Double Black Diamond (Mercy Watts Mysteries) (42 page)

“You’ll hold to the agreement?” he asked and I could see the fear in his eyes.
 

“Not my secret to tell,” I said and he visibly relaxed.
 

Uncle Morty came up behind me and laid a meaty hand on my shoulder. “It ain’t theirs either. We need to take care of those bastards.”
 

“I can pay them now that we’ve reached a deal.” Darren looked at Nina, Mickey, and Jimmy Cave. They all three nodded, but I could tell it pained them.
 

“Screw that,” said Uncle Morty. “Give me their names. They got secrets too and I’ll find ‘em.”

Darren sucked in a breath. “How?”
 

“Leave that to me. I’m an expert in dirt and those bastards deserve me.”

I patted Uncle Morty’s hand. “He is. I almost feel sorry for them. This time next week they’ll probably be apologizing to you.”
 

Nina came up and wrapped her arms around Darren. “That’s a kind offer and I’m sure you’d be very effective.”
 

“But…” said Darren.

“But what about the next time and the time after that,” she said.
 

“They aren’t the first?” I asked.
 

“Sadly, no.”
 

Darren shook his head and a gleam of sweat appeared on his bald pate. “I can’t. It’ll kill the band.” He looked at Mickey. “You need this. We all do.”
 

Mickey grabbed him roughly and hugged him. “You worry about you, man. We can take the heat.”
 

Jimmy clapped Darren on the back. “Who knows? Maybe it’ll be good. Give us some dimension. A whole new audience.”
 

Darren lowered his voice so Carey and the other cops wouldn’t hear. “I don’t see us getting a huge gay audience.”
 

Mickey laughed and laughed. “Why the hell not? You like us. My cousin Steve likes us. Why the hell not?”
 

“I…I…don’t know,” said Darren.
 

Wade came over and hooked his arms over Mickey and Darren’s shoulders. “What are we talking about? Hot chicks? Tequila shooters? Tour dates?”
 

Mickey gave him a look. “Blackmailers.”
 

“Those shitheads? I say screw ‘em,” said Wade.
 

Darren crossed his arms. “Oh, yeah. You’re the one who’s so worried about image.”
 

Wade laughed. “I could be dead right now. Dead. Holy shit. I don’t give a crap what anyone thinks about us. Let’s party.”
 

“I have to tell my parents first,” said Darren, softly.

“Sweetie,” said Nina, “they know.”
 

Darren paled. “How? Did you tell them?”
 

“Of course not. You’re mother’s sharp as a tack and she’s made a lot of comments over the years. I think they’ve always known.”
 

Detective Carey asked Wade to come back and finish his statement and Uncle Morty and I went for the exit.
 

“I’m charging you for these boots!” yelled Detective Carey after me. “They’re hand-stitched!”

“I didn’t pee on them,” I replied with a grin.
 

“Your dog— ”

“She’s not my dog.”
 

Bark.
 

We went through the glass doors and into the parking lot.
 

Growl.

“Okay. Okay. You’re kind of my dog, but don’t tell Nancy,” I said.
 

Bark.
 

Uncle Morty didn’t drive me back to Copper Mountain as promised. Why? Because he’s evil, that’s why. I must’ve snoozed out, because I didn’t realize what was happening until we hit the Eisenhower tunnel. The darkness woke me and I blinked at the grey concrete zipping past me.
 

“Where are we?” I asked.
 

“Tunnel. Go back to sleep,” said Uncle Morty.
 

Honestly, I wasn’t really suspicious until he told me to go to sleep. It wasn’t like him at all. I sat up and yawned.
 

“Why are we going through the tunnel?”
 

“Goin’ to the hospital.”
 

“What hospital? Who’s in the hospital?” I asked.
 

He snorted. “Rory Dushane, idiot.”
 

“Did something happen?”

“Hell, yeah. You solved his crime,” he said.
 

I flexed my feet. They were so happy not to be in my boots anymore. “Carey will tell his family. They don’t need us there bothering them.”
 

“I ain’t letting Carey take the credit for your skills. You solved it. You get the pleasure of telling Cullum Dushane what happened. That’s how it is. Besides, you have a deal, don’t you?”
 

I’d forgotten about my deal with Mr. Dushane. I solve Rory’s stabbing in exchange for a year of Keegan’s meds. I sat up and Wallace rolled off my lap, bounced to her feet, and started yapping at me like she’d never laid eyes on me before.
 

“Shut that dog up,” bellowed Uncle Morty.
 

“I can’t. Ahhhh!” I screeched as Wallace lunged for my arm and clamped her vicious little teeth on my wrist. I rolled around, yanking on her tubby body, but that just made her teeth sink deeper into my flesh.
 

“Shut up!” yelled Uncle Morty.
 

“Not helping,” I said.
 

His hand shot out and he captured Wallace by the scruff of her neck. He shook her once, she went limp, and let go of my wrist. Then he held her high between us. “You bark again and I throw you out the window. Got it, mutt?”
 

Yip.

“What about the biting?” I asked.
 

“Yeah. Yeah. Don’t bite Mercy either,” he said.
 

Yip.
 

He dropped the tiny pug back on my lap where she proceeded to stare at me resentfully. I was so bothered by it I went back to sleep. After what seemed like five minutes later, we arrived at University of Colorado hospital. It was a huge complex and I was glad Uncle Morty didn’t ask me to navigate. I got lost in hospitals I actually worked at.
 

