Lifeblood

by Penny Rudolph

  “And that gun is properly registered?” Walcher mouthed the words as if they were rehearsed.

  That they could find out, probably already had. She looked down at her hands. “I’m afraid I don’t really know. It was my father’s. We owned a farm upstate. That’s where he taught me to shoot. For years, that was the only place it was used. And then only for target practice. I thought it might be a good idea to have a gun on a camping trip. Just in case. For self-defense. Against a mountain lion or a bear or something. At the time, I wasn’t thinking of a human threat.”

  “Did your father transfer ownership to you, or register the gun as loaned to you?”

  “To tell the truth, I don’t know. I never asked.”

  The two deputies nodded in unison, as if they knew that all along.

  Chapter Forty-four

  Nease advised the recorder that he was turning it off and Walcher handed her a business card. “If you think of anything else, anything at all, give us a call.”

  When they had departed Rachel wondered if she had given the right answers, passed or flunked. How much had they known before questioning her? Did they know something they weren’t saying? Had they talked to Hank? She should have asked. Would he have any idea who the shooter might be? She didn’t think so.

  She picked up the phone and called the hospital.

  Mr. Sullivan was not to be disturbed. That’s all the floor nurse would say.

  “Did the police talk to him?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know.”

  Don’t know or won’t say? Rachel thanked the woman, hung up and dialed Goldie’s number.

  “Why are you calling me at this hour?”

  “I’m sorry. But I need you. Big time. Real big time.”

  “Gimme time to put on some clothes. I’ll be right there.”

  999

  The first hole card fell slap on the table in front of Marty. He lifted a corner. Jack of diamonds. A good start. There were nine players, which made for a nice pot. The second card landed in front of him. Another jack. Spades.

  Marty scratched his head and tried to look worried, which wasn’t hard. His hair was a little mussed and his five o’clock shadow hadn’t been achieved by the setting on his razor. His beard had passed the point of cool macho several hours ago and was headed for seedy.

  He’d lost quite a lot in the past week and needed to make it up. He wanted to do something special for Rachel. She was having a hard time of it lately. How could anyone think she would steal drugs from a hospital? She wouldn’t let him help her with the expenses from that, she wouldn’t accept the perfectly nice Toyota he’d bought for her. In his book, that was taking independence a step too far. But she had always been that way.

  Now, though, she was getting married. He could give her a nice wedding. A honeymoon to Europe or the Caribbean or anywhere she wanted to go. She couldn’t turn that down.

  Marty had folded the last few hands, but now his luck was going to change.

  999

  “This damn place looks more like Baghdad after a botched raid than a camp site,” Goldie announced. She and Rachel had come to pick up the Civic and whatever gear and supplies they could round up.

  The area was strewn with crime scene tape wrapped around shrubs and even rocks.

  Goldie looked at Rachel over low-slung sunglasses. “How the hell do you get yourself into stuff like this? I just turn my head for ten minutes and someone is boiling oil and you are turning up the heat and helping ’em get it ready for you. You need yourself a keeper.”

  “No kidding.”

  From where they stood they could see the brown blotches in the scrub grass along the trail where the man she shot had fallen. Speckles of blood had even spurted onto the leaves of plants six or eight feet away from the crushed grass.

  A jay sat on a flat rock watching the two women with great interest.

  “You look kind of peaked,” Goldie said.

  “It doesn’t feel good to have killed someone, even if that someone was trying to kill you.” Rachel shoved her hands in her pockets and looked at the ground. “And I’m wondering how long it’ll be before they find out about my two arrests, and that I’m out on bail on the OxyContin thing.”

  The jay hopped to the ground and strutted toward them. He opened his beak in a silent question which probably had to do with food.

  “Maybe they will, maybe they won’t,” Goldie said.

  “You’re kidding. Why wouldn’t they?”

