Unhinged (20 page)

Jennifer was standing at my bedside, and I saw that I was in a hospital. She was holding my hand with her worried look. On the other side of me was Sal Coronada, a cop who worked the area where Sarah lived.

“Where am I?” It seemed like a good first question.

“Charity. You were beat up good,” he said with a smile.

“No shit. Did you catch them?” My bottom lip felt as big as a bicep.

“No. Some kids found you behind Popeyes on Gentilly and called 911. I was in the area. A couple of uniforms questioned people, but no one saw anything.”

Jennifer kissed my forehead. “The doctor says you have bruised ribs. He put ten stitches over your left eye and a few over your lip.” She lightly ran her fingers over the outer edge of the bandage.

“What do you remember, Deck?” Sal asked, notebook open.

“I stopped in Tripper's to get a beer and hang out with a friend who never showed. After a while, I got kind of buzzed and was going to go home. I ran into a woman we interviewed about the Absinthe Killer case, and we got to talking. Before I knew it, I was sloshed and so was she. I thought it best if I followed her home. I'm embarrassed to say I puked. I knew I couldn't drive, and she invited me to sleep on her couch. I got up the next morning and was walking to my car when I was jumped by two or more guys in a white van.”

I glanced at Jennifer to see if she believed me, but I didn't notice a reaction. “I didn't get a license number or a look at any of them. They were average height, and I'm pretty sure they were white.”

“Too bad,” Sal said, closing his notebook. “A doctor gave me your ankle gun when they cut your pants off. I unloaded it, and it's with the rest of your belongings. It's a good thing they didn't find it. You could be dead right now.”

I didn't want to tell him that they did take it off me with Jennifer in the room. “Don't say anything about me getting whacked in front of my girlfriend.”

“I'm sorry about that comment, Jennifer. We're going to follow up and sweep the scene. We'll let you know if we find them.”

Dorrick and a couple of henchmen pulling masks over their heads popped into my mind. “Thanks, Sal.” I watched him leave the room.

I didn't know if Jennifer was going to let it go or wait until I'd healed to start the accusations. “Honey, I couldn't say it in front of Sal, but I was at Tripper's asking around about Lotz. The rest of it is true.”

“I'm going to get the doctor,” she said softly. “He said he wanted to examine you after you woke up, and if everything's okay, he'll release you.”

“That sounds good.” I felt pain when I breathed. The bandage around my ribs had been wrapped tightly.

When Jennifer was out of the room, I took a moment to remember the attack. If they wanted me dead, they would've done it. This was nothing but a warning.

“Leave it be.”

For the next two days, I stayed in bed recuperating. I gathered something was up with Jennifer, but I didn't know if she suspected me of cheating or felt guilty for cheating herself.

It was almost noon, and she had just left to go back to work. It occurred to me that if she wasn't innocent, then maybe she was letting me have this indiscretion and calling it even. What a way to go into a marriage.

My bruised ribs didn't hurt as much when I walked now. With the help of a few Tylenols, it was barely a nuisance. The stitches above my left eye looked cool, too.

But I was going stir-crazy in my house. The networks had nothing new to say about the Absinthe Killer, except that Gene Lotz was still at large and the FBI was following leads. And of course, with Jennifer at work, I didn't have anyone to tell me to take it easy.

It was about time I visited Ron. I was a little offended he hadn't tried to contact me, but I figured he needed a cooling-off period. Then again, maybe we really hadn't been as close as I had believed.

Before I walked out the door, my home phone rang. The caller ID displayed a number I didn't recognize.

“Hello?” I couldn't hear anything on the other end. “Hello?” I said again, expecting a recording of some sort.

“Decland?” a soft, male voice asked. His breathing was labored.

“Yes. Who's this?”

The breathing continued; then he spoke again. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” He began to whimper.

“Spider? Is that you?”

“I didn't mean to hurt those girls. I couldn't help it. I love you, Decland. I'm sorry I hurt those girls.” He was now utterly sobbing, and I didn't believe it was an act.

I went in and out of each room in the house while pacing, angry he wasn't directly in front of me. “Spider . . . Gene, you have to turn yourself in and get help. I'll be there for you. I swear it. Where are you?”

He cried a few seconds more, then hung up. I immediately hit star 69 and dialed back the number. It rang three times before a lady answered.

“Who's this?” I said frantically.

“You must have the wrong number, mister. You're calling a pay phone.” She had a New York accent and sounded drunk.

“I'm sorry. Did you just see a man leave that pay phone? It's very important.”

“Sorry. No one was here. I was walking by and thought I'd pick it up.”

“Can you please tell me the location of that phone?”

“It's on Conti Street in the French Quarter. I see a police station across the street. I gotta go, honey. My girlfriends are leaving me.” She hung up.

Maybe I didn't have to continue investigating. Spider was going to end up finding me. My neck hair stood on end.

I grappled with the idea of staying put in case he called again, but why would he this soon? His next contact would most likely come on another day. Then I wondered why the Feds didn't tap my phone just in case this happened. An oversight? Or was it already tapped? I stared at my phone as if it had just lied to me. Agent Tucker's comment about the mechanical fly came to mind.

