Triage: A Thriller (Shell Series)

by Phillip Thomas Duck

  “This conversation is over. I don’t have anything else for you.”

  “Give me the father’s name, Enger.”

  “Do you understand English? I don’t have it.”

  “I think you’re bullshitting me, Enger.”

  “You break into my home, and despite that I tell you what I know,” he said, “and still you cast aspersions? I can’t begin to imagine what it must be like to walk around in your skin.”

  “Get back to me if you find out anything that points to the father’s name and I’ll continue exploring the connection between you and Uncle John.”

  “I’d really like to be alone now.”

  I left him in the kitchen smelling of burned popcorn, and exited through the front door.

  I DIDN’T USE IT for my re-entry.

  ENGER WAS A FITFUL sleeper. Afraid of the dark perhaps, because a lamp burned brightly from the nightstand next to his bed. The sheet from earlier lay in a crumpled ball next to him on the bed. His boxers tangled up with the sheet. He awakened, coughing, reaching frantically for a breath and his face.

  “If duct tape ran for office, it’d get my vote,” I said.

  He snatched a thin strip of gray tape from covering his nostrils, and a second strip from over his mouth. “You’ve crossed a line,” he barked.

  “Glad to see you locked the garage. I have a few other suggestions for you too.”

  “You’re insane,” he said, his eyes wide with terror.

  “Mentally unstable is more politically correct. You should know that.”

  “I’m calling the police.”

  “It’s silly to announce that,” I said, “and plus, the phone lines are cut.”

  “You’re going to kill me…”

  “At least you can say your life ended after a pleasurable dream.”

  “What?”

  I nodded near his midsection. “Dreaming about Darren?”

  His nostrils flared but he didn’t bother to cover his erection. “Homoerotic impulses, Shell? I didn’t figure you for the type.”

  “I want a name, Enger.”

  “What? And you’ll anally violate me if I don’t give you one?”

  “You’re a troubled man.”

  “I’m not alone in that regard. Ms. Barnes told Darren some things about you.”

  “A name.”

  “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “More clichés.”

  “I have nothing to tell you.”

  “Frederic and Thomasine Enger.”

  “What?”

  “Frederic likes to golf on Tuesdays at Charleston Springs. Some of the regulars he golfs with have taken to calling him double bogey behind his back. Thomasina volunteers at a nursing home three days a week. She’s particularly fond of a woman named Iris. Neither your father or mother deem it necessary to lock their vehicles, even if they’re leaving them unattended for hours.”

  “Are you threatening my family, Shell?”

  “Yes. Your parents specifically. And if that doesn’t move you…Claude James. I believe you refer to him as Bubbie. College boyfriend?”

  “Donald Theodore Holliday,” he said, releasing the name in the way a pierced balloon releases air.

  I smiled. “Your cooperation is much appreciated.”

  “You try this shit with him and you’re in for a world of trouble. He has special protection.”

  “Does he?”

  He smiled without warmth. “Absolutely.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “And I’ll pray for you,” he whispered.

  TWENTY-SIX

  THE BALANCE OF THE early morning was uneventful. I drove back to Elm Street from Cole Enger’s place, whispering the name Donald Theodore Holliday throughout the entire ride. Slogging through the muck of this whole mess had brought me to yet another promising trail. Blackmail is a dirty business and if Sweet and Nevada had involved themselves in it there was no wonder that violence would enter into the equation. Sweet’s fate had already been revealed, so all I was left with was the hope that Nevada’s didn’t match his.

  Siobhan was asleep on the sofa when I got back. I stood and watched her for a moment. I can’t begin to adequately describe her beauty. Eyes closed, her guard completely down, she transformed from a swan into something even more mythic. Suddenly I was aware of my breathing. The story of my life when it came to beautiful women. They’d always proven to be a distraction at the highest level.

  But now was not the time for distractions. I needed to focus more than ever. Every minute wasted left Nevada either in the crux of serious trouble or without the dignity of a proper burial. Either way, my intention was to bring her home. All of that in mind, I moved away from the sofa and to the kitchen, where I pulled out my cell phone, dialed a number, and settled myself to whisper.

  “I’d hoped I’d hear from you today,” Trina whispered in my ear. Whispered. As always she was a step ahead of me.

  “Are you near a computer?” I whispered back.

  “I’m speaking low because it’s early and my voice leaves a lot to be desired. You must have company.”

  “Siobhan’s resting,” I said in a flat voice. “I don’t want to disturb her.”

  “More often than not I want to tell you to go to hell. The problem is, then I want to beg you to take me with you.”

  “Are you near a computer?” I repeated.

  “The computer I’ve used to book us flights and hotel rooms?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “So you’re sleeping with her, too?”

  “Google, or whatever search engine you prefer.”

  “It’ll all come back down on you someday.”

  “Donald Theodore Holliday. I’m betting the last name is with two Ls. He’s a man of some prominence. Tell me what comes up.”

  “Do you not care about us?”

  “At the moment,” I said, “no.”

  I heard her take in a breath, imagined her squaring her shoulders, the muscles churning in her jaw. “Donald Theodore Holliday?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  The click of keys from her end of the phone line, then a small laugh.

