Gift shop with T-shirts? She deliberated. Sure, T-shirts but not jeans, pants, or shorts. Probably chocolates, candy, teddy bears, hah to that, and flowers. Maybe T-shirts. Jeans, jeans, jeans. Aha. Hospital scrubs. Or another patient’s clothing. Teddy blinked at herself. Sure, feel guilty about not paying a hospital bill but don’t hesitate to steal someone’s clothing. She brightened. Maybe I can add it to the bill.
Barefoot, Teddy padded to the door and eased it open, looking out directly at the nurse’s station. Nurse Chapman wasn’t there, but there was a petite Asian woman who looked just as tough as the other woman. She was talking on the phone to someone else and berating them for not being on time. She also said something about having their ass sautéed on a platter if they weren’t here for their duties before another hour passed.
Teddy blinked again. Bet she has a black belt, too. She opened the door up all the way and stole down the hall in the opposite direction from the nurse’s station, bare feet not making a bit of noise as she trod down the shiny linoleum. The Asian woman didn’t look around.
•
Twenty miles away Gower approached the booth that announced it was Sailor Jack’s Whale Watching and Fishing Tours, and smiled genially at Big Bridget as she took a wad of money from a family of Japanese tourists. He was wearing another suit. No lint on these shoulders. Not a crease was to be found on the back, despite several hours on a chartered flight from San Francisco to Salem, Oregon to a small airport called McNary Field. There, a car had been reserved for Gower and the other man traveling with him, Burke Redmond. Seventy miles along narrow, winding two lane roads had brought the pair to Sullivan’s Bay. Gower had had to fight to find a reasonably close parking place, even though the afternoon sun was beginning to dip into the ocean.
Redmond said, “Christ, it’s busy here.”
Gower glanced at the smaller man. His hair was the color of a raven’s wing, cut short and elegantly along his squared face accompanied by fathomless black eyes. ‘Dead eyes’ were what Gower called them when he saw them in other people. In Redmond they were more like the living dead. In his forties, perhaps ten years older than Gower, he was as ruthless as any man Gower had ever seen. He never failed that Gower had known about and he didn’t mess around with nonessential details. He got the job done, whatever the job was, and his skills were almost as honed as Gower’s himself.
The dark haired man wore a similar suit to Gower’s. The style was contemporary. The cut was tailored. Dark blue with a crisp white shirt underneath, topped off with a tie the color of golden rust, his appearance was professional. He wore it as well as any man on Wall Street or in Market Square. No one could tell that a pistol comfortably rested in its holster at the side of his waist or that a pair of handcuffs sat on the opposite side. No one could tell that this man could bench press almost double his weight and made all of his decisions with a coolness that equaled the north wind blowing out of the Arctic winter.
A woman behind them said, “It’s because of that girl yesterday.”
Redmond turned and gazed at the woman who’d spoken. She took a step back almost involuntarily, instinctively perceiving that these two men were not to be trifled with. “What girl?” he asked cordially.
“The one that rescued the little boy. It’s been on all the news. Everyone wants to see her or at least ride the whaling boat where she works.” The woman pointed at Sailor Jack’s sign. She was a slight woman in her forties with dyed auburn hair. Her children meandered about behind her, ignorant of her conversation to the two men. Her husband, if she had one, was absent. She had simply been interested in making conversation with other people while they waited on the hourly trip, but almost immediately lamented her impulsive tongue. “The guy that owns that place has booked up his trips for the next week. He’s been on the news talking about how heroic that girl was. How she just jumped right into the bay. Off that bridge.” The woman pointed at the bridge just beyond the booth. “Long way down.”
Redmond and Gower turned away with a little nod in her direction. The shorter man remarked, “This seems like overkill for one little girl.”
Gower smiled politely. “Smart little girl. With her face on every milk box for years and in every hood’s back room with a discrete reward she hasn’t surfaced. At least not directly. People say they think it’s her. Lot of little girls out there. But this one-” he seemed to look inward for a moment, lost in an internal vision of the one that he sought-“she’s special.”
