Sometimes a man can outsmart the little things and feel like he outsmart the big ones too.
Hospital.
Come in on a different street and see they got parkin’ scattered here and there. Building that size must got more but I don’t see it. Place feels closed in like the mountain didn’t want to give up the territory. I grab a space and sit facin’ the building. Watch. Lookabout.
See a man on a sidewalk got a brief case and the way his suit jacket lay, he’s carryin’. Black shoes need a shine. He walk brisk but easy, maybe a little more strut ’n I want to see in a lawman.
He stops like to enter a vehicle I can’t see and alla sudden a uniformed man’s standin’ next him. Musta got out a car already there.
They talk and the suit man step ’round to another vehicle and disappear. Now a dark green sedan back out.
I hunker.
Dumbass. I got the duds but act like a man with somethin’ to hide. Scooched low and nothin’ but the dash to see, I think on Chicago Mag’s chicken legs in the yellow stockings and realize if not for the yellow, hell, she mighta had good legs. Might be the yellow put the chicken in mind. Maybe a good look at her ass and I’d a not even thought about her legs.
All kinda ways a fella could approach the subject.
Get to speculating and it don’t take the mind’s eye more’n three second to get her in the sack. But I slow things down, even just in the imagination, on account the woman’s honor. I think up a good three-week courtship then scramblescrew her with my new boots on.
And here I am ready to risk my freedom on account these knuckleheaded girls don’t know how to lay low for three days without huntin’ down some pervert? I didn’t sign up for it. I was headed away, to safety and quiet. Lookin’ for the place to lay low and let things settle out. Searchin’ a way to live a regular life, unknown and camouflaged out somewhere the people don’t get up in each other’s business. Thought the girls was on the same page…
Well that ain’t the truth, I didn’t neither. I saw Corazon goin’ out clean and comin’ back bloody. She wasn’t volunteerin’ at the meat store.
One side of my mind I got Chicago Mags appropriately courted and claimed, and other side I got two young girls been dealt a hand of shit, so they pull fury from the marrow to fight the war they never sought. And just as I hear Chicago Mags whisper let me do something for you and see her disappear under a pile of poofed up covers, I spot Corazon with her head bandaged and tubes in her arms and nose, but both wrists cuffed to a stainless steel bed.
Duellin’ imaginations.
Mags, how ‘bout you keep doin’ what you’re doin’ while I noodle this.
“Magniferous Joseph, I be back when I know something ’bout the girls.”
Get out the car and reseat the hat. Cinch the bolo. Now I’m standin’ in the open I wonder if maybe a couple turquoise rings mighta been just the right touch. Without, I wonder if I still look too North Carolina for these parts. I don’t got the walk yet. Still got the lope comes from twenty years steppin’ five mile to town and back. Close the eyes and think a minute. Try agin. Short arm swing, stiff shoulders and head back.
All right. No sweat.
“Howdy.”
Copper sit in the car with the window down. They’s three more copper cars adjacent, none occupied.
“Morning,” he say.
Don’t give him more’n a nod. Folk who ain’t wanted in fifty states don’t look twice at coppers, so I won’t neither.
Chapter Twelve
Coppers all over the hospital grounds and I feel like a silver screen hero behint the enemy lines. Hold my jug a minute while I make this look easy.
Glass doors slide and they’s a woman in scrubs breezin’ left to right, walk with an arm trailin’ like she left a conversation afore the words finished what they was sayin’. But they’s no one there she was talkin’ to. I knew a woman once, like to put her forearm to her forehead. In the wild, it’s only the animals watched Gone with the Wind does it.
I can’t recall the last time I was in a hospital. Feel the punji wound in my leg; empathy for all the sufferin’ souls herein.
Poke about the lobby. Men, women, only one kid. They got a ruddy rainbow in skin; even the white folk is pretty well charred, like the sun and wind extract the hope and leave people lookin’ tired at they fates.
