Bad Bones (Claire Morgan) (26 page)

“We have no secrets here.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

Claire looked at Bud. He looked confounded; maybe even a little unsure if they really weren’t in a time travel movie, or
Hell on Wheels
, maybe, since this seemed to be quote-a-movie-a-day week. “All right, Mr. Fitch. Question number one: Are you acquainted with a woman by the name of Blythe Parker?”

The quiet got quieter. Not a peep. Not a foot moving into a more comfortable position from those sitting around in those hard chairs, nothing. Finally, Harold said, “Blythe is my granddaughter. Why do you bring tidings of her?”

Tidings?
Jeez. Maybe she should take him in, just to show him off to the guys at the office. As a sort of bizarre throwback to the distant antebellum past. Black would have a field day analyzing this kook. Probably could even get a new bestseller out of it. “I’m afraid my tidings are not good tidings. Mrs. Parker was found dead at her home.”

Okay, now the dead silence was broken with some heartfelt gasps and shuffling of high-button shoes. Maybe even a stifled cry, or two. “Was she ill?” her grandpa asked, not looking particularly troubled by the dire news.

“No, but she had lots of broken bones and a slit throat.” Claire cast a sidelong, and yes, suspicious look at Bad Fitch, who now looked nonresponsive to all stimuli. Inbreeding might indeed have gained a foothold in this little community of theirs. “Her husband was found dead several days earlier at Ha Ha Tonka State Park.”

This time there was no reaction. Yeah, almost as if everybody there already knew and approved of Paulie Parker’s early demise. She wouldn’t doubt that. Nope, she wouldn’t doubt anything about this place or the people in it, no matter how absurd or utterly asinine. “Somebody will have to come into town and claim Blythe Parker’s remains once the medical examiner releases the body,” she told them en masse.

“She cannot be buried here at Fitchville. She married that Parker fellow willingly and against my wishes so she will never be welcomed back.” A chorus of masculine amens followed. The womenfolk were biting their tongues, no doubt.

“Are you telling us that you will not claim your own granddaughter’s body?”

“That’s right. It’s unfortunate but we must abide by our covenant.”

“Maybe you ought to provide us with a copy of that covenant, sir.” It was probably written in blood—womenfolk’s blood, no doubt.

“As you wish, but I doubt that you’ll find it informative. It only contains the tenets we Fitches live by.”

Good grief, no telling what that was comprised of, judging by their mere fifteen minute but eye-opening acquaintance. But she had made the notification and gotten a look at Blythe’s wacko relatives, and that was what she came for. “Do you mind if we take a look around your town before we leave? Just to make sure no bullet-ridden bodies are lying about groaning and bleeding to death while you have your meeting of elders?”

“Canton County authorities are welcome here anytime. It was my sincere pleasure to meet you, Detective Morgan.”

Well, now. “I don’t recall telling you my name, Mr. Fitch.”

He hesitated, but not for long. “I’ve seen your photograph in the newspapers. I read several editions every day. By those articles, you appear to be very good at your job. I am honored to make your acquaintance. But you will find nothing untoward hereabouts.”

Nothing toward, either
, Claire decided. But okay, fine, but that honor of meeting her might not last too long because there was definitely something rotten in the state of Fitchville, and she had a feeling it encompassed everybody in the room.

“Oh, by the way, sir, we understand somebody who hails from Fitchville was in Kansas City several days ago and took off with a hospital patient who hadn’t been released. Know anything about that?”

More silence. “Yes, I think you are probably referring to Malachi. I believe the two of you have already met. Is that true?”

“Yes, sir. Is he here now?”

“The boy’s upstairs with his friend. I believe he is the one for whom you’re looking.”

Bud and Claire glanced at each other. “Is his name Shorty Dunlop by any chance?”

“Yes, I believe it is.”

“Then we’d like to speak to both of them.”

“By all means. We have nothing to hide here.”

Claire wasn’t falling for that little tidbit of innocence, not in the least. But Bad led them up the steps to a second floor and also mightily austere hallway and knocked on a door. Malachi Fitch opened it, looked surprised to see Claire, and then looked her up and down with his usual impertinence. So now they had a Bad Fitch and a Mal Fitch. She wondered if they had a couple of guys stashed somewhere named Nasty and Horrible.