  “Well, first off, you don’t have a conviction. Just the arrests. The first one was up north. Right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the OxyContin, that was LAPD. And the guys with jurisdiction up here, they would be county sheriffs. So what we got is stuff that happened in two cities and one county. These guys don’t spend a lot of time talking to each other. They’re more like in competition with each other. Like remember after nine-eleven there was all that flap about the CIA not talking to the FBI and the FBI not even talkin’ to themselves?”

  “You mean they might never connect the dots?”

  “Three jurisdictions, no convictions? It’s possible.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “My brother was a cop, remember?”

  Rachel managed a small smile that quickly ebbed away. “I sure hope you’re right.” She pointed past the tape at clusters of little flags bearing numbers. “What’s all that? Looks like some weird little golf course.”

  “Probably it’s where they found stuff,” Goldie said. “I guess they wouldn’t take it kindly if we removed anything.”

  Rachel wondered if she should tell Goldie the cops had not found the thirty-eight here at the scene because it was at home, in her apartment, in her underwear drawer. She decided not to. Why involve her friend in something she might someday be asked about? Under oath.

  They turned back up the path and she asked instead, “What could I have done that someone would come after me with a rifle?”

  “Could be you should just plain stop poking around in other people’s business,” Goldie sniffed. “You notice nobody’s huntin’ me down with a gun.” A few steps later, she asked, “Are we sure this guy was after you and not Hank?”

  Rachel shrugged. “I just figured it was me. I’m not sure of anything. Why would anyone want to kill Hank? As soon as I can, I’ll ask him if he has any ideas. I’m sure the cops will, too.”

  She stopped, put her hands on her hips and looked at the sky. “You think the guy shooting at us might have something to do with what’s going on at Jefferson?”

  “Anything is possible,” Goldie said. “Come on, you can’t take root there.”

  Rachel began walking again. “The cops seemed to think it might have been some nut-case hunter who just lost it and started shooting people. Like maybe we were in his favorite campsite or something.”

  “There are plenty of loony tunes out there. Probably more than one is a hunter.” Goldie turned to look at her friend. “Did those deputies ask you anything about whether you might have done something that pissed off the Mexican Mafia?”

  “Mexican Mafia! Where’d you get that idea?”

  “You think that guy, that El whatever his name was, that friend of your dad’s who got you that loan, you think he runs a nursery school or grows petunias for a living? He sounds like he’s got Mexican Mafia written all over him.”

  “Mexican Mafia sounds so…really bad. I agree El Jefe probably operates on a less than legal basis—I’ve told Pop the same thing. The guy’s probably a crook, a gangster, maybe, of some sort, but just an ordinary one.”

  “Now that sure does make sense. An ordinary gangster, not a Mexicano Mafioso. Where is your head, girl?”

  “Why would El Jefe get the vice president of a big bank to loan me twenty-five thousand dollars and then send someone to kill me?”

  Goldie thought about that. “Maybe the loan was honor. He owed your dad. Sending a killer after you, that was maybe money, or something he owed
someone else. Those people think different than we do.”

  “There’s also the matter of those poor kids I found in that van. What happened to them? They couldn’t have just disappeared into thin air.”

  Goldie kicked a stone out of the trail. “You better forget about those kids. Your plate is full enough right now. You have downright made a pig of yourself with trouble.”

  Chapter Forty-five

  The architecture was different, sort of Moorish modern, but once you were inside Pasadena’s Memorial General Hospital, there wasn’t a nickel’s worth of difference between it and Jefferson Medical Center.

  To Rachel, both hospitals seemed like foreign countries where she didn’t speak the language or know the rules. Everything seemed larger than life, with a spotless lack of character. And people who worked there spoke in acronyms that must have been designed to keep ordinary folks at sea.

  Whoever was in charge of reciting information about patients had told her that morning that Hank’s condition was stable. He could now have family visitors, but he was still sedated and visits should be brief.

  She waited in line at the reception desk. The woman behind it had pale freckles and braids the color of sand wound atop her head. Rachel had seen braids like that at a German meat market in Montrose. Sure enough, the woman had a German accent.