Despite the freaky occurrence, I still left, waving at the two men sitting in the car across the street. The Feds were making it obvious they were watching my house in case Lotz showed, so I wasn't too concerned about a break-in. I thought about calling Greenwood to tell him that the killer was within fifty yards of the station just to hear his reaction.

“I'm going to do some errands,” I told the agent sitting behind the wheel. I got in my car and blasted the air and the radio as I headed down St. Charles Avenue toward Lee Circle. Ron's house was four blocks down Napoleon, toward Claiborne. It was a beautiful, old home that his father had left him, and he took great pride in refurbishing it.

I had to expel the voice of Spider from my head before getting out of my vehicle. I was curious to have found a huge Ryder truck backed in Ron's driveway with four men moving furniture onto it. I took my sweet time climbing the steps to his door, avoiding a fifth man with a box.

“Ron, you around here?”

“In the kitchen,” he said.

“What's going on? Why are you moving?”

“What happened to your face? Did you get beat up?”

“I got jumped off duty, but don't worry about that. What the hell's going on?”

Ron gave me a look of concern. “I can't stay here. I can't stay in this city anymore. I've had it. I can't take the corruption, the shady deals. In the old days, I used to have pride in my job, and as silly as it sounds, I used to feel this city loved me, too. But over the years, especially since Katrina, I've seen it getting worse and worse. Kathy and I decided to move to Eden Isles, near where her sister lives. It's clean and new and right on the lake. I was thinking about being a volunteer fireman out there.”

“You just finished fixing the house from Katrina, and now you're giving it up?” I looked around at its glory. The history was evident in its vaulted ceiling, hardwood floors, and marble fireplace.

“Yeah, I won't get what it's worth after this housing collapse, but it's time for a change. To shake things up. You understand that, don't you?”

I nodded. I was sorry to see him go, but his mind was made up.

“I've been watching the news,” Ron said. “Nothing new with our Absinthe Killer, huh?”

“No.”

“Rumor has it you're off the case.”

“I'm on leave. Greenwood says there's a chance I could be back on, but you know him.”

“He's twisting the knife. I told you so. You should get out, too. At least go on the Metairie force and be JP. Maybe you can be the next Harry Lee.”

“Sheriff Dupree?” I laughed halfheartedly, not wanting to talk about it anymore. I looked out the window at the side of the big yellow truck in the driveway. “What you got, five guys moving you?”

“Yep. It's going to take two days to move everything. You're pretty muscular. Wanna help?”

“Sorry. I'm still sore.”

“What happened?”

“Jumped. I told you.”

“Feds?”

“Why'd you say that?”

Ron stared at me, silent. Then his gaze dropped to his shoes.

“Possible, I guess,” I confirmed.

“Be careful. Look, I gotta finish up around here. Let me give you my new address, and you can come visit me.” He took out a piece of paper and jotted down the address, then folded it and gave it to me.

I shook his hand, feeling unwelcome. “I'll see you around. Good luck with the move.”

“Thanks. Hey, you know that absinthe sales have increased 50 percent since this shit started?”

“No, but it doesn't surprise me.”

“Good luck with your proposal to Jennifer. Invite me to the wedding, huh?”

I gave him a thumbs-up, something I had never done, but he had caught me by surprise. All this time I'd wanted to pop the question yet delayed it. Then I'm granted the gift of time off the job and I cheat. Were there other forces at work here?

I should wait a while longer before getting on bended knee. Things needed to be straight in both of our lives before throwing ice on a fire. That line of thought brought me to Dr. Melon Head and the night I had met him.

I'd seen his car that night, too. And right then I remembered there was an Audi dealership down the street from Children's Hospital. So I decided to drive by. If Jennifer had really pissed in the asshole's car, he'd have it cleaned. And a big shot doctor wouldn't just take it to any Joe Blow. He'd want the dealership he bought it from to handle it.

I drove onto the property and found a spot in the customer lot. I walked over to parts and repairs and stood near the counter. There were seven lifts, and all of them had different models raised at various levels, but I saw only two cars being worked on.

After a few moments, a man in grungy blue overalls swaggered by. He was dirty, unshaven, around forty, and about five two. “Can I help ya?”

“Is the manager around? Or someone who's been here at least four or five years?” I showed the man my badge.

“I been here eleven years. I suppose you can ax me.” He pulled a socket wrench out of his cargo pocket and wiped it with a dirty rag.

Great, this guy probably couldn't recall what he had for breakfast. “Think back at least four years. Do you remember cleaning urine out of the interior of a silver Audi? It was probably the same year model.”

“Piss, eh? Oh yeah. Doctor fella. He told us his dog pissed on his front seat. Piss everywhere.” He spoke as if he were examining the car right in front of him. “Ah ‘member ‘cause he gave each of us a fifty to do a good job. Oh, the smell. It been sittin' in that hot car for most of a day.”

Suddenly, I felt ill. I was a bastard.

The man stared at me as if I were the one who had pissed in the car.

I nodded and began to walk away. “Thank you, sir. That's all I need to know.”

I left the building and steadied myself. I had messed up big-time.