about security.
As Whistler had hoped, no one paid them much attention. They walked directly through the waiting room and past Intensive Care. Beyond was an elevator bank. Near the elevator doors he found a directory that listed the various wards. The Trauma ward was two levels up.
He said to Claudia, “You remember the rules.”
“I look for his room. If he has company I keep going.”
“And if he’s guarded?”
“You’re hoping he will be, but he won’t be, Adam. Because if he is, I have to abort. But I’m supposed to see him, so he won’t be.”
Whistler sighed. No use arguing. He pressed the button.
The elevator stopped on the main entrance floor. A visiting family was waiting to get on along with an aide who was pushing a wheelchair. Whistler and Claudia backed up to make room. He heard a voice from the corridor say, “Would you hold the door, please.” His heart sank when he thought he heard a faint British accent. He thought, no, this couldn’t be happening.
He was staring at the floor when the woman stepped on. Sure enough, it was Olivia Ragland. She sti
ll wore the dress that she’d had on the night before. She was carrying a small plastic bag from the gift shop in addition to an oversized purse. The bag seemed to contain a number of toiletries. A tube of Colgate toothpaste showed through it. She also carried a number of pink message slips that she must have picked up from the reception desk. Phone calls, no doubt, from family and friends and probably some from reporters. She smiled as she thanked the nurses’ aide who’d held the door. She barely glanced at the others in the back of the car before turning and facing the doors as they closed.
Whistler reached to take Claudia’s arm. He squeezed it and held it as if to say, “Stay back. Don’t get off when she does.” But Claudia, at that moment, reached with her free hand and lightly touched Mrs. Ragland’s shoulder.
Whistler groaned, perhaps audibly. He looked skyward, helpless.
Ragland’s wife turned. She met Claudia’s eyes. Her expression was one of shocked recognition that quickly softened into something like awe. Whistler realized in that instant that Ragland’s wife knew that the knife had come from Claudia’s hand.
She whispered, “I’m so glad. I’m so glad that you came.” She added, “You, too, Adam. Nice to see you again. You don’t remember me, do you?”
The door to the third floor slid open.
TWENTY SEVEN
Kaplan’s first thought as he slid behind the wheel was to start up this sucker and go. Go back to beach parking, get his own car and split. He’d be doing himself a big favor. He would also, however, kiss off the ten grand that was coming to him for doing Crow.
Another thought was, go back in and shoot him. That way, he’d be doing a favor for Lockwood, but Lockwood, at first, might not see it that way. Lockwood just might pull his own gun and shoot him. No, wait. Lockwood couldn’t. Lockwood’s gun and his silencer were still in his carry-on. The dick-head was in there unarmed.
Armed or not, thought Kaplan, he would still be pissed off. Lockwood might wait until they finished chopping Crow and he’d say, “Sorry, Arnie. You go in the hole with him. You shouldn’t have forgot who’s in charge.”
Whistler's Angel (The Bannerman Series) Page 27