Redmond shrugged. “Just part of the nine to five for me.”
They spent the next few minutes observing the area, but their target was nowhere to be found, and Gower found that his information obtained from a sheriff’s deputy was apparently incorrect. Their little bird wasn’t around. It was possible she had already flown the coop.
Big Bridget turned to Gower and Redmond with a little curve on her face. She was thinking that they were more reporters or some fancy schmancy people ready to take an expensive ride on the Mary Celeste or the Sir James Murray, ships that the infamous Teddy Smith worked upon. Her husband, Jack, was happy. They weren’t just going to make the mortgage notes this month by the skin of their teeth, but were solid for the next six months. Jack was already talking about buying a big-screen television for the living room.
Then the tall, blonde-haired man flashed a badge with a polished, uncomplicated movement of his hand and grinned knowingly at her. “Name’s Gower. Like to talk to you about Teddy Smith.”
The large woman was perplexed. “What in God’s name for? Is jumping off the Bay Bridge illegal?”
“Privately,” said the shorter man with his pitch-black hair glinting blue highlights in the last vestiges of the dying sun.
“Tommy,” Bridget yelled at her eldest son. “Take over here. And remember the next three days are completely booked. No over-booking but tell them if someone don’t show up then they can go on standby, if they wanna stand around waiting.” She lowered her voice to the two men who waited for her. “Kind of like an airplane. You know?” She crooked a finger and beckoned them down the stairs, raising a retaining rope and replacing it as they passed through it. “There’s an office on the second level.”
Down one flight of stairs the tiny office was empty and unlocked. The only possessions of any value were a telephone, an answering machine, and a computer that was one generation past being an antique. The woman ignored the only chair behind a gunmetal colored desk, balancing her large body on the desk and waited for the men to speak, folding thick fingers across her stomach.
Gower was gauging the fat woman. He was looking at her and his brain was working at light speed, judging what story to tell her, what would be most convincing to this woman, what would cause her to aid them, and deciding what wouldn’t work. She was a tall woman. Large in stature, large in heart. Blonde hair streaked with gray was braided neatly at the back of her head. She was a mother in her fifties. A blue-collar mother, who didn’t put much stock in the government. Didn’t think much of the taxes that she and her man had to pay. Hired illegal workers when they could. Like Theodora. Paid them under the table. When the customers paid in cash, and they all encouraged the customers to do just that by not taking checks or credit cards, they under-reported their income to the I.R.S.
Gower knew this type. It was fortunate for them that they were speaking to Mrs. Sailor Jack because Mr. Sailor Jack would have spit in their faces and dared them to get a warrant because he wouldn’t tell them diddly-doodly squat. But Mrs. Jack would. As soon as she was convinced that they were occupied in Theodora’s best interests. He removed a small note pad from his jacket and flipped it open. “You’re Bridget Annalisa Little,” he stated.
Bridget nodded. She wasn’t worried. They’d been audited before and the goon squads never came in suits to the booth to make an arrest. Bad for local tourism. They always waited until the Littles were at home. Jack and the boys made less of a fuss there. And the charges were usually relating to a drunken fight here or there or too
many ignored speeding tickets. Besides these men had already stated that they were interested in Teddy. “Listen,” she said. “I can’t imagine why you’d be concerned with Teds.” She almost sputtered out an incredulous laugh at that idea in her mind. “I doubt that child’s got a bad bone in her whole body. She just about has a fit when Jack doesn’t report the right number on the catch. As a matter of fact, I think she’s feeling guilty ‘bout all the attention she’s getting right now. Prolly the gal just thought she was doing the right thing when she done jumped in the drink. She wouldn’t like all of this.”
“You have a work application for Teddy Smith?” asked Gower, interrupting her.
“A work application?” repeated Big Bridget carefully. “Dunno. Have to ask Jack about that. He keeps track of all those kinds of records. Besides we had a blow last month in here. Ruint a lot of records. Might not even be around.” The woman knew what to say when pressed on those kinds of questions. “Big blow. Lots of water damage. Lots of paperwork got thrown right the heck on out.”
