Cooler Than Blood (25 page)

CHAPTER 42

E
very baby is born to do something great.

“Hand me the tube of TAO,” Morgan said.

Run until I nearly die. Did I do it? I never knew if I was running from death or toward death. You know it’s out there waiting for you, so you run as fast as you can, using death as fuel. It enhances life and sweetens the days. It’s with you every step, every breath, coaching you into its arms. Maybe they’re the same, this life and death. Maybe it’s our language that has deceived us.
Misled
is the better word. Who else picked a better word? She’s not that bad. Death. Rather pleasant really. Must be my day out. That’s what I get for fooling around on the razor’s edge.

“Now the gauze pad.”

Don’t put me on a gurney, whatever you do. If I touch Kathleen’s hand, I’ll die. Morgan knows. He knows that. Why was that girl barking when I flew?

“How bad?” Garrett asked
.

I need a map back to Kentucky. Then my head will stop killing me. That’s the deal—get me a map. No, wait, there was more—three components: life, home, family…no, no, no.

“Flesh and a lot of it,” Morgan replied, “but I should be able to stem the bleeding. Pulse is fine. Breathing normal.”

Garrett asked, “You see him fly?”

Do they know I hear them?

“I didn’t have much of an angle,” Morgan said. “Plus, I was keeping tabs on the big man. You sure it was okay letting them go?”

“
Tuesday…Grouper married Tuesday. He was surprised she let me meet her employees at his place, thinks about her one day a week. Sheeeiit, I’d think about that girl every day if she was mine. Her freckled chest. Little drops of chocolate I could taste. Bruising days. Rough lips. Bourbon times. Someone took my bourbon.

“More than okay,” Garrett said. “We’ll get a lot of goodwill letting those two drive off with the cash and our blessings.”

Who buys a certified used car? I just don’t get it. Am I the only smart one in the world? Can’t they hear me? God almighty, my whole left side is burning…burning in hell. Who said that?

“You okay?” Morgan asked Garrett. “I ran as fast as I could, but you were already out with both bodies. I could barely stand the heat when I helped you. You’ve got to have some burns.”

Told Barbara I’d put a new closer on her door, but I haven’t done it. What a shit neighbor I am. Just total shit.

“Give him some of that ammonium carbonate,” Garrett said.

A cat. A Laundromat. Hadley? Pauline—no, Pamela? Why do I care? Sidney! Great, a cat named Sidney.

“Wait just a sec,” Morgan said.

No, no, not Sidney…Disney. Like I give a crap about Disney. That’s not right. Walt? It’s his brother…Garp! We’re making progress here. Hey, anyone paying attention?

“That’s it,” Garrett said. “We’ll make sure to clean it and change the bandage within a couple of hours. We don’t want an infection.”

Since when did he ever sound so concerned? Mr. Perfect. No alcohol ever touches this temple, baby. Hey, Garrett, want a cigar?

Garrett said, “Go on. Give him that whiff. He’s been out long enough.”

Garp’s mother…Jenny. Yeah, I get it now. There’s some serious Jenny shit going down here. I want her. Not just for her, but for Larry. Brother Larry—he served. Father Larry. I promised him at his grave. I stood on Iroquois land and promised him. The hell…I don’t even know this girl. Jenny…on some beach. Who else was there, Jenny? Who else was on that beach with you?

“Jenny,” I said. “Jenny. Kathleen.”

Morgan and Garrett hovered over me as I lay flat on my back. My head hurt as if…No, wait, someone
had
taken a hatchet to it.

Jenny.

That mad little wacko.

“Welcome back to the zoo,” Morgan said.

“I take it I’m the animal that just got mauled?” The Big Dipper was to the left of Morgan’s head. It was pretty. I like the Big Dipper. Do you like the Dig Dipper? I wondered if the little dude was up there as well.

“We all get our turn,” he said.

I turned my head to Garrett and tried to get in the game. “We secure here?” Like I was in any shape to contribute if he said we still had problems.

“Dangelo’s men left with a suitcase of money and smiles on their faces. I gave one a leg wound, but they shrugged it off. Ms. Spencer, somewhat distraught over nearly killing her rescuer, is remarkably calm and relaxing in the back of your air-conditioned truck, and—”

“No, I’m not.”

She kneeled beside me. I tilted my head and gazed into her eyes. She smelled like smoke. Her hair looked like molded sea oats. A Telfa dressing pad was on her forehead. Her face was covered with dirt, as if she’d applied makeup for a B horror movie. I risked my life for that?

“Not what?” I asked. “Distraught over nearly cutting my head off or not being in the truck?” I was impressed at my verbal agility considering my delicate mental state.

“In the truck, silly.”

“Not over slicing my head?”

