[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
for a moment. I ll be fine, he said, and he straightened up a bit. Let s get going. And he seemed so
tired and sad that I didn t have the heart to say anything except, All right.
He hopped back to the passenger door of my car, leaning on my shoulder, and as I helped ease him
into the seat the passengers of the old Buick trooped out carrying beer and pork rinds. The driver
smiled and nodded at me. I smiled back and closed the door. Crocodilios, I said, nodding at Chutsky.
Ah, the driver said back. Lo siento. He got behind the wheel of his car, and I walked around to get
into mine.
Chutsky had nothing at all to say for most of the drive. Right after the interchange onto I-95, however,
he began to tremble badly. Oh fuck, he said. I looked over at him. The drugs, he said. Wearing
off. His teeth began to chatter and he snapped them shut. His breath hissed out and I could see sweat
begin to form on his bald face.
Would you like to reconsider the hospital? I asked.
Do you have anything to drink? he asked, a rather abrupt change of subject, I thought.
I think there s a bottle of water in the backseat, I said helpfully.
125 of 147
Drink, he repeated. Some vodka, or whiskey.
I don t generally keep any in the car, I said.
Fuck, he said. Just get me to my hotel.
I did that. For reasons known only to Chutsky, he was staying at the Mutiny in Coconut Grove. It had
been one of the first luxury high-rise hotels in the area and had once been frequented by models,
directors, drug runners, and other celebrities. It was still very nice, but it had lost a little bit of its
cachet as the once-rustic Grove became overrun with luxury high-rises. Perhaps Chutsky had known it
in its heyday and stayed there now for sentimental reasons. You really had to be deeply suspicious of
sentimentality in a man who had worn a pinkie ring.
We came down off 95 onto Dixie Highway, and I turned left on Unity and rolled on down to Bayshore.
The Mutiny was a little ways ahead on the right, and I pulled up in front of the hotel. Just drop me
here, Chutsky said.
I stared at him. Perhaps the drugs had affected his mind. Don t you want me to help you up to your
room?
I ll be fine, he said. That may have been his new mantra, but he didn t look fine. He was sweating
heavily now and I could not imagine how he thought he would get up to his room. But I am not the
kind of person who would ever intrude with unwanted help, so I simply said, All right, and watched
as he opened the door and got out. He held on to the roof of the car and stood unsteadily on his one
leg for a minute before the bell captain saw him swaying there. The captain frowned at this apparition
with the orange jumpsuit and the gleaming skull. Hey, Benny, Chutsky said. Gimme a hand, buddy.
Mr. Chutsky? he said dubiously, and then his jaw dropped as he noticed the missing parts. Oh,
Lord, he said. He clapped his hands three times and a bellboy ran out.
Chutsky looked back at me. I ll be fine, he said.
And really, when you re not wanted there s not much you can do except leave, which is what I did.
The last I saw of Chutsky he was leaning on the bell captain as the bellboy pushed a wheelchair toward
them out the front door of the hotel.
It was still a little bit shy of midnight as I drove down Main Highway and headed for home, which was
hard to believe considering all that had happened tonight. Vince s party seemed like several weeks ago,
and yet he probably hadn t even unplugged his fruit-punch fountain yet. Between my Trial by Stripper
and rescuing Chutsky from the gator farm, I had earned my rest tonight, and I admit that I was thinking
of little else except crawling into my bed and pulling the covers over my head.
But of course, there s no rest for the wicked, which I certainly am. My cell phone rang as I turned left
on Douglas. Very few people call me, especially this late at night. I glanced at the phone; it was
Deborah.
Greetings, sister dear, I said.
You asshole, you said you d call! she said.
126 of 147
It seemed a little late, I said.
Did you really think I could fucking SLEEP?! she yelled, loud enough to cause pain to people in
passing cars. What happened?
I got Chutsky back, I said. But Dr. Danco got away. With Doakes.
Where is he?
I don t know, Debs, he got away in an airboat and
Kyle, you idiot. Where is Kyle? Is he all right?
I dropped him at the Mutiny. He s, um . . . He s almost all right, I said.
What the fuck does that mean?!? she screamed at me, and I had to switch my phone to the other ear.
Deborah, he s going to be okay. He s just he lost half of his left arm and half the right leg. And all
his hair, I said. She was quiet for several seconds.
