Chapter 2
The week went by in a sweet haze. Sunny and I loving in the best way. A few boat projects that surprisingly all went according to schedule. Cool temps, but lots of sunshine and warm breezes that soothed, caressed, and brought the promise of spring. I figured it didn’t get much better than this – at least until the call.
I didn’t catch the voice at first. It was weak and troubled, like someone I should know but didn’t.
“T.K., it’s Glen .”
Glen, our favorite bass player and the karate instructor who had partnered with me to rescue our musician friends, Pam and Shorty. We helped deliver them from some nasty business involving large amounts of heroin and the local mob. A few people had died, a couple of ours, including Pam’s brother, but mostly the bad guys. Our local mob wasn’t very happy. The net result was that Glen, Sunny, and I had targets permanently affixed to our backs.
“So Glen, how goes it in your version of paradise by the bay?”
“Not good. I’m in the hospital. They torched the school and almost me with it. Molotov cocktails through the front window. Smoke inhalation and some bad burns. They think I’m going to be okay, but it involves skin grafts and other gruesome shit.”
I sucked in some air and held it for a minute.
“Was it The Boss Lady and Panko?”
“Don’t know for sure, but who else loves ya, baby? Got a note in the mail a few days earlier . . . no return address, postmarked from Atlantic City. One line in capital letters cut and pasted from a newspaper. ‘Don’t think we forget our friends.’ That’s all it said. I wanted you to know. Watch your ass, buddy. These people have long arms, plenty of contacts and they don’t play nice.”
It was hard to make small talk after that kind of warning. I told him I’d be by the hospital later that day. I thanked him and told him to call if he wanted me to bring anything. He asked me to sneak in some Knob Creek, tried to manufacture a laugh and told me that sweet brown whiskey was the only thing that might really help. I told him I would and hung up.
I had been hoping for a distraction while we waited for the next bolt of cold, but it didn’t include someone trying to kill me or Sunny. I called her immediately and told her about Glen. Neither of us had received any mysterious notes in newsprint, but the warning was clear and urgent. “Long arms . . .” Why was it the violent creeps always seemed to have them? And why was it they often seemed to be reaching for us? Maybe they just wanted to see us dead. And maybe the feeling was mutual.
……….
The big woman smiled as she passed by the nurse’s station. She held a small bouquet in a glass container. Her bulk was hidden by a pair of black linen slacks and a pale pink loose fitting blouse. The long sleeves covered the tattoos. She wore a pair of black Nikes in case she had to move quickly, but she hoped she wouldn’t need them. She cracked the door just enough to see that he was sleeping. Then she tip-toed in. He didn’t stir. She was glad. He was small by her standards, but she knew he could be very powerful. She probably outweighed him by seventy or eighty lbs. and her past had left her with her own share of muscle. In her line of work, she needed it to keep it hard and supple. The daily trips to the gym assured her of that. The fact that she was a woman usually gave her an edge. People were surprised, if not shocked, when she put her hands on them. And if there was a problem, she had Elmer.
She placed the clear vase on the table without a sound and scanned the room. An extra pillow was fluffed and resting on the chair beside the bed. She grinned. It would do. In a minute it was over.
He didn’t even struggle.
……….
I showered and shaved. Clean clothes, a splash of men’s cologne, the whole bit. I didn’t want to scare the nurses at the hospital. Then I hopped on my Schwinn and headed for the liquor store. Glen wanted Knob Creek and I’d get it past the staff one way or another. I finally decided to pour it into an empty milk carton, low fat 2%. Of course I rinsed it out first, but that was the only ceremony to be had. I put it in a brown grocery bag and slung it over the handlebars. The hospital wasn’t far. I locked my trusty ride to a light pole and went through the double glass doors. A green-eyed woman in a green dress smiled and gave me the room number.
The elevator doors slid aside and I looked either way to see if any hospital types were idle enough to conduct an inspection. It looked like the coast was clear. I tucked my contraband under my arm and strolled to 602. I knocked lightly and went in. Glen was asleep, his mouth slightly open. There was an IV stuck in his left arm and some bandages covering the right side of his face. They oozed a sickly yellow, and I could see enough to know he had been much too close to the flames. A grocery store bouquet of multi-colored zinnias sat on the table making a shrill attempt at cheer. No greeting card. I could barely detect any movement in his chest.
I stepped quietly over to the bed, thought about leaving the bourbon and coming back later, but I was here and I needed Glen to tell me where to hide the hooch. If he was up to it, I also wanted to ask him for a rundown on the fire and the bastards who tossed the gasoline cocktails into his school. I placed my hand gently on his forearm. He didn’t stir. I squeezed just a bit. That’s when I realized he wasn’t sleeping.
I put two fingers to his neck. No need to call a nurse -- his arm was cool and bloodless. He was way past dead. I dropped my head and gritted my teeth. This was the guy, all 5” 6’ 140 lbs. of him, who had joined me, risking his life so we could save Sunny’s. I owed him, but there would be no repayment now. I took a deep breath and stared at the body. Now I noted the blue tinge in the lips and the stains on the pillow that had been placed under his head. I wasn’t sure, but I thought someone could have cut off his life’s breath while while he was groggy – probably from some pain medicine and the trauma of the burns. I didn’t want to be here when the cops arrived. I closed the door behind me and went to the nurse’s station. An attractive brunette put down a pen and looked at me through black horn-rimmed glasses.
“Pardon me. I’m Glen Macklin’s brother. Has anyone been up to visit this aftnoon?”
“Yes sir, your mother was here about an hour ago. She looked in on him, brought some flowers. She only stayed about ten minutes. Said he was resting quietly.”
“Good old Mom, always looking after her boys.”
Miss Horn-Rims smiled, cradled her pen, and went back to her log book. I left the building, a powerful nausea throttling in my gut.
My first call was to my confederate at Homicide, Norfolk P. D. I used the number of his private cell. It was still on speed dial from Sunny’s kidnapping and the alleged overdose of two people who should have been alive.
“Bill, consider this an anonymous caller. Glen is in room 602 at Norfolk Memorial.”
“Yeah, T.K. How’s he doing?”
“Mostly dead,” I replied. Bill was silent.
I told him about the call earlier in the day and the horror at discovering a corpse when I attempted to see him. . . and, of course, the visit from “Mother.”
“I’ll get back to you,” he said and clicked off.