Voodoo Daddy (A Virgil Jones Mystery) (28 page)

 “I’ll have to clear it with the doctor,” she said. “But between you and me, I don’t think you’re ready just yet. In the meantime, don’t be a hero. Hit that pain button if you have to. Loopy ain’t all bad, honey.”

A short time later an orderly wheeled in a breakfast tray and set the cart next to the bed. All the in and out woke Sandy and I watched as she stretched, yawned, and then walked over to the bed. She leaned in and kissed me, hard, on the lips.

“You should have gone home last night,” I said.

“Would you have?”

“No.”

“So, okay then.”

My leg was throbbing now, the pain worse as I became fully awake. “I was thinking about last night. The way you called me Virgil.”

The door opened and Rosencrantz and Donatti walked in. “Of course she called you Virgil. That’s your name, isn’t it?” He looked over at Donatti. “Isn’t that his name?”

Donatti nodded. “Yep. Hey Small, what’s shaking? Did you know his middle name is Francis?”

“About time you woke up,” Rosencrantz said as he lifted the lid on my food tray. “What’s for breakfast?” He put the lid back down. “Geez, are they trying to cure you or kill you?”

“You know, you don’t get jack shit for workmen’s comp in Indiana,” Donatti said. “I think you’re faking.”

“Yeah, definitely faking,” Rosencrantz said.

“Hey, is it true you can predict when it’s going to rain, now?” Donatti said. “I heard TV 8 is looking for a new weatherman.”

“I’ll bet they’re giving you some good shit for the pain. Can I have some?” Rosencrantz said.

I looked at Sandy with my best ‘help me’ expression, but when she held her hands up in a ‘what can you do gesture,’ I did the only logical thing I could think to do. I said fuck it and pressed the pain button again.

* * *

The room spun and I felt like I was caught in a vortex. Rosencrantz and Donatti were standing under the television, their heads tilted up toward the set, watching something on the screen. A few minutes later when the rush of the morphine tapered off I looked at Sandy and motioned for her to lean in closer. “Did you hear what I was saying before Mutt and Jeff walked in?”

“Yes, I did,” she said. “But it wasn’t last night. That was five days ago, Virgil.”

Rosencrantz turned his head and said, “What was last night?”

I ignored him, but Sandy turned her head and said, “We’re talking about something else. Last night was nothing.”

“You know how many times I’ve heard a woman tell me that?” Donatti said.

Sandy shot him a look and then turned her attention back to me. “What are you talking about?” I said. “What do you mean it was five days ago?”

Sandy had her hand on my leg. “You’ve sort of been in and out over the last few days.”

“What?” I could not believe what I was hearing. “What day is this?” I said.

“It’s Friday,” Sandy said.

Donatti looked over at Sandy and me and said, “Hey, am I Mutt or Jeff? I think I’m Jeff. I’m Jeff, right?”

The door to my room opened and a nurse came in and told me the doctor had given the okay for Oxycontin instead of the morphine drip for my pain and then she disconnected the IV from my arm. I thought when she took the tape off of my arm—that hurt like a bitch—that maybe they should have left the IV in after all. The nurse told me that the Oxycontin would probably, in her words, bind me up some, but not much worse than the morphine did.

“That’s all right,” Rosencrantz said. “He’s full of shit anyway.”

I looked at him and thought if the food in here didn’t kill me, the cop humor probably would. When I looked at Sandy she mouthed a silent ‘I love you’ to me and I felt my eyes water at the edges.

It became quiet in the room for a minute, then Rosencrantz looked at Donatti and said, “I kinda like the way she calls him Virgil, don’t you?”

Sandy shook her head, then stood and said, “Hey guys, I think we need to let Virgil get his rest.” She placed her hand on my shoulder and gave me a little squeeze. Then to Rosencrantz and Donatti, she said, “What do you say?”

“Yeah,” Doantti said. She’s right. “Virgil’s tired.”

Rosencrantz turned and gave me a little finger wave. “Okay, bye, Virgil. We’ll see you tomorrow.

Sandy waved them out. “I’ll catch up with you guys after while,” she said.

When they were out of the room, I pulled myself up in the bed a little. I could feel the tape around my ribcage. “See what you’ve started,” I said.

“I’ll talk to them,” Sandy said.

“Aw geez, don’t do that.”

“Well what do you want me to do?”

The Oxycontin was working already. I could feel the buzz, but I was not drowsy like I had been with the morphine drip. The pain was still present, but it was in the background, like it was hiding inside a closet.

“It feels like…like everything is moving too fast. I was tied up and beaten and it feels like it all happened just this morning.”

“We don’t have to talk about his now, you know.”

“I think I need to.”

Sandy sat on the edge of the bed and put her hand in mine. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”

“I’m not really sure. I think there might be a lot I don’t remember. In fact, most of it is blank right now, that part of it, I mean. I remember eating lunch at the diner, then nothing until I woke up tied to the post or beam or whatever it was.”

“And when you woke up?”

I closed my eyes, and when I spoke, I left them that way. I told Sandy what I remembered about the beatings and the torture with the stun gun, seeing Murton and how he killed the two men, and then how I saw my mother. When I opened my eyes I saw that tears were running down her cheeks and when I reached up to wipe them away she took my hand in both of hers and held it tight against her face. She then kissed the tips of my fingers and held my hand in her lap. I thought she might ask me about my mom, like maybe I might have imagined it, but she shifted the direction of the conversation.

“We’ve got an I.D. on the men. Their names were Collins and Hicks.”

“What about Murton? Where is he?”

“That’s a little more complicated,” she said.

“I’ll bet.”

“I might be able to help you with that,” Agent Gibson said. He was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He pushed himself upright with his shoulder and said, “May I come in?”

