by Larry Hoy
He pushed the container away. “I think I ate too fast, but I’m all right. So, let’s pretend I understood what you just said; what’s next? Who does LEI have running things?” he asked.
“That’s complicated. BB assigned you the contract.”
“What?” Sweetwater grimaced as he washed down the last food particles with a gulp of the protein drink. “I’m strapped to a hospital bed. What are they thinking?”
“You’re not actually strapped in anymore.”
“There’s gotta be more to this.”
“I told them you were ready to get out of here and get back to work.”
“I think you’re the one that’s whack.”
“So just how long are you planning to stay locked up in this little hidey-hole? I thought you were an ex-Marine.”
“You’re always a Marine.”
She held out her hands. “Okay, listen up. I figured you were smarter than this, but you’re still on meds so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. We’ve got a mole, right? In here, you’re a stationary target—”
“In a secure facility!”
“That’s the point. Witherbot has people stationed all over the hospital from LEI, FBI, MPD, and every other alphabet agency you can think of. There is no way Erebus gets to you down here.”
“I like the sound of that!”
“No, you don’t. Think about it, Luther, while you’re in here he’s not coming after you, so he’s free to hunt anywhere without us having a track on him. Or go to ground and wait for you to finally come out. LEI and the LEOs can’t keep assets committed to this case forever, and if you go that route, you’re at his mercy. But if he thinks you’re back out there now…”
“He might come out looking for me.”
“There’s no ‘might’ in there. The dude is cocoa bananas.”
Sweetwater’s jaw closed with a snap. The steady beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor increased its pace.
“You wanna turn your back?”
“Fuck no.”
“Fine, get my pants.” He lowered the side rail of the bed and slipped his legs over.
Warden just sat in her chair and tried to hide her smile by covering her mouth, which Sweetwater took as a sign of approval for his actions. His gown opened in the back and he didn’t try to tie it closed. If she wanted to stare at his butt, that was fine by him.
“So, I’ll get ’em myself,” he said. Sweetwater eased one leg down until it touched the floor. He grabbed onto the side of the bed with a death grip and gingerly slipped off the bed until he was standing. The room spun twice and then stopped. He was still on his feet.
He took a deep breath, pausing when he felt the stabbing pain in his ribs, held his breath for a slow ten count, and exhaled. He caught Warden’s eye. Her expression showed surprise.
“Yeah, so you can stand, big deal. Can you get your pants off the chair or walk to the doorway?”
He glanced at the chair and the door. The door was closer, about four yards. Ten baby steps, maybe twelve. Gripping the pole connected to all his tubes and lines, Sweetwater took a tentative step. His legs trembled as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He locked his focus on the doorknob and took another step. His jaw was clenched as he focused on the handle. Step, take a breath, next step, exhale, repeat. Inhale on the right step, exhale on the left. The doorknob grew closer.
Finally, he reached out, grabbed the handle, and pulled the door open.
“What the hell?” said a startled young black woman who had been about to enter. Sweetwater regretted what had happened to Scott, but not that Relinda was now his therapist. Involuntarily, he gave her a bright smile, although pain made him grind his teeth and blink. Sweat ran from his temples as exhaustion dragged at his body, but he wasn’t about to show Warden how tired he was, much less his pretty physical therapist. That’s not what Marines did.
“I think maybe it’s time I get out of here.”
“Well, you can just rethink that, can’t you? Does your nurse know you’re out of bed without hospital staff present?”
“I don’t need permission.”
“Oh, you’re one of those. Fine, hotshot, you want out? Go ahead, I won’t stop you.”
“Uhh…”
“Yeah, I thought so.” She grabbed Sweetwater under the armpit. “I think you’ve done enough for today. Back to the bed.” The back of Sweetwater’s hospital gown stuck to his skin from sweat.
“Men, huh? Or was this your idea?” Relinda asked Warden.
“He’s gullible.”
“So, it was your idea.”