She looked at the kid. “Well, now, hello, there, Mal. How you doin’?”

“You said you was gonna come see me, but I didn’t believe you. Couldn’t help yourself, huh, gorgeous?”

“This is my partner, Bud Davis. Mind if we come in and talk to you?”

“Sure thing. I knew I’d get you in my bedroom, sooner or later.”

Claire ignored that. This kid was so getting on her nerves. Bad took off, probably not wanting to miss prayer meeting. But they did find Shorty Dunlop, and with sound body. He was reclining in one of the twin beds, looking as if he was just as fine as fine could get. He didn’t look all that short to her, either. Five-ten, probably.

“Shorty Dunlop, I presume?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We thought you were missing. So we’re glad to see you alive and well.”

“I’m just hidin’ out from the Sharpes. They put word out that they was gonna get me for beatin’ Ike and takin’ all the winnings.”

“That would be Ike Sharpe who fights for Ivan Petrov.”

Both young men looked like they didn’t want to talk about Ivan Petrov. She didn’t blame them. Even Black thought he was demon worthy material. But Anna had said the same thing, that the Sharpes had been out looking for Dunlop. So that much lined up as a true statement. Where the Sharpes were now was the big question, because Claire certainly didn’t buy the on-top-of-the-Matterhorn-without-phone-service story.

Malachi said, “I got him outta that hospital because he’s my best buddy. He’ll be safe here in Paw Paw Harold’s house. Anywhere else, they would’ve found him and beaten the holy hell out of him.”

“So, this kind of thing has happened before.”

“Oh, yeah, fighters disappear sometimes.”

“Are you saying that these guys kill their opponents?”

“I don’t know, but we didn’t want to take that chance. Not while Shorty’s on crutches, and stuff. They don’t fight clean. They gang up on you. Pretty cowardly, really.”

“You’ve seen them do this?”

“No, but that’s just the way they are.”

“No proof? No eye witness? No 911 calls?”

“No, that wouldn’t be good for your health.” Malachi was really serious now. No talk of women, even, and that was saying something where he was concerned. “You do know who Mr. Petrov is, don’t you, detective?”

“I’ve heard the name.”

“We stay clear of him and his guys.”

“Okay. At least, we found you, Mr. Dunlop. I guess neither of you heard a truck go by out front with guns blasting every which way, did you?”

Both shook their heads and looked angelic. After that, Bud and Claire told them to stay put and not to go out looking for trouble and then they took their leave.

Outside in the fresh air again, Claire said, “Something is terribly wrong in Fitchville.”

Bud glanced around and then turned to Claire. “You think?”

“Well, at least, we’ve solved the Shorty disappearance. Too bad that’s all we’ve solved.” Claire looked around the little town, now absent of anybody at all. Streets cleared, everybody tucked away doing God’s work, or Paw Paw Harold’s, she guessed. “Know what, Bud? Suddenly, all those whacked-out, Fitch-hatin’ Parkers are lookin’ a whole lot higher on my normal human being meter.”

Bud said, “I know, let’s poke around here some and make sure there aren’t any dead bodies lying about. Then you can introduce me to the other side of this equation. Maybe we’ll find out if the Parkers have a camo-covered pickup and half a dozen or so high-power rifles and men out gunnin’ with them.”

“You mind reader, you. Let’s be off.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

It took months for Punk to fool the hovering shrinks into thinking he was accepting their cockamamie story about Bones not being real. But after that he was free to roam around the halls and watch and listen and figure out the best way to escape. Without much luck. The place was worse than a prison with all the locked barred doors and big orderlies watching his every move. And he’d heard that they called it a place for the criminally insane. Come on. He was not criminally insane. But his time would come eventually and he could get out and find his girlfriend.