“I feel—”

“Sixty-five Trojan, right?” I asked, and I don’t know why I said it other than I was still drifting out of the fog. Susan had told me about the boat when we’d stood in Jenny’s bedroom. She’d said Jenny felt she had let her father down because she couldn’t work the hand pump very well with teak oil on her hands. My mind clung to that, and I don’t know why.

“You know about that?”

“I do.” I nodded.
Sweet Lord, that hurt. Not doing that again.

She gave a slight shake of her head. “He named the boat after me. Can you believe that? I didn’t even know that till Boone got it out of storage last summer. The transom was covered with a tarp, and when he took it off, there it was.
The Jenny S
.”

I didn’t know what to say. I thought she was going to say something more, but instead she just cracked a dismissive smile. Half my pain went away, and I don’t give a crap what anyone thinks—her smile did that.

“I am
so
sorry I swung at you,” she said.

“You look bad.”
Great Zeus, did I say that?

“Really?” She smiled again, and my left ankle stopped aching. I could make a lot of money bottling this girl’s smile. “Your friends told me you’re a bit of a hotshot…said you nearly flew into that barn. Well, I’ve got news for you, hotshot.” She brushed my hair off my forehead with her right hand. As my hair separated from dried blood, I felt it offer resistance then break away like a Band-Aid being peeled off my head.

“What’s that?”

“You should get a picture of yourself.”

“Good thing you don’t have your phone.”

“Yeah, that’s been a major inconvenience.”

I shifted my gaze to Garrett and asked, “Dangelo’s men?”

“Like I said, left whistling. The guy you pulled a knife on?”

“Yeah.”

“Said, ‘Tell Alice we’re friends and to have a good life.’ Any idea why, ‘Alice?’”

I didn’t have the energy. “No.”

Morgan interjected, “Let’s go.”

“Wait,” I said.

“What?”

“Call PC.” I wanted to say more, but I was fading.

Morgan said, “It can wait.”

“No. Make sure the picture’s down.”

Garrett asked, “Picture?”

“I told him. Take the picture down.”

“Sure. I’ll give him a—”

“I’m serious. Tell him to—”

“We got it.”

“That’s enough,” Morgan cut in.

Jenny helped me to my feet. I looked over my shoulder and saw what was left of the barn glowing in a pile of red coals. “How long was I gone?” I asked no one in particular.

“Long enough,” Morgan replied. “Garrett leapt into the fire like water coming out of a hose and brought you both out. By the time I got there, he and Jenny were on either side of you.”

I took a second to confirm my balance before I ventured a step. I blew my breath out and looked down. There was less pain that way, with my head down. I kept that position and said, “Little big, aren’t they?”

“They feel
so
good,” Jenny gushed. “I hope you don’t mind. Morgan said you carried extras in your truck. Why do you do that? Carry extra shoes?”

I managed to raise my head and found Jenny’s eyes. “You never know when you’re going to meet a woman who really appreciates a man’s shoes.”

CHAPTER 43

“A
ny bleeding today?” Kathleen asked.

“I can swim. I can run. I swim and I run. And nothing leaks out of me.”

“I see. The only lasting effect is that Dr. Seuss has taken over your speech pattern.”

We sat on the screen porch. The stiff sea breeze that had kicked up during the night—a common summer pattern that’s the result of air heating up over land—showed little sign of relenting. Whitecaps bristled the surface of the bay. Usually by midafternoon, the anger would dissipate. I leaned over and gave Kathleen a quick kiss. I started to pull away, changed my mind, cupped her head in my hand, and kissed her again. She wore a low-cut beige top with a thin gold chain around her neck. There wasn’t an inch of that neck that I wasn’t intimate with. My rehabilitation had served as an excellent excuse to spend long hours in bed with her. I should let Jenny wield a hatchet at me more often.

“You’re fine, right?” she asked.

“Not if you keep bugging me.”

Jenny’s rescue was the first litmus test, and we passed. Kathleen
wasn’t
upset that I’d launched myself into a fireball for a person I didn’t know. However, one can never be certain of such things, for no matter how you conduct your life, or how well you know your counterparty, there’s always a song you take to the grave, one no one ever hears.

“When are they due?” she asked.

“Hold that thought for a second.” I started for my phone but changed direction and ended up at the Magnavox. I put on Bennett’s 1965 theme album,
Songs for the Jet Set
. Music and machine reunited. I went to the kitchen, popped a bottle of Taittinger, and took it to the porch along with two champagne flutes. A sleek red sailboat with a tan Bimini top skimmed the choppy waters no more than a hundred feet off the end of my dock. Its spinnaker billowed toward the blue sky, pulling the boat behind it. Two couples sat in the cockpit, and a woman laughed. It was a fine sound. Behind me, Tony Bennett declared what it would be like if he ruled the world.

“Oh, my,” Kathleen, said as I handed her a bubbling glass. “We’re starting early.”

“And going late.”

“Aren’t you supposed to avoid alcohol when you’re on your meds?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Pretty sure you are. They all say the same thing—‘Take with eight ounces of water and avoid alcohol.’”