Sandy let go of my hand and stood from the side of my bed where she had been seated. I nodded to Agent Gibson and he walked further into the room. He looked at Sandy and said, “Would you mind if I spoke with Detective Jones in private?”

“That’s not necessary,” I said.

“It’s okay, Virgil,” Sandy said. “I’ve got work to do. A lot has happened. I’ll check back on you later and fill you in then. Get some rest.” She leaned down and kissed me on the lips, then turned and stared at Gibson, her expression a challenge for him to comment on our private life. But he just nodded at her and after she walked out he looked at me and said, “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” I said.

“I checked your records. Saw you were in the sandbox.”

“That’s a term only a soldier would use.”

He pulled a chair close to my bed then sat down, a pocket of air held in the side of his mouth. “So maybe I was there.”

“In what capacity?”

He chuckled at my question before he answered. “Let’s just say I wasn’t dressed in camouflage and humping a pack. But that was a long time ago, wasn’t it? Right now you’re wondering about Murton Wheeler.”

“I’ve been wondering about Murton Wheeler for a long time.”

“So like I said, I can probably help you with that.”

I thought for a moment before I spoke. “He’s with the G?” I said.

“Something like that,” he said.

“What does that mean?”

“I’ll let him explain it. Believe me when I tell you though, Detective, he’s paid a tremendous price for his country. I personally owe him a debt I’ll never be able to repay, but that’s another story. From what I gather, that puts you and me in the same boat.”

“Where is he?” I said.

“Out in the hall, waiting to come in,” he said.

* * *

Murton walked into the room and stood about halfway between the door and my bed. I pushed the button on the control panel attached to the rail and elevated the bed into a sitting position. We stared at each other for a minute, neither one of us sure of what to say. It might have been the pain medicine, or it might have been the nervous tension, but I felt the corner of my mouth turn upwards, then before I knew it we were both smiling.

“You’re a fed?”

“Well, I was,” he said. “But not anymore. I put in my papers this morning.”

“Why?”

He laughed without humor. “Which why are you asking me about? The why did I disappear? Or the why didn’t I tell you what was really happening in my life? Or the why I had to let everyone, including you, your parents, and even my girlfriend think I was a criminal and a complete fuck up?”

“I’m sorry about Amy,” I said.

“Yeah, me too.” He stayed quiet for a long time. “We buried her yesterday. Her mom slapped me in the face at the service. Bet you didn’t know that, did you? She thought her death was my fault. You know what? She was right, but for all the wrong reasons. After the service I told her who I was, who I really was and she didn’t believe me. So I pulled out my badge and handed it to her and you know what she did? She fainted. Just like that. I thought I killed her. I’ve been under too long Jonesy. I had to get out. I let my job get in the way of my girlfriend’s well being and it cost her and my unborn child their lives.”

Jesus, Murt, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. God damn. I’ve been an asshole. I’m fucking sorry, man.”

We sat there, both of us quiet for a long time. We had spent the first half of our lives together as best friends, brothers, and the last half under a flag of deception that drove us apart.

“Well, at least Pate got his, huh?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“You’re kidding, right? You mean no one told you?”

“Told me what, Murt? No one’s told me anything.”

“Aw, that’s beautiful, man. After everything that’s happened, I get to tell you.” I watched the light in his eyes go dark and it reminded me of the look he carried with him in the desert over twenty years ago. “Guess you haven’t been watching the news. Pate’s dead, Jonesy. Yesterday morning at the taping of his show. Except it wasn’t just a taping. Because of everything that’s happened, he convinced the network to run a live special. The place was packed. He stood up there on the pulpit and confessed all of it. He had tears running down his cheeks and everything. It was like every other preacher you’ve ever seen on TV when they bare their soul and confess their sins, except ol’ Sermon Sam out did them all.”

“What do you mean?”

“After he confessed to burning his church in Houston, and taking responsibility for the deaths of Franklin Dugan, and Amy, and trafficking in child pornography, he stuck a gun in his mouth and blew the back of his head all over the choir. All on live TV.”

“You said with everything that’s been happening. What else did I miss?”

“Plenty. A city cop who now has the unfortunate nickname of Cauliflower shot your sniper to death and saved the Governor as well.”

“What?”

“Say, I don’t mean to change the subject, but I’ve got to tell you something else,” he said. “When I was cutting you down, I could hear your mom’s voice. In my head, I mean. It’s like she was telling me exactly what to do. Can you believe that, man?”

* * *

I was still processing what Murton had told me when a physical therapist came in the room and explained that it was necessary to get up and move around. Murton said good-bye, explaining that he had six or seven reams of paperwork to complete and would look in on me when I got home. Then, before he left, he walked over to the bed and kissed me on my forehead. “Never stopped lovin’ you, brother,” he said. My lips trembled, but I couldn’t get any words out. I grabbed his arm as he went to turn away and held him in place. After a few seconds I saw his eyes crinkle. “You’re welcome,” he said, then ruffled the top of my head like we were kids again and walked out the door.

The physical therapist watched our exchange in silence. She was a short sassy brunette who looked like she had never quite lost her baby fat. I had the thought she looked like she should be working in an ice cream parlor or maybe a pet supply store.

“You can’t see it, but there’s a rubber knob on the bottom of your cast, right under the heel of your foot. Like the stopper on the end of these crutches,” she said, holding up one of the crutches for me to see. “When you’re moving around, I want you to keep as much weight off of your leg as possible. But, if you have to put any weight on it, keep it on the knob. That’s what it’s for. That, and to make sure you don’t slip and fall. She tried a smile on so I tried one right back at her, and when my scar lit up, she momentarily jerked the crutch across the front of her body, like a shield. “Uh, anyway,” she said, “here, let me help you. Swing your legs off the side of the bed, but don’t try and stand, yet.”