  “He is allowed only visits from family.”

  Rachel didn’t miss a beat. “I’m his wife.”

  “I.D.?”

  Oh, for God’s sake. Rachel produced her driver’s license. “I kept my own name. I hope you don’t think I carry my wedding license with me.”

  “Room six-fourteen.”

  The room was cold. Not just the temperature, but the colors—gray and white. Everything but the mattresses seemed made of steel.

  One bed was empty. The other had been raised part way. Face almost as pale as the sheets, Hank lay against a small, flat pillow, chin up, slender oxygen tubes at his nose. A drip tube led from a pack that hung from a pole to his arm. A bank of digital instruments stood next to the bed.

  “Hank?”

  He didn’t move. That frightened Rachel until she saw his chest move with his breaths.

  “Hank?” she said again, softly, and took his hand. It was warmer than hers. Still she pulled the white blanket up closer around his shoulders. He was wearing one of those awful hospital gowns and she made a mental note to go up to his house and get him some pajamas. Then she realized she didn’t have a key and the hospital probably had locked up whatever he’d had in his pockets when he was admitted.

  His head rolled a bit and a faint sigh escaped his lips.

  She straightened his pillow. “Hank, it’s me, Rachel.”

  His eyes opened, clear blue as glass in blood-shot white. “Rachel?” His voice was high, so faint and feeble she was barely sure she’d heard it.

  “How are you feeling?”

  His eyebrows raised slowly, giving him a puzzled look.

  “Hank, do you know anyone who might have wanted to shoot you? You instead of me?”

  Very slowly, his head moved from left to right.

  Was that involuntary or did it mean “no”?

  His eyes closed again.

  999

  The first hole card was a three of hearts. Marty’s hands were getting sweaty. Almost every dime he had was on the table. He had only slept about six hours a night for three nights. Or was it four? He couldn’t remember exactly.

  He knew one thing though, he had to get that money back.

  999

  “I just lost an argument with myself.” Goldie’s voice on the phone. “Where’ve you been?”

  “You mean tonight?”

  “I’ve been trying you every twenty minutes. My phone is gonna run down.”

  “I took Hank a pair of pajamas. They had him in one of those awful hospital gowns. It’s impossible to find a parking place at the Galleria. I had to follow a woman to her car and wait for her to leave so I could get her slot.”

  “Thanks for the traffic report. How’s Hank doing?”

  “As well as can be expected. At least that’s what they say. He was barely awake when I was there this afternoon and it was after visiting hours tonight by the time I got the pajamas to the hospital. The woman at the reception desk said she would send them up to his room. Why were you calling every twenty minutes?”

  “I wasn’t going to tell you. I was just going to forget about it. But I changed my mind.”

  “About what?”

  “I just found out something I think you want to hear. Notice I said want to hear, not should hear.”

  “You’re talking in riddles.”

  “Maybe. This is gonna sound crazy, but I don’t want to say it over the phone. I don’t even know why I don’t want to say it over the phone, except my gut says maybe I shouldn’t. You being shot at and all.”

  “Do you mean to sound that mysterious?”

  “Meet me at the bench in half an hour. I’m bringin’ one of the kids with me.”

  999

  Rachel put three cans of cola in a Trader Joe’s bag and went down to the bench. A light breeze was blowing mist into pale haloes around the streetlights.

  Two figures pushed through the entrance door to the InterUrban Water headquarters across the street. A car passed, kicking up droplets of water. The two waited, then crossed the street.

  “This is Inez,” Goldie said.

  The girl put out a hand. “Pleased to meet you, Missus.” She looked Asian, but a bit bigger boned. Her eyes were those of a street urchin, wanting to please but ready to run.

  “Pleased to meet you, too.” Rachel handed out the cola.

  “Gracias,” Inez said, and waited to pop the cap on her can until Goldie and Rachel popped theirs.

  “This little charmer is an Indian,” Goldie said. “A Native American, if you want to be politically correct. A real one.”

