by Jim Riley
Chapter Sixteen
Tuesday afternoons
Lane Memorial Hospital
Zachary
"That'll teach you to get into my business," the growling voice pronounced at the side of Niki's bed.
"Samson, it's good to see you too. Nice to see you haven't lost any of your bedside manners."
Samson Mayeaux shifted from one foot to the other. Then he thrust a bouquet of flowers right under Niki's nose.
"Found these downstairs. Thought you might like them."
"That's awful sweet if you, Samson. Why don't you sit a while?"
"Can't," the big man answered. "Got to get back on the job."
"You just don’t like hospitals," Niki smiled. "It's amazing. You can study a dead body for hours. You can watch a complete autopsy, but you don't like hospitals. I don't get it."
"Hospitals are creepy."
"There has to be more to it than that. I've been with you in some of the creepiest places on earth. You don't seem to mind them." Niki said.
"It's different."
"Why are those places different than a hospital?"
"I don't know," Samson mumbled and shuffled his feet. "I guess it's because dead people are no longer suffering. They ain't feeling no pain. But in here–"
"You know what. I just figured you out."
"Huh?" Samson uttered.
"You've got that big tough demeanor, but inside you're just a big ol' Teddy Bear. There is a heart hiding inside all that muscle."
"Come on. Can we talk about you instead?"
Niki laughed. She already knew Samson Mayeaux had a heart of gold. But in his position, too many people would view that as a weakness instead of a strength if he put it on display.
“Don't worry,” she said. “Your secret is good with me. I won't tell a soul.”
"Thanks. How about you? When are you going to get out of this place?"
"Now, but don't tell the nurse. She has some other ideas"
"Are you sure? Shouldn’t we wait for them to release you?"
"I'm releasing myself. Somebody tried to kill me, and I doubt if I’ll find them inside this room. Hand me my clothes."
Samson grabbed Niki's clothes from the small closet. The blouse and jeans were still stained with blood.
"Now, if you’ll excuse me for a second?" Niki looked at the red-faced Chief of Homicide.
"Oh–sure. I'll be right back."
When Niki sat up, the pain was almost unbearable. It shot straight from her toes to the top of her head like currents of electricity. She fell back on the bed. The door opened, and Samson peeked inside.
"Niki, I think you'd better wait until tomorrow. Me and Donna will bring you some fresh clothes, and we'll figure a way to get you out of here."
Niki sunk back into the bed. She was too weak and hurt to argue. The private investigator nodded and watched the big man disappear out the doorway.
After she was sure Mayeaux was gone, Niki punched the nurse call button.
"May I help you?" The pleasant voice emanated from the speaker embedded in the bank above the head of the bed.
"I need some extra pain pills," Niki replied.
"The pain medicine is in the IV. You’re already getting it."
"Then come turn it up. I need some more."
"I'll be right there."
The nurse arrived in less than a minute. She quickly adjusted the dials controlling the IV regulator. Then she noticed Niki's clothes.
"You need to stay in bed, Miss Dupre. When you try to get up, you will only aggravate the injuries to your body."
"I'm staying here. I'm not going anywhere."
"Then I'll do away with those clothes that found their way out of the closet and onto your body by themselves. You won't be needing them anytime soon."
Niki felt like a five–year–old caught with her hand holding a piece of chocolate cake. There was no logical explanation she could conjure to explain the presence of the clothes.
"I wanted to have them ready when I'm healthy enough to leave. My friend got them out for me."
"Then he isn't much of a friend. You need to stay here until it is safe for you to travel," the nurse said.
"When will that be?"
"The doctor will be in to see you tomorrow. There is no way you’ll be ready to be discharged by then, but he might give you a reasonable timeline. These things take time."
Chapter Seventeen
Wednesday morning
Lane Memorial Hospital
Zachary
"Hey, good looking," the voice stirred Niki from a deep drug-induced sleep. She knew immediately the source of the distinct tone.
"Good morning, Senator," Niki opened her eyes. Dalton Bridgestone stood beside her bed.
Although she and Dalton were engaged, he spent a vast majority of his time in Washington DC as a member of the United States Senate. They met when Niki solved the case which made her famous in Louisiana. In the process, she cleared Dalton of allegations of murder.
"I leave you alone for a couple of days, and you get yourself almost blown up." He took a step closer and cupped her hand in his.
"You didn't need to come back down here. I'm perfectly fine."
"I wouldn't call having a piece of glass blown through a rib and into your lung as perfectly fine. I’d say you were lucky to survive."
"Politicians tend to exaggerate," she coughed from the effort of sitting up.
"That's why I don't consider myself a politician. They don't exaggerate. They lie. But back to you. The doctor said you would be in here for at least a week."
"Nope. That's not gonna happen. I'm getting out of here this morning."
"And I thought I was stubborn. Why would you want to risk that?" Dalton asked.
"Somebody tried to kill me. They killed my new friend, instead. I'm not sure how many others were killed or maimed when that bomb went off. I need to find out who."
