Bad to the Bone (42 page)

Moodrow groaned again. Another PI would have seen the media attention as a chance to attract business. “Is there a back door to this hospital?”

“There is, but you won’t be going through it for a week or so.” He gave Moodrow a second to absorb the information. “I want you to take it easy with the morphine. We can’t be sure how fast the pain recedes, if you take too much morphine.”

“Why morphine?” Moodrow asked. “You run out of PURE?”

“A joke. That’s good. And it’s not as far off as you think. I got a call from a local pharmaceutical house this morning. Asking for a sample. Funny, right? Davis Craddock, the Louis Pasteur of analgesia?” He pulled back the curtain and stepped away from the bed. “Don’t let him get up,” he said to Betty. “In a couple of days, we’ll take him down to physical therapy and check his balance, but, for now, he needs rest. A few more minutes and out you go.”

They ignored his patronizing tone, staring at his back until it disappeared down the corridor before turning to Moodrow. “The cops showed up right after we found Craddock,” Tilley said. “You would have been amazed, Stanley. The locals moved through those woods like Indians. Tourists keep getting lost in the preserve and, naturally, the cops have to find them. They actually
drill
in the woods. It took them less than an hour to capture Craddock’s soldiers. The soldiers, by the way, didn’t offer any resistance. It seems they don’t mind hunting an unarmed (they
think
unarmed) woman and a child, but they don’t care to be shot at. Meanwhile, Craddock’s lab workers grabbed as much PURE as they could carry and ran out the back door, only they couldn’t get off the island, because the last ferry left at midnight. Don’t forget, it’s off-season, plus they were dressed in white uniforms. Except for two who OD’d in the woods, they were picked up trying to get on the first ferry out.”

“What about Blossom?” Moodrow asked. He was tired now, ready to sleep, but he wanted to hear the rest of it before he closed his eyes. “How did she get away?”

“Blossom stole a boat and rowed across the bay,” Leonora said. “At least, that’s the most likely scenario. Some of the homes on the water have slips for small boats and one was reported stolen. It turned up on a beach in Greenport.”

“Did she take any of the drug with her?”

“That’s a good question, Stanley. Here’s a better one—did she take the
formula
with her? Maybe Craddock had it written out somewhere. Hell, for all we know, Craddock could have a hundred pounds already distributed.”

Moodrow turned to Betty. “What about the boy? Where is he?”

“Mikey’s at the Craig Institute on East Seventy-fifth Street. He was so brave. Standing there in the lobby, already sick, telling me about drugs and how bad they are. The doctors say detoxification will be the easiest part, because after he’s clean, he won’t have access. Dealing with the truth about his mother and father, not to mention Hanover House and the garbage they taught him, is another problem.”

“You forgot about Grandma Connie,” Moodrow said. “How’s he gonna deal with Grandma Connie?”

“I had a long talk with Connie. I told her there was no way I was going to let her beat Mikey down. If she tried to push me out, I’d move to have the boy taken away from her. I thought she’d be angry, but she wasn’t. She wants to make up for her daughter. She actually asked me to stay close to Mikey, to help her and him. Connie Alamare’s going to be in our lives for a long time.”

“What did you say?”

“C’mon, Stanley. It won’t be that bad. Remember, you won’t be working for her. You can stay as far away as you want.”

“
Connie Alamare
is gonna be in our lives for a long time?”

“Yes, Stanley,” Betty said firmly. “She’s going to be in our lives. I’m not going to desert that boy.”

Moodrow’s eyes swept the room, searching for Leonora Higgins. He motioned her to come close, to bend over the bed until her ear was close to his lips.

“What?” she asked. “I didn’t get that.”

“I said, ‘I should’ve died when I had the chance.’ ”

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

copyright © 1991 by Stephen Solomita

cover design by Erin Fitzsimmons

978-1-4532-9055-2

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