Bring me some clothes, she said at last.
He s feeling very uncertain, Debs. I don t think he wants
Clothes, Dexter. Now, she said, and she hung up.
As I said, no rest for the wicked. I sighed heavily at the injustice of it all, but I obeyed. I was almost
back to my apartment, and Deborah had left some things there. So I ran in and, although I paused to
look longingly at my bed, I gathered a change of clothing for her and headed for the hospital.
Deborah was sitting on the edge of her bed tapping her feet impatiently when I came in. She held her
hospital gown closed with the hand that protruded from her cast, and clutched her gun and badge with
the other. She looked like Avenging Fury after an accident.
Jesus Christ, she said, where the hell have you been? Help me get dressed. She dropped her gown
and stood up.
I pulled a polo shirt over her head, working it awkwardly around the cast. We just barely had the shirt
in place when a stout woman in a nurse s uniform hurried into the room. What you think you re
doing? she said in a thick Bahamian accent.
Leaving, Deborah said.
Get back in that bed or I will call doctor, the nurse said.
Call him, Deborah said, now hopping on one foot as she struggled into her pants.
No you don t, the nurse said. You get back in the bed.
Deborah held up her shield. This is a police emergency, she said. If you impede me I am authorized
to arrest you for obstruction of justice.
127 of 147
The nurse thought she was going to say something very severe, but she opened her mouth, looked at
the shield, looked at Deborah, and changed her mind. I will have to tell doctor, she said.
Whatever, Deborah said. Dexter, help me close my pants. The nurse watched disapprovingly for
another few seconds, then turned and whisked away down the hall.
Really, Debs, I said. Obstruction of justice?
Let s go, she said, and marched out the door. I trailed dutifully behind.
Deborah was alternately tense and angry on the drive back over to the Mutiny. She would chew on her
lower lip, and then snarl at me to hurry up, and then as we came close to the hotel, she got very quiet.
She finally looked out her window and said, What s he like, Dex? How bad is it?
It s a very bad haircut, Debs. It makes him look pretty weird. But the other stuff . . . He seems to be [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl fopke.keep.pl
for a moment. I ll be fine, he said, and he straightened up a bit. Let s get going. And he seemed so
tired and sad that I didn t have the heart to say anything except, All right.
He hopped back to the passenger door of my car, leaning on my shoulder, and as I helped ease him
into the seat the passengers of the old Buick trooped out carrying beer and pork rinds. The driver
smiled and nodded at me. I smiled back and closed the door. Crocodilios, I said, nodding at Chutsky.
Ah, the driver said back. Lo siento. He got behind the wheel of his car, and I walked around to get
into mine.
Chutsky had nothing at all to say for most of the drive. Right after the interchange onto I-95, however,
he began to tremble badly. Oh fuck, he said. I looked over at him. The drugs, he said. Wearing
off. His teeth began to chatter and he snapped them shut. His breath hissed out and I could see sweat
begin to form on his bald face.
Would you like to reconsider the hospital? I asked.
Do you have anything to drink? he asked, a rather abrupt change of subject, I thought.
I think there s a bottle of water in the backseat, I said helpfully.
125 of 147
Drink, he repeated. Some vodka, or whiskey.
I don t generally keep any in the car, I said.
Fuck, he said. Just get me to my hotel.
I did that. For reasons known only to Chutsky, he was staying at the Mutiny in Coconut Grove. It had
been one of the first luxury high-rise hotels in the area and had once been frequented by models,
directors, drug runners, and other celebrities. It was still very nice, but it had lost a little bit of its
cachet as the once-rustic Grove became overrun with luxury high-rises. Perhaps Chutsky had known it
in its heyday and stayed there now for sentimental reasons. You really had to be deeply suspicious of
sentimentality in a man who had worn a pinkie ring.
We came down off 95 onto Dixie Highway, and I turned left on Unity and rolled on down to Bayshore.
The Mutiny was a little ways ahead on the right, and I pulled up in front of the hotel. Just drop me
here, Chutsky said.
I stared at him. Perhaps the drugs had affected his mind. Don t you want me to help you up to your
room?