Punk especially liked to sit around in the common room where patients could play cards or checkers or just talk to each other. Most of them stayed off by themselves or wandered around or stared out the windows, and such as that. He usually found a table in a quiet corner where he could see everybody and watch for an orderly to accidentally leave a door unlocked. He was particularly interested in one patient, though; fascinated, really. That guy also kept to himself and didn’t say a lot. But he smiled often enough, and seemed friendly, when and if he ever did talk to somebody else. A couple of times Punk locked eyes with that guy and smiled, all friendly like. Maybe they could be friends. Allies, who could help each other escape.

One day when they were all just sitting around, taking their meds from the male nurse and chilling out, he started watching that interesting guy again. The nurse had injected someone near where the other guy was sitting, and the injected boy had gone absolutely berserk in the common room and shouted that some imaginary bird called a phoenix was pecking his eyes out, when the truth was that he was scratching his own eyes out. During the tussle with the orderlies, the guy with whom Punk would like to be friends bent down and picked up the hypodermic needle that the nurse had dropped in the struggle. He hid it quickly under his shirt and glanced around. When he saw that Punk had seen him steal it, the other man winked and held his forefinger up to his lips, trying to tell Punk to be quiet, that it was their secret. Punk looked away, but he was highly curious as to what that guy was planning to do with that needle. So he decided to figure out what room the guy was in and check him out. Maybe he was the criminally insane one and was gonna kill an orderly with that needle, stick it in his eye or his ear, or something. Maybe that could be Punk’s way to get out of this stupid place.

But he didn’t have to go searching. The guy with the needle found him after he was moved out of the restraint ward into a regular room. The first night the other guy appeared there, well after lights out, and just as Punk was almost asleep. At first, he was scared and put up his doubled fists, ready to knock whoever it was flat on his back.

“Hey, buddy, I’m not here to cause you no trouble. You’re that fighter kid that the orderlies are always talkin’ about, aren’t you? They say you gotta honey of an uppercut. That true?”

“What’d you care?” he whispered back, looking at the door. If anybody found another patient in his room so late, they were both going straight back into restraints.

“I just wanna talk. I thought maybe we could be friends. Everybody else around here is really stupid or nuttier than a can of cashews, but not you. I’ve been watching you. You seem okay. We can team up. You know, take care of each other. Watch each other’s backs. Be friends.”

Punk contemplated the other man. “Okay, I guess. But don’t try anything with that needle you stole or I’ll beat you till you’re dead. Don’t think I won’t, either.”

His new friend laughed softly, as if happy about that threat. “I like you. You’re a tough guy. I like tough guys.”

“That’s right, I am, so don’t go messin’ with me. What’d you really want? Why’d you risk gettin’ in trouble by comin’ in here?”

“I’m getting out of here one of these days, and I’ll take you along, if you can keep your mouth shut.”

Punk lowered his voice, but he was getting excited. “I can keep my mouth shut. How you plannin’ to do it?”

“Don’t know yet. But I’ll find me a way to get what I want. I always do.”

“What you gonna do with that needle? Kill somebody?”

“No. I got me the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world, and I wanted to tattoo her name on me so I can show it to her when I get outta here, and then she’ll know that I’ll never, ever forget her. I already done it. Wanna see?”

“Sure. Show me.”

They moved stealthily over to the window where an outside floodlight was slanting little horizon stripes through the open mini blinds. The other guy lifted up his T-shirt and proudly displayed his artwork. Punk stared down at the big letters scratched right across the guy’s chest, just above his nipples. He could make out an A and an N. “What’s that say?”

“Annie. That’s my girl’s name. She’s out there somewhere, just waiting for me to come get her so we can be together forever.”

“Hey, man, those cuts are still bleedin’. When did you cut it?”

“Tonight. It hurt like hell but she’s worth it. I’d do anything for her, anything at all. I can’t wait to see her and take her away with me.”

“Can I lick it?”

The guy looked surprised for a moment. “Sure, I guess, if you want to. Kinda strange thing to do, though. Why do you want to?”

“Nothin’ strange about it. Dogs do it all the time. Their saliva has medicinal purposes, you know. I had a dog once, name of Banjo. I really miss her, but she’s probably dead by now. Pa used to beat our dogs until my brother Bones killed him. I hated him. We all hated him.”