"You need to rest. You want–"
Dalton's admonition was interrupted when the door flew open. Then he laughed.
"Shut up, Senator," Samson growled.
The Chief of Homicide was dressed in green hospital scrubs at least four sizes too small. He looked like a grizzly bear squeezed into a SCUBA diving suit. The mask hung down on one side.
"What are you supposed to be? Is this now an undercover operation?" Dalton asked.
"Shut up. I'm trying to help."
Donna burst into the room wearing a nurse's uniform that looked like it was custom–made for her. Dalton nodded at her, but still wasn't sure what they were doing.
"Niki," Donna said. "We're here to bust you out of this joint. Samson didn't want to, but I pestered him until he gave in."
Donna shot a coy grin at Samson.
"How do you ever get her to shut up? The next time I want to wear a suspect down in the interrogation room, I'll let him spend a couple of hours with her."
"I repeat. What are you guys doing here?" Dalton asked.
"Breaking her out," Samson growled. "Are you with us or against us?"
"Where are you taking her?"
Samson had a blank look. He shrugged and glanced at Donna.
"Uh–" Donna began. "We'll take her back to her townhome, I guess."
"With the two of you as friends," Dalton shook his head, "she needs no enemies."
"What are you talking about, Senator?" Samson was already uncomfortable in the ill-fitting scrubs, but now his judgment was being questioned.
A nurse entered the room while the three friends discussed how to help Niki best. Dalton grinned from ear to ear at the predicament the Chief of Homicide and Donna now found themselves.
"What are you doing here?" The nurse glared at the pair dressed in hospital clothing.
"We–we need to take the patient down to x-ray. The doctor wants to get a different angle of the damage to the rib."
The nurse continued to glare. Then she turned to Dalton.
"And what are you doing here? It's not time for visi
ting hours."
"I was just leaving. I want to commend the staff here for doing such an outstanding job. We might have to set aside some extra funding for the hospital in the Senate," he replied.
"Who are you?" The nurse was not convinced.
"I'm Dalton Bridgestone. I'm one of two senators representing you in Washington. And who may I say I have the pleasure of talking with?"
"I'm Nurse Templet."
Fine, Nurse Templet. I'll be sure to mention you in my report. Thank you."
The senator put his hand on the nurse's arm and led her back to the door. When he had her outside, he closed the door behind her. Then he wiped his brow.
"Boy, that was close. Where's the wheelchair?" Dalton asked.
"What wheelchair?" Mayeaux was puzzled.
"They won’t let Niki walk out of here. Were you planning on carrying her over your shoulder?"
"We figured she could walk." Samson responded.
"That's not how hospitals work, Chief. They take everyone out in a wheelchair."
Donna disappeared for a minute. When she returned, the petite blonde pushed a wheelchair.
Dalton and Samson helped Niki into the chair, and placed a blanket over her lap.
"Let's take her to my ranch. I can take care of her, and I'll get a couple of private nurses to help out"
"Yeah. That's exactly what we were thinking," Samson muttered as he pushed the chair at the door.
Chapter Eighteen
Wednesday afternoon
Bridgestone Exotic Game Ranch
"This is beautiful," Niki sat on the back veranda overlooking the thirty-acre lake directly behind the Lodge.
"At least it has a better view than your hospital room," Dalton replied.
Niki laughed. "That wouldn't take much. But this is the best. I love it out here."
Out here was Dalton's exotic game ranch situated on six thousand acres of hill country and swung north of Baton Rouge. He owned more than a dozen different species of wild and exotic animals. They ran from the five-pound Muntjac deer to the three thousand pound Asian Water Buffalo.
His favorite was the graceful Whitetail deer. A separate breeding facility sat beside the large lake. His primary buck, Bayou Ranger, was the largest Whitetail in the state. More importantly, his male offspring exhibited the same traits the big stag possessed.
Niki loved the regal axis deer with their forty inch pointed times and it brown and white spotted body. The axis deer appeared much like a newborn Whitetail. It's white spots were developed over eons to camouflage its presence among the wild predators. The difference between the axis and the whitetail fawn was the young Whitetail lost a spots in the first year while the axis maintained his for all its lifetime. The axis species originated in India, and royal families trained these magnificent animals to pull their carts when they mingled among the public.
Niki enjoyed the others: the majestic North American elk, the European red stag, the dainty Black Buck antelope, the palmated Fallow deer the Asian Sika dear and all the rest.
Throw in the seven thousand square-foot Lodge with a commercial kitchen, a sauna overlooking a magnificent like, and this was a splice of paradise. Niki often wondered why Dalton would leave such a beautiful place to go to a stink pot like Washington DC to fight with politicians with egos bigger than the Water Buffalo.
"Not to ruin your day, but who was trying to kill you?" Dalton asked.
"I wish I knew," Niki answered. "There are almost too many suspects to list them all."
"I've got nothing but time. I can vote by proxy on the bills until we find out. You aren't getting rid of me until I know what's going on."
"We can handle it. You need to get back to creating world peace and slashing taxes."