“Wait, what do you mean I’m gullible?” Sweetwater said. Warden ignored him.
“I baited him,” Warden said, “but did you see how far he got? I think you’re being too easy on him.”
Sweetwater straightened his legs in the bed and Relinda pulled the blankets up to his waist. As she bent over his bed, the top of her scrubs hung low for a split instant and he had to curl his knees slightly to avoid embarrassment. He made as if to brush his hair back, but he was really just hiding his face.
“I am not gullible!”
“Good job,” Relinda said to Warden. “Sometimes, getting them to take the first step can be the hardest.”
“He’s a Marine.”
“Oh,” Relinda said. “No wonder you’re with him.”
“It’s not like that,” Sweetwater said in protest.
This time Relinda did respond to him. “If it’s not like that, then you aren’t just gullible, you’re not very smart. She’s a catch.” Relinda grabbed his wrist, fingering it until she found his pulse. “How far did he get?”
“From the bed to where you caught him,” Warden said.
“I’m sitting right here, y’know,” Sweetwater said. “You could just ask me your questions.”
“As you know, I have been instructed to act as if you’re dead—”
“I thought—” he said, cutting her off.
“Luther!” said Warden, cutting him off in turn. She gave a short shake of her head. That was an LEI matter, not to be shared. As far as the hospital records and staff were concerned, he was dead.
Relinda looked from one to another before continuing. “We’re going to do your physical therapy down here. We have a room with a treadmill and cross-trainer down the hall, and enough space to stretch and do simple exercises.”
“I feel like a rat in a cage.” Sweetwater grabbed the safety bar on the side of the bed and pulled it back up, locking it in place. “I need to get out of here.”
“Less than two weeks ago you were in a coma. It wasn’t a week ago that you were in a bombing. Give your body time to heal.”
“How much more time?”
“I’m just your physical therapist, those are questions for your doctor.”
“I’ve yet to meet a doctor that gives a straight answer to anything. But that’s not your fault, so fine, let’s do the work down here. I’m going to get better and get out of here.”
“And probably break all the speed records doing it.” Relinda smiled and left.
“I think she likes you.”
“Yeah?”
Warden’s grin faded some. “Why, do you like her?”
“Shouldn’t I? She’s pretty hot.”
“Oh, she is, huh?”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t care.”
“Then why are you asking me?”
“Just asking, that’s all. Making conversation.”
Now it was Sweetwater’s turn to smile. “That’s all?”
“What else could it be?”
“I don’t know, but Relinda’s smokin’.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“What did I do?”
“God, you’re stupid.”
Warden rose and stalked to the door, stopping only when he blurted out, “Your butt wiggles funny.”
“What? Do you know how wrong it is to say that?”
“No, I didn’t mean any
sexual, it’s just that one side—never mind, sorry.”
“My right hip is a half inch higher than the other. Are you happy now?” Halfway out the door she turned back. “It doesn’t affect my walk but yeah, it makes my cheek jiggle. Some guys like it, I’m sorry it bothers you.”
“I didn’t say—”
“The British Bitch is coming to check on you in person.”
The door slammed behind her.
“What did I do?” he called after her.
Chapter 30
Intensive Care Unit, Elvis Presley Trauma Center, Memphis, TN
Adrian Erebus remembered little after squatting in the dark alongside the liquor store, only fragments of memories of lights and people talking. The surgeon making his rounds two days later expressed amazement at how lucky he was, since the stab wounds all managed to miss vital organs. The worst injury was a punctured lung, but even that one only nicked it. It missed all the major blood vessels.
It was, the doctor said, like the assailant knew precisely where and how deep to make each wound. He’d never seen such a thing and would be talking about it for years. Erebus still had close to a hundred stitches in him, but overall, the prognosis couldn’t be better.
The problem was Mrs. Thomas. She kept running his information and coming back with holes in his story. The address he gave didn’t exist, which he explained away by claiming to have transposed two numbers. Then, of course, was the fact she looked up the phone number that was registered to the house. The people that answered the phone confirmed the address and told her they had never heard of a George Jones. Erebus knew the time had come to act.
