He jumped up and rushed to the bathroom, brushing his teeth while he used the toilet. Then he washed his face furiously before he slowed his pace and then just stopped, staring down into the sink’s basin. He was twelve hours late. She didn’t want to see him now.
He padded back to his bedroom and checked his phone. No one had called since Lieutenant Hester the night before. He’d blown it, and he knew it. The condoms mocked him from the dresser.
He thought about calling her but didn’t know what he’d say. He did know saying something was better than saying nothing. He listened as her phone rang, imagining her looking at the number, shaking her head, and throwing her phone across the room.
Then Patty’s prerecorded sweet voice came on, telling him to leave a message.
“Hey, it’s, um, me. Call me when you get this. I’m sorry. It was just a mistake. I’ll explain when we talk.” He cut off the call and plopped back onto the bed. For a guy who just slept twelve hours he didn’t feel rested at all.
Patty felt her eyes open, but her vision wasn’t clear. It felt as if she was wearing someone else’s glasses and nothing was in focus. She had no idea what had happened. Maybe she fainted, or the exhaustion caught up with her.
When she tried to move she couldn’t. She wasn’t paralyzed. Someone had restrained her. Patty’s first thought was that she’d had a seizure and this was some special hospital unit. Turning her head she saw a figure across the room in a bed, but her vision was still burry.
Panic rose in her throat as she considered how scared her mom must be or if anyone had even notified her yet. She tested the restraints and wiggled under the cover. She was naked, that much she could tell. The restraints were like handcuffs and her hands were suspended above her head. That wasn’t like a hospital. Something was terribly wrong.
Patty struggled harder and croaked out a scream from her dry throat. “Hey. Anyone.” She couldn’t manage much more than that.
The door creaked open, letting in natural light. She then realized one floor lamp had provided all the light in the room. A man’s figure waited at the door, looking at her. Then he said, “I’m not quite ready for you yet.”
“Ready for what? Who are you? Where am I?” She had more questions but lost them in the crackling dust of her throat.
The man moved toward her with something in his hand. As he got closer her eyes focused and she realized she knew the man from somewhere. He bent down and placed a soft cloth over her face.
Patty tried to bite him but also recognized him. This was the guy from the pharmacy. She had specific questions, but before she could ask, everything turned blurry, then dark again.
John Stallings sat in his Impala near the intersection of Atlantic Boulevard and South University just east of the St. Johns River. He knew where there’d been increasing complaints of speeders and media reports of needless accidents. He listened carefully to his handheld radio as the traffic unit called out speeders to other patrolmen down the road. It was an efficient net to slow people down and cost a few drivers points on their license as well as increased insurance premiums.
His phone had been quiet this morning. Patty had apparently taken the hint and the others had enough class not to call him. That was fine. He didn’t want to talk to anyone until he had proof that he was owed an apology and got another chance to clear his conscience and catch the Bag Man.
Then he heard the call on the radio. This was his chance and they weren’t too far away. He pulled out of the convenience store he’d been sitting in and drove east down Atlantic Boulevard. After a couple of miles he saw the two cruisers parked on the shoulder of the road. The ancient rite of the patrolman passing off paperwork to his sergeant.
Stallings eased in behind them, making sure they realized it was an unmarked police car. He gave his blue lights mounted at the top of his windshield a quick flash until he saw each man wave from inside. It was a courtesy and would keep him from being shot if he surprised them.
He walked alongside the supervisor’s car as the door opened, then Stallings stopped near the trunk of the car.
Stallings said, “Rick, we gotta talk.”
Sergeant Rick Ellis smiled and said, “Sure, what do you want to talk about?”
Stallings looked down at the ground, gathering his thoughts, then up into the big man’s face. “First of all, we should talk about if you want me to kick your ass in front of your man. Then we’ll decide how our chat will go after that.”
Forty-one
John Stallings told himself to keep cool and not do anything stupid. There could be an explanation. Rick might not have anything to do with it, and this could be a waste of time. But something in the sergeant’s face told Stallings that was all bullshit. He had his man. He acted as if Stallings’s threat to kick his ass was just a joke.
Ellis stayed calm and casually strolled to the rear of the cruiser, cars on the road all slowing down as they approached, fearing a speed trap or rubbernecking to see the poor jerk who got stopped already. Once away from the road and between the cruisers, the big sergeant wrapped an arm around Stallings’s shoulder and said, “What can I do for you, pal?”
Stallings gave him every chance. “I got removed from the Bag Man case.”
“No shit? Why?”
“They claim I called Channel Eleven.” He kept his eyes on Ellis’s face, which didn’t let out any hints.
“That’s crazy, Stall. You wouldn’t do that.”
“I know that, and you know that, but they still believe it.”
“Why? What’s their evidence?”
“My cell phone. There’s a call to the station from my phone.” He noticed Ellis swallow hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“That can be a mistake. Shit, the cell companies keep records as accurately as a terrorist smoking pot.” He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “They’re all riled up and clueless at the same time.”
Stallings intensified his stare. “Rick, the call was made the day Luis Martinez capped the pot grower.”
“There you go, it couldn’t have been you. You were on the scene all day.”
Stallings clenched his fist, ready to revert to his own ways of doing things. “Cut the shit, Rick.”
Ellis stared at him then said, “Whaddya mean?”
Just the stare from Stallings made the big uniformed man wince.
The sergeant took a step back and held up his hands. “Don’t rat me out, Stall, I’m in my last year.” Then he started to cry.
Stallings released his fist, and all he could do was shake his head.
“Why?”
Now Ellis couldn’t look at him. “It’s a job for retirement. The company that owns Channel Eleven needs a director of security and this was my ticket.”
Stallings just shook his head and turned around.
He had to find Patty and explain it to her.
William Dremmel caught himself humming while he used an electric griddle to cook scrambled eggs, ham, and pancakes. Although it was early afternoon he knew his two houseguests would be waking up soon, and he wanted them to feel like it was morning. Plus the meal he was making had plenty of protein in it.
His mother had surprised him early by rolling out of her room, across the walkway, and into the main section of the house. She had clear eyes, and her complexion gave her a healthy look he’d not seen in almost a year. She wore a bright yellow blouse that showed off her cleavage and nice form for an older woman. As always, she wore a long dress to hide her battered and unused legs. Even he hadn’t seen her legs in a long time. Her smile and pleasant greeting made him feel a twinge of guilt for keeping her so heavily sedated. He’d thought she was fading and initially justified the heavy narcotics as a way to ease her pain, but that was rubbish. He needed his privacy, had thought about how his father had been pushed too far, and decided to take matters into his own hands. In his defense he had no plans to tranquilize her again today. She was safely down the steps in the family room watching the big-screen TV and enjoying the sun shining in through the rows of jalousie windows. Without his help she couldn’t wheel herself up into the living room, then past his bedroom all the way to his darkroom/lab.