  “Really. How nice. What tribe?”

  “The feds don’t recognize her tribe,” Goldie said. “Her people were more or less kicked off their land by the forest service or park service or some federal agency like that. She was only seven. Her pa was dead. Her mother got a job in San Marino as a maid and raised her there. Inez came to work for us as soon as she was old enough, which was about three months ago.”

  The girl was nodding, endorsing Goldie’s words.

  “The social workers call her learning disabled. No way. She’s just shy. She’s quick to catch on. She knows three languages, which is a whole lot better than me.”

  “Or me,” Rachel said.

  “Tonight she happened to mention something I decided you would want to hear.” Goldie turned to Inez. “Tell Rachel what you told me.”

  The girl dropped her gaze to her feet. “Mama, she has, how you say, amigo.”

  “Boyfriend,” Goldie said.

  “Luis has a boy like I am Mama’s girl.”

  “Luis has a son,” Rachel said. “Yes, I understand.”

  “This boy…Ésteven,” Inez went on, “he has amigo, José.”

  Beginning to feel she might lose the thread of the story, Rachel nodded encouragingly.

  “José is the principal player in this tale,” Goldie said. “It’ll take a little patience but you’ll see why I brought her over.”

  Inez looked up at Goldie. “You say it. No bueno, mi inglés.”

  “No. I want Rachel to hear it from you.”

  The girl fixed her eyes on Rachel and took a deep breath. “José, Méxicano. Muy fino.”

  “He’s a nice guy. Inez here is dating him,” Goldie added.

  “José, he come aquí go hospital.”

  “Hospital?” Rachel asked. “Do you know when that was?”

  The girl stared at her for a moment. “Uno año.”

  “About a year ago,” Goldie translated.

  “Un hombre in México say to José do he want be Americano? José say sí. So they make the deal. José go hospital. They….” Inez looked at Goldie. �
�Cut?”

  Goldie nodded.

  “They cut him.” Inez slowly finished her sentence.

  Rachel frowned and stared, intent now on the girl. “Hospital? What do you mean, cut him?”

  “Some kind of surgery, apparently,” Goldie said.

  A deep frown swept across Rachel’s face. “Where did they cut him?”

  Inez looked down and brushed an index finger across her stomach.

  “Did he want to do this?” Rachel asked.

  Inez shrugged. “He want be Americano.”

  “Then what?” Rachel asked.

  “After they cut, they send José to a casa where he meet compadres. Now José Americano.”

  Goldie looked at Inez. “Tell her the name of the hospital where Jose went.”

  “I not say it good.”

  “Yes, you do,” Goldie said. “Tell her.”

  “Hef-er-sun.”

  Chapter Forty-six

  “Good girl,” Goldie told Inez. “You said the whole thing very well. I told you, you could.”

  Inez was nodding, looking shyly pleased.

  “Now you go on back to the crew, sugar. Rachel here and I need to talk.”

  Inez crossed the street, then turned to wave at the two women.

  “Jesus Christ.” The words burst from Rachel. “Maybe you were right when you said there might be some kind of ghoulish thing going on at that hospital. Something experimental. And illegal.”

  Goldie looked up and down the street as if she expected someone might be lurking. “I don’t know about ghoulish, but it seems pretty clear there’s something weird going on. And somehow they’re able to trade American citizenship for the right to do it.”

  “Whatever it is, I think it happened to that Mexican kid I took to the emergency room. That’s where he disappeared to. I’d stake my garage on it.”

  “I figured you would say that.”

  Rachel stood up. “I’m going up there. Now.”

  “Good idea. Wake everyone up. Why not get yourself arrested for trespassing? Might as well add that to your rap sheet.”

  Rachel sat back down. “You’re right. I’ll wait till morning.” She turned to look at Goldie. “Wait a minute….” She paused, considering the unthinkable. “No. It can’t be as bad as I think. That would be grotesque, almost like vampires.”