The doctor wanted him to sit in a chair for short periods, three times a day. He asked for some clothes to replace those cut away during surgery or taken by the police for evidence by pleading he had no one to retrieve any for him. They brought him some gray sweat pants and an old green Sansui T-shirt with holes under the armpits from the lost and found. Once he was alone, Erebus pulled off the wires and removed the IV. He hissed at the sudden pain and held his arm for a minute until the sting subsided.
Peeking out of his room, he spotted an arrow pointing right that said “Elevators.” There wouldn’t be a second chance for him to find and kill Sweetwater. He timed the move for shift change, when fewer employees would be in the halls, but he still needed to hurry before somebody discovered he was gone. Within five steps, the pain nearly bent him double. The blade might have miraculously missed killing him, but it hadn’t missed the large abdominal muscles. They spasmed as he trudged toward the double doors down the hallway. The doors required pushing a button for admittance, which no doubt led to someone at a nurse’s station.
Should he push the button? Did they have a camera monitoring the hallway? He didn’t see one, but you could never tell. He couldn’t just keep standing there, though.
The problem solved itself and left Erebus thinking that God was on his side. An orderly pushed a withered black woman from a nearby room through the door. He sped up to pass through in the wake of the wheelchair, even though it hurt so badly he wanted to cry.
The hall stretched on, but the woman pushing the wheelchair turned into a room. Erebus lowered his eyes and kept walking, following another arrow. The hallway ended with another pair of doors, and luckily these had a push-bar handle. He slipped through before anyone spotted him.
The corridor opened onto another long hallway that split in a T. He turned right and finally came to the elevators. He took them up a level and retraced his steps on that floor, above the recovery ward. Except two handlebar doors wouldn’t open. He took a step back and saw a badge reader on one side.
Damn it!
Short of stealing a badge, his plan of searching the hospital for Sweetwater was over. He took the elevator back to the first floor and headed back to the emergency ward with less urgency. Now, if they found him wandering the halls, he could plead a temporary blackout or something. That might give him time to think of another way to track down Sweetwater. Soon enough he found himself outside the emergency ward, which had a badge reader on the door.
“Shit,” he said, loud enough to startle himself. He turned his head, looking around for someone with a badge.
Behind him, he heard the sound of a door closing. He looked up and caught a reflection in the curved mirror overhead. Somebody in civilian clothes was heading for the nurse’s station at his back.
Was that the woman who broke into his house? He reached up and rubbed the side of his head, using his arm to block his face. It was her, he felt sure of it!
He turned to see where she’d come from and saw a short hallway behind a column, partially hidden to the left of the main hall. Beyond that were double doors, and he couldn’t see any badge readers. He carefully angled himself to get a better look. Beside the door was a sign that read “Memphis Police Department.”
Action followed observation and he crossed the hallway diagonally, well within sight of the nurse’s station. Nobody noticed. The green Sansui shirt looked a lot like the hospital scrubs, at least from a distance. Without hesitating, he pushed on the door, and the latch clicked. He opened the door an inch; there was no one in sight. Erebus slipped inside.
Behind the door was a service elevator to one side and a fire exit stairway leading down to a small landing, and another stairwell that ended in a steel door. Taking the elevator seemed only marginally less attention grabbing than blowing an air horn, so Erebus took the stairs, leaning heavily on the steel handrail. He opened the door without hesitation. Either there were cops on the other side or there weren’t.
There weren’t.
The halls of the hospital were now dingy reminders of once soothing pastels, faded now into a grimy industrial palette so typical of public facilities. When first built, the waiting areas would have had soft, comfortable chairs with televisions mounted in the corners. They were all still there, but the chair seats only hinted at the color of the original fabric, and most of the TVs didn’t work.