Back when my days was spent gulpin’ hooch an tendin’ fire I don’t recall bein’ quite so ornery all the time. But I never passed a week stone cold sober in North Carolina. Alcohol go a long way toward tampin’ things down. People like to say it’s the booze makes men fight, and I say the booze makes twice as many say fuckit, let’s sit here comfortable tellin’ lies.
Closer I get to the elevators, someone use Clorox recent.
Blast over the loudspeaker, lady wants Doctor Frenshaw right now.
Next second the space is so quiet I hear the squiggle of a rubber wheel on linoleum. While I nose about and find the cameras a uniformed cop enters and I’m next the elevator. He hold the door. Look at me. Raise the brow.
Grin like I’m half nuts. My usual demeanor is sane and kind and humble and I want to throw him off.
“No thank you. I’m just looking for good coffee.”
Two steps he’s got his ass blockin’ the elevator gate, arm out, pointer finger straight at the coffee vendor across the way.
He grin like he half nuts too, and I wonder.
“Thank you, officer. We appre — we uh. Shit. Obliged. Is all.”
Just glad Stinky Joe ain’t here to witness. Then think on it and I never once was so tongue tied when I derived most of my daily nutrition from a clear liquid.
Elevator door closes and I step back and watch the numbers. Stops at two, three and four.
I can’t say for certain this copper’s here for Tat or Corazon, but what I seen, Glenwood Springs ain’t accustomed to the violence we brought it and I bet they ain’t cops at the hospital every day.
So as not to be a liar I visit the coffee gal and buy a cup. Black with a pack of sugar though it ruin the taste. Them 16 calories’ll be handy if I need to run.
Elevator opens and a nun walk out. I likely got a better grasp of the electric eel than a nun.
Drink coffee and watch the elevator lights. Four’s lit.
Ding.
Door opens.
Another cop in uniform.
That puts the girls on four. Or one of ’em on four.
Wish I knew the regular goin’s on at hospitals; I got no sense of how to not look like a hick. In the woods I walk easy, but get me in one of these four story skyscrapers where I got no exit and no ken of the ways, the scrotum’s tight as a mushroom cappin’ through the dirt.
I get into the elevator and the door closes. I wait. Nothin’.
Press the floor button.
Stinky Joe ain’t even here and I hear him.
I press 4 and wait.
My weight change, the door opens and the space in front is empty. I step out and do a quick turn to get my bearings.
I’m lost.
To the left the hallway just goes. They’s black squiggles on the linoleum. Seems dimmer that way, like a florescent or three is out or the bulbs is twenty years old. To the right the hall corners left, and I go that way ’cause it’s brighter and people keep the bulbs fresh where they work.
Around the corner up ahead is a long desk station where nurses can sit and talk to people like me, ’cept they’s no nurses. On the right is the doors to the hospital rooms, all open.
Anybody looks at me, all he’ll see is a man who knows in one minute he’ll be at the other end of the hallway, where he belong.
Hands in the pockets, I stroll. Ambient juice on the arms dissipate so I notice the lack.
Empty floor?
First three rooms on the right is unoccupied but a sound like a chair drug on the floor clue me to the next room. Slow the pace and half-turn the head. I pass and keep walkin’, take a mental picture from half of one eye.
Tat’s eyes is closed. She got tubes in her arms. Machines and monitors with lights. Cables and tubes make a mess of the wall behind her. Right wrist in a handcuff locked to the bed frame. Sides of the bed is like a crib so she don’t roll out.
Next the door is a uniform cop. Two-days’ hair since his head shave. Skin so pale the blue veins make him look smart and go with his uniform. If his eyes is blue they’ll stick this starch-pressed rookie on the recruitment poster.
He don’t have to look at me; His head’s already swiveled with the right hand loiterin’ next his hip. Saw all that just glidin’ by.
Stop.
I step back to the room and stand in the entry. “That ain’t my daughter.”
Cop says, “No.”
“How you know?”
“Pardon?”
His eyes stay narrow.
My first thought was they put the rookie on the job nobody want. Now I suspect they put a hotshot rookie on the job who won’t fall asleep. He ain’t the average donut eater.