I ll be fine, he said. That may have been his new mantra, but he didn t look fine. He was sweating
heavily now and I could not imagine how he thought he would get up to his room. But I am not the
kind of person who would ever intrude with unwanted help, so I simply said, All right, and watched
as he opened the door and got out. He held on to the roof of the car and stood unsteadily on his one
leg for a minute before the bell captain saw him swaying there. The captain frowned at this apparition
with the orange jumpsuit and the gleaming skull. Hey, Benny, Chutsky said. Gimme a hand, buddy.
Mr. Chutsky? he said dubiously, and then his jaw dropped as he noticed the missing parts. Oh,
Lord, he said. He clapped his hands three times and a bellboy ran out.
Chutsky looked back at me. I ll be fine, he said.
And really, when you re not wanted there s not much you can do except leave, which is what I did.
The last I saw of Chutsky he was leaning on the bell captain as the bellboy pushed a wheelchair toward
them out the front door of the hotel.
It was still a little bit shy of midnight as I drove down Main Highway and headed for home, which was
hard to believe considering all that had happened tonight. Vince s party seemed like several weeks ago,
and yet he probably hadn t even unplugged his fruit-punch fountain yet. Between my Trial by Stripper
and rescuing Chutsky from the gator farm, I had earned my rest tonight, and I admit that I was thinking
of little else except crawling into my bed and pulling the covers over my head.
But of course, there s no rest for the wicked, which I certainly am. My cell phone rang as I turned left
on Douglas. Very few people call me, especially this late at night. I glanced at the phone; it was
Deborah.
Greetings, sister dear, I said.
You asshole, you said you d call! she said.
126 of 147
It seemed a little late, I said.
Did you really think I could fucking SLEEP?! she yelled, loud enough to cause pain to people in
passing cars. What happened?
I got Chutsky back, I said. But Dr. Danco got away. With Doakes.
Where is he?
I don t know, Debs, he got away in an airboat and
Kyle, you idiot. Where is Kyle? Is he all right?
I dropped him at the Mutiny. He s, um . . . He s almost all right, I said.
What the fuck does that mean?!? she screamed at me, and I had to switch my phone to the other ear.
Deborah, he s going to be okay. He s just he lost half of his left arm and half the right leg. And all
his hair, I said. She was quiet for several seconds.
Bring me some clothes, she said at last.
He s feeling very uncertain, Debs. I don t think he wants
Clothes, Dexter. Now, she said, and she hung up.
As I said, no rest for the wicked. I sighed heavily at the injustice of it all, but I obeyed. I was almost
back to my apartment, and Deborah had left some things there. So I ran in and, although I paused to
look longingly at my bed, I gathered a change of clothing for her and headed for the hospital.
Deborah was sitting on the edge of her bed tapping her feet impatiently when I came in. She held her
hospital gown closed with the hand that protruded from her cast, and clutched her gun and badge with
the other. She looked like Avenging Fury after an accident.
Jesus Christ, she said, where the hell have you been? Help me get dressed. She dropped her gown
and stood up.
I pulled a polo shirt over her head, working it awkwardly around the cast. We just barely had the shirt
in place when a stout woman in a nurse s uniform hurried into the room. What you think you re
doing? she said in a thick Bahamian accent.
Leaving, Deborah said.
Get back in that bed or I will call doctor, the nurse said.
Call him, Deborah said, now hopping on one foot as she struggled into her pants.
No you don t, the nurse said. You get back in the bed.
Deborah held up her shield. This is a police emergency, she said. If you impede me I am authorized
to arrest you for obstruction of justice.
127 of 147
The nurse thought she was going to say something very severe, but she opened her mouth, looked at
the shield, looked at Deborah, and changed her mind. I will have to tell doctor, she said.
Whatever, Deborah said. Dexter, help me close my pants. The nurse watched disapprovingly for
another few seconds, then turned and whisked away down the hall.
Really, Debs, I said. Obstruction of justice?
Let s go, she said, and marched out the door. I trailed dutifully behind.
Deborah was alternately tense and angry on the drive back over to the Mutiny. She would chew on her
lower lip, and then snarl at me to hurry up, and then as we came close to the hotel, she got very quiet.
She finally looked out her window and said, What s he like, Dex? How bad is it?
It s a very bad haircut, Debs. It makes him look pretty weird. But the other stuff . . . He seems to be [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]