Once he passed into the police section all that changed. The walls were a dull but clean gray, only half a shade darker than the linoleum floor. There were no soft stuffed chairs, only metal folding ones beside a wall of lockers colored the same gray as everything else. The area was empty.
There was a wall of lockers at his back and the hallway stretched out before him. There were only five other doors, and four of them were already open. Being barefoot, he walked silently to the first open door and peeked around the corner.
There was an empty bed in the room and nothing else, so he crept on to the second room. Like the first, it was empty except for the simple hospital bed. Erebus then moved to the third door. It was closed, and inside he could hear the regular beeping of a heart monitor.
A wire-reinforced glass window mounted in the door let him edge along until he could see someone occupied the bed. He had to bend his knees to avoid being seen, which strained his ruptured stomach and chest muscles. He felt the agony, but when the sleeping man in the bed rolled over and Erebus saw his face, euphoria washed through his mind and overpowered the pain.
It was Sweetwater.
“There you are,” Erebus whispered, his dirty teeth revealed by a snarl. “Third time’s the charm.”
In place of a doorknob there was a push-down lever. Gently as possible, he applied pressure, but it refused to move. Heat reddened the tips of his ears. A locked door was not going to prevent his righteous revenge from sending Sweetwater straight to hell. He eased away, careful not to wake the man in the room.
Even in his enraged and partly drugged state, Erebus realized that he couldn’t break through the door without rousing Sweetwater and probably triggering an alert. Nurse Dottie had filled him in about the comings and goings of the security people from multiple agencies and how they were concentrating on screening everyone who came into the hospital. That explained why he hadn’t seen anybody yet, and why the ceiling mounted cameras hadn’t given him away; nobody was paying attention to the
inside of the hospital or the video monitors. They were all securing the perimeter. They would have him on recordings, but then it would be too late. But if he wasn’t careful, a dozen security agents would be on him fast, and Sweetwater would get away again.
He moved back to the lockers, none of which had locks. Moving slowly, afraid of a squeak from a rusty hinge, he opened every locker. They were all empty except one, which was filled with cleaning supplies. Bottles of disinfectant and a scrub brush stood inside a metal pail, with rubber gloves hanging over the edge. Nothing that could be used as a weapon. He briefly considered what he could do with the plunger at the back but rejected that when he saw the broom with replaceable head. Perfect! By unscrewing the wooden handle, he essentially had a spear. The Shooter deserved another bullet.
With his improvised weapon, he climbed into an empty locker to wait. It was a hospital after all, and someone was bound to check on Sweetwater before too long.
Squeezed into the locker, Erebus jumped when he felt a tug on his pants leg. Barely able to turn his head enough to look down, he saw two glowing red dots at his left elbow.
“Herbert,” he said, in a low whisper. “Oh God, son, I’m so sorry, I got stabbed and forgot all about you. How could I do that? I don’t know, it must be the drugs. Forgive me.”
“Kill him this time,” Herbert said.
Erebus nodded. “I won’t let you down again.”
Now that Herbert was with him, Erebus was resolved to finish the job. He stood in the dark for what seemed like hours, holding the door closed without letting it latch. Downward sloping vents allowed him to see a portion of the floor. He was careful not to make any noise, but he was growing antsy.
Eventually, he heard the loud ding of the elevator, and he tensed. He dared to crack the locker door half an inch and he saw a well-muscled woman in scrubs pulling a treadmill out of the elevator. It appeared to be stuck. Grunting and cursing, she didn’t hear Erebus step out of the locker and come up behind her.
Erebus raised the broomstick over one shoulder. She must have heard something, or maybe she sensed something was wrong, because she half turned from struggling with the treadmill, eyes wide at the wild-eyed man in the bloody T-shirt hefting the broomstick like a baseball bat. Erebus didn’t realize his wounds had opened, leaving streaks of dark red across his torso, but he was so pumped full of adrenaline he didn’t feel any pain. That allowed him to put all his strength behind the swing. The woman reflexively brought up her arm to catch the blow. The broom handle shattered.