“Nevermind, I was lost in thought. Say... This the girl from the accident on the news, other day?”
Tat rolls in her bed and the handcuff rattles on stainless steel crib. She opens her eyes.
I hold my breath. Hairs rise and tickle. The cage gets tight on the heart and I wait her out.
Tat’s mouth is froze. She’s just come out a good knockout — fear flash in her eyes — they flit to the handcuff and then the cop and I get a voltage on the arms like to fry a circuit and Tat’s eyes shift red like to menace a demon. She see me and the eyes narrow and the red fades quick. I can almost feel her heartbeat settle as the glow dissipates and once her pupils is black the juice is gone and I take the conclusion she was set to panic but her soul settled on sight of me.
Don’t even give her a wink. I just love her with all I got, like one time we was foolin’ around and she said, “pretend you love me,” and I let go all the shit what’s usually in the head while I’m screwin’ and pressed my forehead to hers and damn near cried I loved her so much.
Any more thinkin’ like that I’ll be hand cuffed too.
Cop never answer if she’s the girl from the accident. He got me in the gaze and the man with the state-given authority to shoot people runs his next steps through the academy training he just got, while it’s fresh in his noggin.
He lifts his look from my snappy snakeskin boots and holds my eye.
“Who is asking?”
“Me.”
“I’ll need to see some I.D.”
“For saying hello? Make perfect sense. You want to get yours out too?”
Fetch my wallet and hope that skizzy Mrs. Jubal White ain’t had occasion to utter Alden Boone to the law since I left her on the hill with her man dead on the driveway below. Give the officer the fake license Cinder acquired on my behalf. “Alden Boone.”
Cop study the plastic. Looks at the fluorescent. “Got a glare.”
“I’m like you,” says I.
He looks. “Pardon?”
“I’ll take an incandescent bulb any day of the week.”
Youngblood Cop holds my driver license to the light. He study the picture then me. Turn the card edgewise and run his thumb over the trim. Study the back like it’s penned in Morse and he forgot which letter the dot stand for.
He flips the license in his fingers so it lodges ’tween pointer and index and reaches it to me, but not all the way. This boy’s bounced the local bar. I step closer and take the license easy like I don’t give a shit. Slip it to the pocket without pullin’ the money clip — though if he saw a bunch of green maybe he’d buy the duds and presentation.
Money clip got a bunch of hundreds. I tuck the license on top a grocery store card. Let him see the green a long second.
“Yes, sir,” the young cop says. “That’s the girl from the news. Are you family?”
Money made me a sir.
“I said she ain’t my daughter. I’m lookin’ my daughter.”
He’s silent.
Most men, you say some nonsense and let it hang, most men’ll fill the silence after. Not youngblood. He watch ’til I wonder whether he’s off a forty mils on everything or if I’m pickin’ up the signals of a man can use his head.
“I saw a girl with a law officer on guard and thought she was the one from the Channel Five news last night, is all.”
Youngblood don’t change his look but give a slight nod.
“She’s the one from the news. One of them.”
“Don’t look too bad. Why ain’t she in jail?”
“Give it time.”
“Wasn’t — didn’t the accident have two girls?”
“The other had significant injuries. I think she’s coming out of surgery.”
Tat’s eyes flare.
He turn his head back to looking past Tat at the wall.
“You know officer, and all due respect, you understand? All that’s due. If this was my daughter and she had a young man in the room. I dunno. It’s just you got the athletic look and like I was saying’. If it was my daughter and she was alone and handcuffed to a bed. I dunno, is all. You know?”
“No, I don’t.”
“I’d worry you was pokin’ my daughter. Not that you was, accourse. But the appearance of impropriety, and all... You got to mind the appearance. Now I said that with all the respect you got due. Full and total, you see? And I’m lookin’ out for you as much as her.”
“I would ask you to direct your concerns to the department’s public relations officer.”
I never seen such a cool kid cop.
“Ah, heck. It ain’t no big deal. I was speakin’ for your benefit not mine. Like I said, this girl ain’t my daughter.”