He eventually found a parking spot close to the front entrance after driving around for fifteen minutes. Heaven forbid we walk more than fifty feet. I would’ve told him to just park and suck it up, but it would’ve been me doing most of the sucking. I was still in my ski clothes and had no other shoes other than my bulky boots. I was willing to go tell Mr. Dushane we’d solved his son’s crime, eager to do so even, but I couldn’t go in there like that. First of all, walking in ski boots takes forever and second, I was sweating in my puffy pants and base layers.
 

Uncle Morty got out and stood behind the rental glowering at the hospital for not having a tram to the front door. His outdoorsy act-like-men phase was definitely over. I watched him in the side mirror, wondering how long it would take for him to notice that I wasn’t getting out. Six minutes. Longer than I expected. I guess he was really mad about walking.
 

He yanked open my door. “What the hell are you doing?”
 

“I’m not going in like this.” I pointed to my boots.
 

“Why not?”
 

“I’ll look like an idiot.”
 

“You should be used to it. All those pics on CNN sealed the deal.”
 

Thanks for reminding me.

“I don’t need to add to the collection of bad Mercy moments. My file is full. Go in to the gift shop and buy me some sweats and flip-flops,” I said.

“They ain’t a department store,” he said.
 

“No, but they’re equipped for emergencies. Family members need clothes all the time.”
 

He held out his hand. “Money.”
 

“Are you serious?” I asked.
 

“As a gamer on release day. Hand it over.”
 

I sighed and gave him my debit card. I didn’t bother to give him my PIN, since I was sure he already knew it. And I was right. He came back fifteen minutes later with extra-small sweats in a hideous aqua marine blue and a pair of flowered Crocs. Uncle Morty stood in front of the car while I tried to squeeze my rump into those sweats.
 

“How big do you think I am?” I asked through gritted teeth.
 

“Tiny. Get a move on.”
 

Well, I got those sweats on, but they were so tight you could see the outline of my thong. It wasn’t good, but there was no way Uncle Morty was going on another shopping expedition, so I was stuck. We left a snarling Wallace behind in the car. She was squatting on Uncle Morty’s seat as a threat, which he chose to ignore.
 

“If she pees, she pees,” he said, leading the way to the hospital with surprising speed, not noticing me dodging puddles and piles of snow in my flip-flops.

After getting Rory’s room number from a volunteer who got all excited and asked if I was a female impersonator, we went up to the sixth floor. Rory was out of ICU and in his own private room, which surprised me. To be honest, I had expected him to die and I’d done a spanking job of not thinking about his prognosis. Thinking about a person’s death just makes it harder. I’d had enough of harder.
 

Uncle Morty knocked on Rory’s closed door and Mr. Dushane answered a second later. If anything he looked worse than he did when I’d seen him just a couple of days before.
 

“Sorry to bother you,” I said.

It took him a second, but his eyes lit up when he realized who I was. “Miss Watts, what are you doing here? Good news, I hope.”

I gave him the abbreviated version of events and he stood stock still as if he hadn’t quite comprehended the words I’d spoken. His hands shook as he reached out and grabbed me for the mother of all bear hugs. Mr. Dushane’s body convulsed and he sobbed into my shoulder. We stood in the corridor for I don’t know how long. Long enough for Uncle Morty to beat a hasty retreat in search of coffee and a place without naked emotion. Uncle Morty wasn’t a fan of crying. Whenever I cried, no matter the reason, he always told me to rub some dirt on it. Because dirt is always what a crying girl needs.
 

A nurse came up and asked if she could help. That broke the spell and Mr. Dushane told her Rory’s attacker had been arrested. The nurse, Mary, teared up and ran for some Kleenex.
 

“So Rory’s out of ICU,” I said, accepting a tissue from Mary. “How’s he doing?”

Mr. Dushane blew his nose and opened the door. “He woke up yesterday.”
 

I walked past him into a room that reminded me of Arthur O’Quinn, my favorite patient. Like in Arthur’s room there were flowers on every available surface, cards pinned to the wall, and balloons floating around the ceiling forming cloud formations of cheery greetings and well-wishes. There was a lot of love in that room. Experts may not agree, but I think it helps. Healing comes from all kinds of sources, not just within.
 

Rory lay on the bed, his long body swathed in blankets and his neck thickly bandaged. He wasn’t on a ventilator, but he was wired up to multiple monitors and pumps. His eyes were closed and his long purple hair twisted over his shoulder. It looked more like rope rather than hair.
 

“How is he feeling?” I asked.
 

Mr. Dushane’s jaw trembled. “He doesn’t know us. The doctor says there may be some brain damage, but he can’t tell us the extent.”
 

“He lost a lot of blood, but he’s awake. It’s the first step in a series of many.”
 

“His mother’s afraid he’ll never be the same.” A tear slipped down Mr. Dushane’s cheek.
 

“I’ve known stroke patients who they never thought would walk or speak who made it back. Rory can do it. He’s young and feisty.”
 

Mr. Dushane chuckled. “He is that.”
 

“I better go. I just wanted to tell you that we got her,” I said.
 

He hugged me again. “Thank you and I haven’t forgotten our deal. Keegan will be taken care of. No charge.”
 

“Thank you.”
 

I left the room after taking one last deep breath of the flowers filling Rory’s room and found Uncle Morty lurking by the elevator. “You big wimp. A little crying and you run for it.”
 

“Pipe down. You told him. I got what I came for. Feel good?” he asked.
 

“I don’t know. I guess I’m supposed to.”
 

“They ain’t all happy endings. Tommy’ll tell you that. Hell, happy endings are few and far between. You done good.”
 

“Why do I feel so guilty then?” I asked, walking into the elevator.

“Because that kid is lying in that bed and you didn’t prevent it,” he said.
 

“How could I have prevented it?”

“You couldn’t, but you think you should’ve, don’t you?”