No Gun Intended (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-six

When Mickey brought Dad's car to a stop in front of the hospital, I got out, and he did, too.

“Mickey, we agreed. I go in alone.”

“I could wait in the hall.”

“I don't want Claudia to see you. What if she wants to go for a walk in the hall with me, just to move around a bit?”

“Okay.” He kissed me. “Be careful.”

It was about nine o'clock, and the hospital was pretty quiet. I took the elevator up to Claudia's room and entered.

She was sitting up, watching a
Modern Family
rerun. “I bet Cameron and Mitchell don't have guns,” I ventured.

She jerked her head around to see me. “Close the door, will you?”

I did and took a seat on the ledge by the window, dangling my feet. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. I think they're going to let me out tomorrow.”

“Wow. Fast.”

“No more headache.”

I fiddled with my Japanese hairdo. “So, what do you want to tell me?”

Claudia fidgeted with her sheets and fixed her eyes on the television. I reached over to the remote and shut it off. “I like this show, too, but I didn't come here to watch TV with you.” I set the remote on the ledge next to me, beyond her reach.

“Look, you have to believe me that Wesley had nothing to do with any of this.”

“Okay. The police are sorting that out with him.”

“The police?! They arrested him? Oh shit!” She started crying.

I took a tissue out of the box and handed it to her. “They are at least questioning him. I don't think they've arrested him. They're also questioning Ricky Martin, who is still in this hospital somewhere with a bullet wound. And it turns out, as I'm sure you know, that Ricky and Wesley are friends. Or at least used to be. And, missy, it's also looking like Ricky was involved in kidnapping me. So I really think it's time you filled me in, pronto-like.
Comprende
?”

I think using Spanish words makes me sound tougher, no offense to Latinos.

Claudia blew her nose and lay back on her pillows. “Ricky got the gun for me.”

“Why?”

“For protection.”

“From whom?”

“Can't tell you that. But it's not Wesley!”

“Who hit you? Your parents said someone hit you, and they're sure it was Wesley.”

“No one hit me.”

“Okkaaayyyy. So why do you think you were mugged? Was it Ricky? Did he think you still had the gun and he wanted it back?”

Claudia nodded. “That's all I can figure.”

“How would he have found you in the Japanese Garden, if Wesley hadn't told him you were there?”

She looked up at the ceiling to avoid my eyes. “I don't know. Maybe it wasn't Ricky who mugged me.”

“Is he your friend, really?”

“I only know him a little bit. I heard him talking to Wesley once about some people he hangs with, and he said something about a gun, so I found his number on Wesley's phone and I texted him. That's how it happened.”

“Why would he come here to visit you?”

“I DON'T KNOW,” she shouted at me. “Maybe he thinks I still have the gun, or I'm going to turn him in to the police, or something. Maybe he wants to kill me! Fuck!”

I stood up and started pacing back and forth alongside her bed, giving her some time to calm down. “So when you called me, why did you ask for my help? The help of a detective? You still thought I had your gun, and that's all you wanted, right?”

“You said you didn't have it. I was supposed to get rid of it after I, uh, once I didn't need it anymore. I didn't know if you were lying or not, but I didn't want that gun to be anywhere other than the bottom of the river if it wasn't with me. I was scared, and I thought I needed you to find the gun, if you didn't already have it.”

I sat back down on the ledge. “Claudia, I have to tell you, this is all sounding really stupid. You put yourself in danger, just because you decided you needed a gun, for reasons you won't tell me. And you still won't tell me who you're afraid of. How can my partners and I protect you?” I paused and stared at her, but she didn't respond. “Is it Loren Scranton?”

“I told you, I don't know him.”

“He came to visit you!”

She frowned. “Like I said before, I don't remember any stranger coming in here.”

I shrugged. “Okay, it was probably when you were still unconscious. Are you sure you don't know him?”

“Positive.”

I blew some air out through my pursed lips. “So, what do you want from me now?”

Claudia sat up straight. “I want you to protect Wesley, and that's it. The whole gun thing is over as far as I'm concerned.”

“That's probably a good thing, but does that mean you no longer think you're in danger?”

She slumped. “I'll be all right.”

“You're driving me crazy, you know that? I can't protect Wesley without more information.”

“I don't have any more information to give you.”

The door opened suddenly and I heard a low voice say, “That's a good girl. Keep your fucking mouth shut.”

I turned and saw Julius, big and ugly and scary-looking. So I did what any brave detective would do in a similar situation. I screamed bloody murder, louder than Janet Leigh in
Psycho,
and ran at him with every ounce of strength I had.

He maybe budged an inch, if that.

He grabbed my arm and covered my mouth with his other hand. “Shut the fuck up.”

Then he pulled out a gun and pointed it at Claudia.

She was a quick learner. Her scream was even louder than mine.

I watched her roll out of the bed onto the floor on its far side.

I was squirming around as much as I could. Julius' hands were monstrous, but they were fleshy. I managed to open my mouth a little and clamp my teeth down on his palm, behind his thumb.

“SHIT!” he yelled.

His hand came off my mouth. I kicked his shin and turned away from him while grabbing a chopstick from my hair. I rammed it as hard as I could into his cheek. The one on his face, I mean.

“FUCK!” he howled, and let me go.