  “You’ve found something, Trina?”

  “What do you need with this man?” she asked.

  “To talk.”

  “Talk like normal people? Or your kind of talk?”

  “Talk,” was all I would allow.

  “Grab a piece of paper and something to write with.”

  “Already have it.”

  “I have an address for you.”

  “An address?”

  “So you and Donald Theodore Holliday can talk in person.”

  “Give it to me,” I said, and she did. “Is this a residence or place of business?”

  “Neither,” she said, and laughed again.

  “Neither?”

  “It’s a place of worship, Shell. Bishop Donald Theodore Holliday. Two Ls, just as you suspected.”

  “He has protection,” I mumbled, remembering Cole Enger’s words.

  “Anything else, Shell?”

  “That’ll do. And listen—” I stopped abruptly.

  She’d disconnected the call.

  Lightheaded, I moved back into the living room. Siobhan was still asleep. I watched her as thoughts rolled over in my head like the tumblers of a lock. Would Nevada blackmail a minister? Even a crooked one? My assumption was that Holliday was bent, but the last year had been one of awakening for Nevada. As much as I hated to admit it, she had been reborn. Then again, mounting evidence pointed to the likely possibility that she had started prostituting herself. Don’t saint her, I thought to myself. If Bishop Donald Theodore Holliday was capable of murder—and even without knowing him I believed he was—Nevada was capable of, if not that, blackmail at the very least. There were so many ways she could justify the decision. I was so immersed in thought I answered my suddenly ringing cell phone without hesitating even though I didn’t recognize the incoming number.
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  “Shell?” Her voice was tentative and small, none of her usual strength evident in its notes.

  “You’re the last person I expected to hear from,” I said.

  “I have some information for you.”

  “Information?”

  “I’ve kept my ear to the street.”

  The flyer. I straightened up. “Alive still?”

  “Barely, from what I understand.”

  “Where?”

  “Better if I show you.”

  “This is not—”

  “I wouldn’t set you up again, Shell. I swear it.”

  I believed her. My downfall has always been a belief in attractive women. “I’ll be bringing a friend,” I said.

  “We all need friends.”

  “Your place or somewhere else?”

  She hesitated. “My place…I promise it isn’t a setup.”

  “Give me a few. I’ll be there,” I said, looking over at Siobhan. “With my friend, remember.”

  “I hope this puts us back on solid ground.”

  “We never left,” I said, meaning it, and ended the call.

  I moved and crouched down next to the sofa. Whispering Siobhan’s name didn’t stir her so I lightly shook her shoulder. She came alive in increments: eyes opening, blinking in confusion, then recollection; yawning; stretching; finally, smiling at the sight of my face.

  “You’ve been on the phone off and on,” she said.

  “Sorry if I disturbed you.”

  “Whispering. Talking to girlfriends?” she asked, smiling.

  “I’m a lone bird.”

  She frowned. “I was joking. Why so serious?”

  “We have to go.”

  “Go? Where?”

  “We don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Something big is happening?”

  I nodded.

  “You want to tell me what?” she said.

  I told her.

  She rose without further hesitation. “I need to run across the street and wash my face, brush my teeth, then we can go. I’ll only be a moment.”

  “I’ll be in the car.”

  She made it as far as the door and looked back over her shoulder. The smile on her face wasn’t a full one. It was one of her tiny, nervous smiles.

  It made my day.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “IT WAS A PIANO factory,” I explained. “They cut it up into two-bedroom lofts. Put in new appliances. There’s a gym, and each loft has rooftop access.”

  Cherie buzzed us up just as I was finishing the description. I held the door open for Siobhan to pass through.

  “Who is this woman?” she asked, unmoving.

  It wasn’t a question borne from jealousy. The moment was too big for that level of triviality. Simple curiosity.

  “A friend,” I said.

  “You trust this friend?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded, placated, and stepped inside. I looked behind me and surveyed the street one final time before I stepped in as well.

  “So I guess my sketch helped,” Siobhan said.

  “I guess so,” I said, unmoving myself now. I wasn’t sure Siobhan was up to the task at hand.

  “I’m ready for this,” she whispered, reading my mind it seemed.

  “How do you do that?”

  “Read your thoughts?” she said, smiling.

  “Yes.”

  “You wear your thoughts on your face,” she said.

  “Very few people have ever been able to read me.”

  She smiled her tight smile once again and looked toward the elevator. I took her cue and lead us over to the elevator, then pressed the button for the car to deliver us to Cherie’s floor.

  Cherie answered the door in a thin nightgown. No bra. Something or someone had stimulated her nipples. She barely made eye contact with either me or Siobhan as she said, “Come in. Have a seat in the living room. I just finished working a moment ago. I’ll go get dressed and we can go.”

  She disappeared down the hall without speaking or introducing herself to Siobhan, without checking to make sure I closed up and locked the door behind me.

  “Pleasant friend you have there,” Siobhan said.

  “She’s usually a lot more personable,” I replied, regretting the words as soon as they passed my lips. Siobhan looked into my eyes. I cleared my throat and moved past her into the living room.