Redmond moved impatiently beside him, getting tired of this runaround. Gower raised a hand slightly and Redmond backed off. The shorter man was more inclined to the direct route to the intended target. He didn’t want to play these kinds of games. But Gower wasn’t about to leave a conspicuous trail to Theodora if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Consequently, he smiled again at the large woman and employed his astute sense of character. “Listen, Mrs. Little. I know that you feel protective of the young woman. I understand those feelings. She’s a good girl. Comes to work on time. Does her fair share and then some. Never complains. Smart girl, too. But there’s a little problem with all of that.”
Bridget stared back implacably.
Gower continued, his tone level, almost concerned, “She doesn’t have a social security number. She doesn’t have references. Doesn’t talk about her family. Doesn’t seem to have anyone. Perhaps you’ve dealt with the type before. A runaway. Maybe you think it’s worse than that. Her father abuses her. Maybe has sex with her since she was ten years old. Her mom’s an alcoholic. She’s better off here, even if you’re paying her less than minimum wage. Maybe you even like the girl.”
“I do like her,” it slipped out of Bridget’s mouth before she had a chance to bite it back. Gower waited patiently. “She is a good girl and I don’t want nothing bad to happen to her. Not from her folks. She’s a smart gal. She wouldn’t have run away from her home if anything good was a happening there.”
The blonde-haired man nodded and began the lie that he knew would work on a woman like Bridget Little. Like all lies it possessed elements of the truth mixed in with the lies. “She tested at a genius level the last time she was tested for an intelligent quotient. But it’s only a bad divorce this girl has run away from. Her father and mother were fighting over custody. Each thought that they were the better parent. Accordingly, and unknowingly to them, some of that pressure was put on their child. I suppose she didn’t think she had a choice. Her father still loves her. Her mother still loves her. They’ve resolved their differences in order to get through this tragic situation. I can assure you that they have come through hell and high water to bring her safely home.” That was what made a good lie effective, to tangle it with threads of truth, so that it blended together effortlessly.
“But you’re a cop,” protested Bridget. “You people don’t go searching for little girls when they go missing, less they’ve been kidnapped.”
“No,” Gower affirmed. “We’re friends of the family. Teddy’s father is our boss. We saw her on the news. You know they’ve been showing that clip of her rescuing the little boy on the hour, every hour, for the last twenty-four.”
“Teddy’s father is a fed!” exclaimed Big Bridget. “Well, Christ on a shingle.”
“Why don’t you tell us where she is,” suggested Gower.
“Still at the hospital,” replied Bridget, with some surprise. “That gal was asleep when I visited her today. One of her lungs was collapsed I think. Something about her ribs. She’s going to be there a few days. I’ll give you directions.”
“That would be great,” answered Gower with a smile that made his face brilliant.
Bridget thought, Boy, ain’t that little gal lucky that her father’s got friends like these. But after they were gone a troubling feeling rolled across her, So why don’t the cops just call the local cops to find out where Teddy is? Why come bouncing all the way down to Sailor Jack’s? But she disregarded the bothersome notion with an uneasy shrug and went back to dealing with the multitude of people who wanted to go on a boat ride at Sailor Jack’s Whale Watching and Fishing Tours.
•
At Lincoln Memorial Hospital Teddy was blocked by a group of journalists. One had a camera and all were drinking coffee in the lobby of the tiny hospital. There was no way that she was going to be able to waltz by them, even if she had found some alternative piece of clothing to wear. She returned to her room without having found any clothing she could escape with and was sitting on the bed, cogitating. Clenching the sheets in her fists, she thought, This place is a cage. And I’m trapped in it. If I don’t get out of here soon, something really bad is going to happen...
