Marie took a bottle of Pedialyte from the bag, opened it, and handed it to him. “Here, drink this.”
His hand came out of the dark in slow motion and took the bottle. “What is it?”
“Shut up and drink it.”
“What’s the matter with him?” I asked.
“Blood loss. Here, look.”
I shined the light on her hand and followed where she pointed. Drago’s gunshot wound had continued to leak. The bumpy road had not helped. Blood soaked the side of the seat and pooled at his feet in what might qualify as a small pond. She snapped on rubber gloves.
“He going to make it?”
She stopped and looked up at me. “What do you think? Wasn’t it you who told me that, with these guys, you had to cut the head off and bury it ten feet from the body in order to kill ’em?”
Drago’s ashen face cracked a smile. “Hey, that’s a good one.”
She took out a large bottle of hydrogen peroxide, screwed off the top, and punched a hole in the foil seal with her nail. She dumped some on the wound. Pink and red foamed up and rolled off down his calf. She looked up, waiting for his reaction. He didn’t move and stared at her. She waited until the foaming stopped, then did the same procedure again and again until the quart bottle emptied. Next, she took out a fat package of feminine sanitary napkins, daubed and dried, tossing the used ones into the back of the van. The wound looked like an angry eye socket minus the eye, with purple, puckered edges. I couldn’t help thinking I was glad that wasn’t on my leg.
Drago finished the electrolytes, burped, and tossed the bottle out on the ground. Marie stopped, went and picked up the bottle, and tossed it in the back of the van. “Pig.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“You two need to play nice,” I said.
She took out a large bottle of iodine. “This might sting a little.” In the dim light she poured the red-black liquid and jumped back.
“Yaaaaa. Jesus, Keeyrist!” Drago bounced and jumped around in the seat, his eyes wide, his mouth a cavernous O.
“You shouldn’t litter like that,” she said.
“You’re nothing but a cu-”
I leaned in and with one hand clamped his throat. “Don’t you say it.”
His words choked off. He gagged.
Marie and I jumped back as he projectile vomited all the liquid he’d just ingested. When finished, he groaned, put his head back on the seat, and closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Marie said. I put the light on her face, her expression one of true sorrow and pain. She took out a second bottle and opened it. “Here, drink this.”
Drago waved his hand. “Can’t, my stomach, I’m nauseous.”
“You’re going to have to sip this and keep it down, or we’re going to the hospital. You understand?”
“Try to get me into a hospital, lady, just try it.”
“It’ll be easy once you’re unconscious. And believe me when I say that I don’t know why you’re not already.”
He hesitated, glaring at her. The large bottle looked tiny in his huge paw. He put it to his lips and took a drink.
“This time sip it, and keep sipping it. Don’t stop.”
She took out two more napkins and put one on each side, at the entrance and the exit. “Here, press firmly.” Drago leaned over and would have kept going had I not put both hands on his shoulders and pushed him back in. He managed to hold onto the bottle and the napkin as Marie wrapped his leg again and again with a gauze roll. Next, she took out an elastic bandage, the kind for knee injuries, and tightly bound the wound. She handed him a bundle of bananas. “When you feel like it, eat these.”
“I ain’t no-”
She held up a gloved finger. He shut up. She took off the gloves and tossed them in the back. “We’re going to have to torch this van when we’re done. It’s turned into a hazardous waste nightmare.” She took something else out of her bag of tricks and handed the small package to Drago.
“What’s this?”
“Breath mints. Do me the favor, would you?”
He smiled.
Bright light lit up the van from the side, blinding us.
“What a touching scene,” Jonas Mabry said from afar.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Jonas’ car was backed into the sage. We hadn’t seen him pull up, or more likely he’d been there waiting the entire time. He’d seen us doctoring Drago. I had one of the guns in my waistband. He had to have seen it by now. His bright lights washed out any possible target and worse, it illuminated and exposed my vulnerability.
Long shadows crossed the bright light as Jonas approached. His limp on a shot-up foot made his shadow dance. I turned away to let my eyes readjust. Drago sat in the van seat, head back, eyes closed, his pallor as waxy and gray as a cadaver. Had he gotten worse? We needed him.
Jonas stopped. His body blocked the light and, at the same time, kept him in a darkened relief. “You shot him like you shot me, only higher up. He doesn’t look well, Deputy Johnson.”
Marie stood tensely at my side.
“I want proof of life,” I said.
“I knew you only wanted this meet for something like this.”
“You asked for this meeting, not me. But while we’re here, I need to know we’re not going through all this for nothing.”
He came closer, his diminishing shadow restoring the bright light. From behind, Drago said, “Man, he doesn’t even have a gun. He ain’t any bigger than my old dog Bo. Grab him, I’ll make him talk.”
“Shut up.”
Jonas laughed. “You’ll be lucky to live out the night with as much blood as you’ve lost. Here.” He tossed me a bottle.
The burnt-orange prescription bottle no doubt contained pain pills. Jonas wanted his gold, and the pain drugs might help keep the shock from creeping in on Drago.
I looked back at Drago. His eyes were fierce little beads as he obeyed Marie and sipped his life-replenishing drink. Jonas had given him the motivation to live. To crush, kill, and destroy another day.
“Let’s get on with it,” said Jonas. “I can see he’s been shot. I don’t think you went out and found some random person to shoot and bring here, so let’s hear the rest of the story. How are you going to get the gold?”
Marie took a step forward. “No, not until you show us the children.”
I put my hand on her shoulder and kept her from taking another step. I whispered, “It’s better if you let me handle this.”
“Is this the little woman? You did all right for yourself, Deputy Johnson. Little young for you but-”
I cut him off. “We didn’t come here for small talk.”
“No, we didn’t.” He stepped up the rest of the way, close, and held out a smart phone. “Here, see for yourself.”
Someone on the other end had held up another phone and panned two little girls, about six or seven years old, and sent the video. They cuddled next to each other asleep in a nest of soft clean blankets. He took the phone back. “That’s enough.”
They were all right. The children were all right.
“How do we know that’s their current situation?” I asked.
“I guess you’ll have to take my word.”
“Where’s the boy?” asked Marie. “Where’s little Eddie Crane?”
Jonas feigned surprise, and not very well. “What? He wasn’t there? Well, I don’t know what’s happened to him.” Jonas now stood close enough for me to see his ugly black-holed smile as he waved his hand. “You know, as it turns out, I wanted to give you a little bonus, a little motivator.”
“That right?” I said. “We need to see Eddie.”
“Yeah, the extra motivator is that I didn’t take kids from good homes. I took them from homes where they were being molested and abused, just like you did before you fled the country.”