"Plenty of time for that. Besides, if I do it all this term, then folks won't need to re-elect me for the next one."
"I really don't know where to start," Niki pulled the blankets tighter. "We have four candidates left; an aide, an assistant, a not-so-loving wife, and two organizations unhappy with the congressman."
"That's actually five candidates," Dalton laughed. "I'm surprised there are only two organizations unhappy with Omar. I usually manage to make more than two mad every other day."
"The difference is you won’t take millions of dollars in campaign donations for the ones you make mad."
"That's why I self–funded my campaign. That way, I don't owe any lobbyist anything."
"Mr. Philbin had a different approach. He never met a donor he didn't like," Niki stated.
"What are the two groups?"
"One is CAG, the Coalition Against Guns. The other is the PCP, the People for Coastal Preservation."
Dalton whistled.
"Omar was playing with the big boys. Those are close to the top of the list of organizations we don't like to mess with in Washington."
"You had dealings with them?"
"Not really. My position is in direct contradiction to the CAG. If we outlaw guns, I won’t get much business at this commercial hunting ranch."
"What about PCP?" Niki asked. "It seems like we should all be against coastal erosion."
"I agree." Dalton gazed over the lake. "But we differ on the best way to go about it."
"What do you mean?"
"Most people think of the Gulf Coast as sandy beaches. That's not true for much of Louisiana. A lot of our coastline is marshland.
"But it’s still bad if it’s eroding," Niki said.
"True," Dalton answered. "But PCP wants to erect a series of breaker islands to absorb the tidal action along the coast."
“That sounds reasonable to me,” Niki said. “It's the waves that are eroding the coast. So putting up a block of sorts seems like a good idea.”
"If it was a sandy beach, it would work. But much of the marsh is not solid ground. It's a series of plant growth that floats on top of the saltwater. It has evolved over the centuries to thrive on the tidal action of the gulf. Take away that tidal action and the marsh disappears, along with all the native animals that call it home. Some of them are unique to Louisiana."
"It's more complicated than I thought," Niki said.
"That's why we can't use the shotgun approach like the one PCP purports. A lot of politicians side with them until they understand the truth."
"What is the solution?" She asked.
"We're not sure. It's kinda like world peace. It would be nice if we could just tell people to be nice to each other, and we could put a whole lot of people out of business."
"I think I'll stick to investigating. At least, I know when I solve a case."
"If you keep getting blown up, you won't be around solve any of them. Tell Donna, Drexel, and Samson not to let anyone know where you're staying."
"No problem there. At least, until I can get back on my feet."
"A tell me about the other suspects," Dalton leaned back in his rocking chair.
Two hours and two cups of coffee later, Niki finished telling him about the various interviews conducted by her team. Dalton absorbed the breadth of information before responding.
"Are you sure about those campaign accounts? If what Donna says is true, that's an awful lot of money for Congressman. I spent less than two million on my campaign for the Senate."
"You're a lot easier package to sell than Omar Philbin. Have you ever had the displeasure of meeting him?”
“Only had a few photo ops. But since he was in the other party and a member of the House, I didn't have a lot of interaction with him."
"They why did you go to the debate?" Niki asked.
"To support the Republican candidates. Now that both of the Democrats are out of the race, they have a good chance of winning."
"I think of that is motive. How well do you know them?"
"Jimmy Gill is a nice fella. He and I agree on a lot of the issues."
"He was less than fond of Omar," Niki said.
"I don't think you'll find that to be an unusual sentiment from our side. The ba
d thing about Omar was his inconsistency. One day he would be on one side, and the next he would have a totally different stance."
"From what I heard from his aide and his assistant, that would be consistent with a big campaign contribution."
"You may be right," Dalton agreed. "I's learned never to count on his vote until he pushed the button."
"How about Kenny Long? He couldn't have been happy after Omar stole his donor list. That would make me mad."
"Kenny is volatile enough to do something rash. But in my mind, he would have stopped with Omar. He wouldn't have gone after you."
"Unless he was scared of getting caught. I’ve seen some people do some desperate things when they think they might go to jail."
"Look," Dalton interrupted and pointed at the lake. A twelve-foot alligator eased through the water, his target two sika deer. Niki thought the pair of deer were so cute. The contrast between their coal-black bodies and the cotton white haunches easily identified them. She realized the alligator was in search of a meal.
"Do something," she said, her voice a bit higher than normal.
"There's nothing we can do. They’ll hear us, but they are used to noises coming from the ranch. They'll ignore it."
"Get a gun and shoot him." Niki pointed at the alligator.
"Why? He's only doing what he has to do to survive. How would you like to get shot at every time you got a craving for Cajun fried chicken livers?" He asked.
"I don't kill the chickens to get their livers."
"I doubt if they volunteered to give them up. Those deer have a better chance than those chickens had."
"Ugh. That puts a whole new perspective on chicken livers. I think I might stick to wings."
"Huh? Do you think the same chickens that gave up their livers decided to donate their wings? Relax. That's why God put those animals on earth. They're part of the overall food chain."