•
At seven-forty-five P.M. Gower and Redmond walked into the lobby of the hospital where the journalists had been gathering for hours, waiting for the young woman to make a statement to the press, as the hospital administrator had been promising for three hours. They went to the receptionist and quietly informed her that it was a matter of some urgency that they should be immediately taken to Teddy Smith’s room.
The receptionist looked at their credentials and raised her eyebrows. “I can have the hospital administrator, Mr. Shawn, take you up there. He’s been on the phone all day with reporters all over the world and he’s been waiting for her to wake up. Poor girl was awfully tired from taking a dip in the cold, icy ocean yesterday.”
Gower found another occasion to smile.
Chapter Five
August 15th
Selection from The Mechanics of Flight, written by John St. Smith, Agabus Press, 2001, pg. 56: Every part of the bird embraces the mechanics that enables its remarkable prowess in the area of flight. From the exterior of the animal the feathers insulate the bird’s body and protect its skin. Their appearance is deceptive. They are light but very strong; they are flexible but very tough. Their wingspan depends on the weight of the bird. The larger the bird the more span is necessary to attain lift. Internally birds are made perfectly for the act of flying with bones that are hard but thin, and sometimes hollow. Additionally, birds possess a unique sense of balance inspired by enhanced hearing. Inspired by birds which soar on sheets of air and wind only man attempts to duplicate its envious quintessence in order to duplicate the act of flying, never really as successful as the avian masters.
The Asian nurse called out to someone just outside the room and Teddy rolled up in a blanket and faced away from the door, swiftly closing her eyes to feign sleep. Outside, the nurse said, “I’ll see, okay. Just do Mr. Bartley. He said his hernia is driving him nuts. Yeah. Me, too. And I don’t even get to take the meds for it.” There was a bit of silence and then the door creaked open and a soft, unaccented voice said, “Teddy? Honey? You awake?”
Teddy didn’t budge and after a moment the door softly squeaked shut. There wasn’t a lot of time here and she had run out of it. There was a bad feeling that was crawling about in the depths of her gut that was screaming at her to get out. To get out right now. She chewed on the edge of a thumbnail and wondered, Now just what in the name of God am I going to do?
•
Downstairs Peter Shawn, whose title was Lincoln Memorial County Hospital Administrator, was speaking to two government officials while wondering what he was going to do. He was a medium-sized, officious man with little regard to the patients in the hospital but rather to the regular, if not increased, flow of money into the hospital’s venerated hallways. Not even forty years ol
d he was determined to become a millionaire by the time he was forty-five and was well on his way, thanks to the profit margins of many an HMO and PPO. But the situation with Teddy Smith, young heroine and homeless vagrant, possible runaway, didn’t bring in any revenue at all.
On the contrary, the entire state of affairs wasted Shawn’s time and he disliked it immensely. Reporters and journalists had been calling nonstop for the last twenty-four hours and demanding minutes that Shawn did not have to squander. And he did not even care to think about who was going to pay for the care of the young woman. The hospital’s board had had an emergency meeting the evening before and decided that she could stay until they found a responsible party for her, and Shawn had inwardly winced at the loss of the income of the room. He had a feeling that the hospital was going to bite the bullet on that one and that the resulting loss of profit wasn’t going to look admirable on his record when he came up for profit sharing cuts and bonuses early next year.
So when the receptionist had called up to tell him two men were there from the government, concerning Teddy Smith, Shawn foresaw a possible, non-fault ending to a toilsome position. He didn’t waste any time getting to the men so that he could escort them promptly to Miss Smith’s room, talking to Gower and Redmond the entire way. “I’m sure that we all understood she was a runaway. After all, she looks like she’s fifteen years old, doesn’t she? No identification. No belongings. And even if she did save that young boy, it’s still a dreadful shame about that condition. Our young children on the streets.” He made a tut-tutting noise, and thought, Not on our streets, but certainly not in my hospital, either. He glanced at the two men. One tall and blonde, as handsome as any movie star. The other one small and intense, like a determined animal, only barely in check. I didn’t know the government would hire men like them.
Flight of the Scarlet Tanager Page 5