“No kidding.” I took a healthy sip of champagne. “I thought it was, ‘Drink eight ounces of alcohol with each pill. Three pills a day, and…’ Well, you can do the math.”

“I can see how you would misinterpret that.” She took a short sip, as if testing the waters, then reconsidered and went for more. “Susan and Jenny?”

“Around six,” I said. “You have time to set a personal best, sleep it off, and do it again. A real doubleheader.”

“Um…I think I’ll pass. Aren’t Garrett and Morgan due about the same time?”

“Little earlier. Not exactly sure.”

“Say that again.”

“What?”

“The part where you’re not exactly sure.”

“Must be those pills.”

Hadley III jumped through the cat door I’d installed for her. She had a gecko in her mouth and dropped it at the base of my chair. It wasn’t dead, although I wished it was.

“I actually like the little guys,” Kathleen said, looking at the butchered lizard, whose left side was doing considerably better than its right. “Too bad she hunts and kills them all the time.”

“She can’t help it. It’s in her genes.”

“Yes, isn’t it?” She smiled, held my gaze, and then took a relaxed sip without breaking eye contact. I wondered which song of hers I would never know. I picked up the creature, opened the door, and tossed it into my untrimmed hibiscus bush.

I fixed a light breakfast. Lack of exercise was having a disastrous effect on my goal of eating fatty foods. It was a dangerous thing to experience soft mornings, as I was starting to appreciate their appeal as well as question why I insisted on ringing death’s doorbell every morning. I wanted—needed—to resume my morning workouts. If one is to stay committed, it’s best not to question one’s routines, for only obsession, which allows no compromising incisions, forges true commitment.

After we ate, Kathleen drove off in her newly waxed Lexus. She planned to return before Garrett and Morgan arrived. They were kitesurfing at the tip of East Beach at Fort De Soto Park. They’d taken off early, thrilled with the unwavering breeze. I reclaimed my seat, took a sip of the Taittinger, and recalled the phone conversation I had had yesterday with Susan.

Jenny had gained admission to several state universities. She had applied months ago. Susan planned to pick up the considerable first year out-of-state tab not covered by scholarships that Jenny had been awarded. Susan informed me that she’d been stashing away college money for her ever since they’d first met years ago. According to Susan, Jenny showed no sign of PTSD. To the contrary, Susan indicated, she tackled each day with a vengeance, as if she were making up for lost time. Like the rejuvenation you feel when a fierce cold is finally gone. She started each day with a barefoot stroll on the beach. That was followed with long hours at Susan’s bars, although Susan said she had cut her own hours to spend more time with Jenny. I wondered whether Susan had been working Herculean hours to fill a hole in her life. Once, while strolling the beach, they’d found themselves where Billy Ray Colman had attacked Jenny.

“What was her reaction?” I had asked Susan during our phone conversation.

“None,” she replied. “But when we started to leave, she wandered over to some mangrove that surrounded the area. She pointed toward a thicket of them and said, ‘That’s where he came from.’”

“
Who
came from?” I had asked. “Was someone else there that night?” I had first considered that possibility when sitting in Susan’s house and hearing McGlashan describe the scene:
“Mulched him over three square yards.”
Jenny had reinforced that possibility during her interview with Rutledge when she claimed she lost track of her thoughts.

“No…not really,” Susan cut off my thoughts.

“But you just—”

She shook her head. “Nothing like that. Maybe she can tell you.”

I decided not to press her, but I was convinced that someone else had shown up or something else had happened on the beach that night. I remembered Jenny’s voice on the tape as we’d listened in Susan’s office: “
Then I saw…and then.”
Rutledge:
“Saw what?”
Jenny:
“Oh…nothing.
I just lost track of where we were.
” I didn’t buy it then and wasn’t paying for it now, especially after Susan’s remarks. What did Jenny see? I made a mental note to ask her if the opportunity arose. I made another note to ensure that the opportunity
did
arise.

I killed some time puttering around in the garage. The neon martini sign from the Winking Lizard looked nice on the wall. In the corner, by the water heater, stood a four-foot-tall wood carving of a hawk perched on a log. It had arrived by UPS yesterday from the man outside of Greenwood. I wasn’t sure where the flying carnivore eventually would end up, but for now he was fine.

I oiled my rods then headed to the end of the dock to wash down the interior of
Impulse
and give her a light wax. I’d neglected her for too long. Her rear drain was cluttered with seeds left from bird droppings. The osprey had taken advantage of my preoccupation and settled in permanently on my hardtop. His life was about to change big time. I cranked up my boat’s stereo. It felt good to work, to get some rhythm back in my life, but I was soon out of time. I had a meeting to attend. I showered and put on a silk short-sleeve shirt. It had a stain on it, so I changed into another one that had a smaller stain.

I drove to the pink hotel.