  The too-convenient pile of records still covered most of a corner of the room. The small bookcase held the same slim volumes of poetry. Siobhan sat on the couch and glanced around. I chose to remain standing. The apartment was blanketed by the kind of silence only present in the most awkward moments.

  “Your friend has eclectic tastes,” Siobhan announced finally.

  “Cherie,” I said. “And yes she does.”

  Siobhan nodded at the records. “Can’t go wrong with Miles.”

  “You like jazz?”

  “I like everything, Shell.”

  “Glad to see you’re in a positive frame of mind today.”

  “It’s all part of the boogie.”

  “What?”

  “The last few times I spoke with Renny that’s what he said. Don’t know how or where he picked it up. I told him it was cool…thirty years ago.”

  “Renny is a strange, beautiful kid,” I remarked.

  She looked at me. “He was.”

  I swallowed. In the car I’d updated her on the Bishop Donald Theodore Holliday trail, but she hadn’t mentioned Nicky. I asked her about him now.

  “I sat with him for a bit after you went out. He just kept talking. Nervous chatter, I suppose. Abuela being away and all, I offered to let him stay with me. I told him we had two days to party and then I had to prepare for my Abuela’s return.”

  “I’m sure he loved that.”

  “He said ‘I’d bet we don’t enjoy the same kind of party’. I told him that was all the better, we could introduce something new to each other. Playing along with him, trying to keep him upbeat, his thoughts from…” Her words trailed off in sadness.

  “Sure.”

  She forced a smile. “He said ‘If we’re talking about sex you’re missing a key ingredient, honey. Hope you’re creative’. I told him I was an artist at heart and he finally laughed.” She laughed then too, infused by the memory.

  “He’s something else.”

  “Sure is. He seemed okay when he finally left. Worried about his father. Promised to keep in touch. I gave him my number.”

  “Lucky guy.”

  “Oh? But I slept on your couch and waited for you.”

  I smiled and looked down the hall toward Cherie’s bedroom. I was worried about her hearing my conversation with Siobhan. Foolish. Siobhan took one look at my face, adjusted her position on the sofa, and retreated into silence.

  Cherie came out a few minutes later. “Shell, you could’ve gotten drinks. Oh wait…I’m thinking we’re at the other apartment. You don’t know your way around this one.”

  I didn’t speak.

  Cherie moved past me and, hand outstretched, offered a greeting to Siobhan. “I’m Cherie. You resemble the boy in the flyer.”

  “Siobhan. The boy in the flyer is Renny. He’s my cousin.”

  “Oh…sorry.”

  “Is he bad?”

  Cherie smiled without showing her teeth. “At the risk of sounding like a bumper sticker. One thing I’ve learned: it’s never so bad we can’t make it through it.”

  “We’ve been tailgating the same cars.”

  “There you go, Siobhan,” Cherie said.

  I cleared my throat. “We should go.”

  Cherie nodded.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL day, the cloudless sky brightened by a pool of sunshine. We drove in mostly silence, Cherie directing me every so often to ‘turn left up ahead here’ and ‘make this next right here’. We did not travel particularly far but the oppressive traffic kept us moving at a slow crawl. My mood darkened like a sweat
stain as the minutes ticked by on my dashboard clock. Siobhan sat quietly in the backseat but she might as well have been screaming the myriad thoughts I knew were jumping around in her head. I glanced in my rearview mirror and found her studying me curiously. She didn’t even bother to look away.

  On the other hand, I could not hold her gaze, electing instead to focus on the landscape just outside of the car. We drove past a stretch of retail stores with steel gates and bullet-resistant tempered glass protecting their cashiers. The poverty of the neighborhood people muddied what little belief I had in the American dream. I stopped at a light and waved off a man carrying a squeegee in one hand and a spray bottle filled two thirds of the way with dirty water in the other. A vendor hawked wilted roses from a cart spraypainted with graffiti. A shapely Latina sauntered past in a too-tight black dress so short it offered a peek at her panties.

  “Park anywhere along here,” Cherie said.

  “What?” We had lived in silence for so long I didn’t immediately register her words.

  “Park anywhere along here,” she said.

  “Where we headed?”

  She nodded at a little restaurant, the signage above the storefront written in Spanish. “I’ll go in and check things, then come out and let you know if it’s a go,” she said.

  I hesitated.

  Cherie smiled reassuringly. “I know how you feel about Nevada,” she said. “And yet you took the time to put those feelings aside and give me the flyer with Renny’s picture on it. That means you care an awful lot about him, too. I respect that, Shell. I’m not setting you up, I promise.”

  There was truth in her eyes. I nodded and pulled into a space.

  As soon as I parked, Cherie was out of the car and headed for the restaurant. I looked in the rearview again to gauge Siobhan’s reaction.

  “There are so many things I want to say right now, Shell.”

  “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  “She’s a prostitute?”

  “Who?”

  Siobhan raised an eyebrow. “Must I remind you that I can read your every thought?”

  “I need to invest in a good pair of sunglasses,” I said, and immediately my stomach fluttered as I remembered my earliest experience with Nevada.

  “I’d just ask you to remove them.”