I give Tat another glance. Her look says if Baer Creighton can’t calm her, she’ll lead an assault soon as she can find a pair of hospital socks with the rubber treads ironed on.
“You can go to the desk right there, down the hall, and ask about your daughter. Is that good, Mister Boone?”
“Yessir. Sounds good.”
Turn.
Stop.
Turn back to the cop. “It’s the other one was messed up from the crash? You said surgery. How bad is she?”
“Is the other one your daughter?”
“No.”
“I would direct you to the department’s public relations officer.”
“Thank you kindly. We appreciate the blue line, yessir.”
He nods small like he don’t want me to see it. Now I got to get a message to Tat.
“Sometimes officer, you know. I ain’t talk to nobody in weeks it seem and you bein’ a cop I guess I feel I can open up. Shit. I miss my girl and when I find her, she’ll know I’m gonna take care of her. I’ll get her home safe and healthy. She got to spread her wings like any young girl, but when times is dark, people that love one another as family does, why they pull together and fight together so they can keep what they got. In dark times, is all.”
Officer nods, slow, real slow.
“Just miss my girl.”
He frowns. “Good luck.”
“Take care, y’hear?”
I stand at the desk with nobody ’til I spot a nurse’s reflection on the corner mirror. Turn and get back to the elevator afore she get to the desk.
Door dings open like it was waitin’ on me. I step inside and wonder at my heart. Tat looks to be in good shape. Ten seconds with a bobby pin on those handcuffs and I could walk her out the front door.
I was a kid in school I didn’t have a dad around and one day I heard some of the girls talkin’. One said if you had to choose ’tween your ma and father, like one had to get sick and die, which would it be? I remember thinkin’ that’s easy.
With me and Tat together then apart, and me not knowin’ which girl had the worse injuries, I confess I thought maybe things’d be really bad, such as to deal a true blow to my heart. I would’ve expected Tat be the one in critical care ’cause all the evil I done, I deserve it. But seein’ he
r all in one piece, that means little Corazon’s the one.
I wouldn’t a seen it comin’ in a thousand years.
Leave the main lobby and shit if they ain’t more cops headin’ in from the parkin’ area.
I head back to the Carbondale motel but in the parkin’ lot I realized I don’t stink at all, the El Dorado’s got a back seat better’n some folks got beds and I say fuck Carbondale and Glenwood Springs too.
I drive south toward this snowcapped peak sittin’ out by itself. They’s so many places with beautiful views the road keeps goin’ wide so folks that pull over don’t interfere with the locals. I park and kill the engine.
Stinky Joe ain’t said a word.
Get out the car and open his door. He sniffs a trail to the river and I smell up the cool wind, some far off rain in the air, some dirt and exhaust.
We never writ words together but me and Tat got a contract, of sorts.
A man don’t sign with his name. He does it with his character and he don’t know how big he commits ’til later.
But he signs.
Chapter Thirteen
They’s a old timey restaurant I saw back in town and I wake with a hole in my stomach wants flapjacks, butter and maple syrup.
Stinky Joe spend the night on the front seat and after I let him search a swath of grass to do his business, I return him to sleepin’ and depart feeling better after a night under the stars breathin’ cool air. Got the blood pumpin’ and what pains I got I’m used to.
Time to find some breakfast.
Accourse they’s problems to solve. Gotta get the girls and I’m thinkin’ maybe a midnight run to Chicago to get my coffee back from Mags. It’s hard bein’ a killer without a philosophy of killin’ and since I give Mags a lift a few days back I spent equal time marvelin’ her mind as ponderin’ her other assets. Some of her thinkin’ in the Jeep that early mornin’ was unlike any I heard afore; ideas sit so square and flat and perfect, such as to stack one on the next, I can’t help but think she’ll make sense of the world or me, one.
And the one other problem ain’t so big but it aggravates heavier’n its weight.
Alden Boone.
The Men I Sent Forward (Baer Creighton Book 6) Page 8