I ran out into the hall, screaming for someone to call the police. I saw a couple of nurses dashing toward Claudia's room, having already heard the commotion. “He has a gun! Don't go in, just call 911!” I warned them. They came to a dead stop, turned around, and rushed to the nurses' station to call.

I didn't want to leave Claudia in there, helpless, on the floor. My phone was in my purse on the window ledge, so I couldn't call Mickey or Luis. I peered around the door and saw Julius moving toward Claudia, gun in hand.

I dove and landed on his back. He fell to his knees and dropped the gun. It skittered away from him. I shouted to Claudia. “Get out of here now, Claudia!” She scurried out from under the bed and into the hallway.

Julius was trying to stand up again. I was flailing away at him like the worst monkey on his back he'd ever known, hitting at his face, his head, his neck, anything I could hit.

Like I intimated earlier, he was bigger than Bigfoot, and no, I don't believe in Sasquatch, but there I was in the Pacific Northwest and it occurred to me that Julius could be a shaved version. Mostly shaved, anyway.

He quickly was able to throw me off and I landed hard on my side.

We heard people running down the hall. He snarled at me, picked up his gun, and threw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He walked out of the room, pointing his gun at the security guards hustling toward us. “Stop right there, or I put a bullet in her head, and then all of you are next.”

I kept pounding on him, but I was running out of steam.

His gun was pressed against my side. “Stop moving, or I'll plant a bullet in your uterus instead.”

What a pig.

But I stopped.

Nimble for a monster, Julius descended the same stairs where Ricky had run, and hurried out the back door. I was hanging onto the back of his shirt to keep from swaying from side to side like a pendulum.

I figured this was it. He'd kill me in the parking lot.

Then I came to my senses and my fear left me quicker than a bullet leaves a gun, as Tom Waits once wrote in a song.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Luis, gun drawn, and I heard Mickey approach behind us. “Let her go, now, or you're dead,” he commanded.

Julius stopped. Luis came up in front of him with his gun aimed at his head, while Mickey closed in from behind. He stuck his gun in Julius' back. “Now.”

Julius loosened his grip. I slid to the ground, panting. Luis took Julius' gun away from him. Mickey with his gun persuaded Julius to sit.

“You all right, Annabelle?”

“Peachy, Mickey.”

“Where's your purse?”

“Huh?”

“You know, dental floss? You always carry it? I'd love to tie up this dirtbag right now.”

I smiled. “Aw, you're heading down memory lane now, aren't you sweetie? Sorry, my purse is upstairs in Claudia's room.”

“This is not a problem.” Luis extracted some plastic zip-ties from his pocket and went to work on Julius' hands and feet while Mickey kept his gun on him.

“His face is bleeding, babe. You do that?”

“Chopstick. We probably won't want to eat with that one in the future.”

“Too bad. It was a nice idea, you buying those for us.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” I was sitting on the ground, thinking that this conversation was one of the most surreal of my life.

Mickey and Luis situated Julius against the side of the building. Luis kept him covered with his gun, while Mickey came over and sat down beside me on the ground. “Tell me something good.”

“I'm glad you came with me tonight.” I started trembling.

“Me, too.” He rubbed my arms and drew me close. “I think we should get married.”

I laughed. “Really? That's your proposal? Right here, right now, in the parking lot sitting next to a bloody oversized disgusting excuse for a human being?”

“You want me to kneel?”

I hugged him. “No, I want you to marry me.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

The police sorted it out. Julius, the Neanderthal, sang like a canary on speed. He not only confessed to shooting at Ricky as well as kidnapping me, he said he did all of it on orders from Greta, and that Greta killed Howard. Or Hanks. Whatever.

The gun was hers. Apparently she didn't like it that Hanks was going straight and was trying to get her to do the same, to the point that he threatened to call the cops on her. She did a bit of dealing when she wasn't bartending.

Ricky worked for Greta, delivering drugs. When Claudia called him about getting a gun, he asked Greta if she could supply one, and she gave it to him. Maybe she was trying to set Ricky up. Maybe she figured the police would never connect her with Hanks. Anyway, Ricky left it in the backpack at the airport. When we met Greta and told her that I ended up with the gun, she called Julius and told him to follow us and get the gun from me. He followed us to my parents' house, then came back later with Ricky in the van. They had some harebrained idea that they'd hold me for ransom for the gun, and some dough on the side for good measure.

Wesley continued to profess complete ignorance about all of it, insisting that he was as innocent as a Virgin Mary, and I guess he meant the drink. But I still believed him, and the police had nothing to hold him on.

Ricky and Julius were both arrested. Greta was at large. Wesley was released and promised the police he would return to Seattle.

Loren Scranton remained a big question mark.

Mickey, Luis, and I were back at my parents' house, again, another late night. We were all drinking bourbon and feeling spent. We had filled Mom and Dad in on what occurred at the hospital, though we left out a lot of the details, including the part about my stabbing Julius in the cheek with a chopstick. I could hardly think about it myself, let alone tell them.

Mickey and I didn't tell anyone about getting married, either. It was our own sweet secret for the time being.

I was still a little wobbly. I'd been in Portland for a week, and it felt like a month, with all that had happened. Luis decided to go home the next day. Mickey and I thought we'd stick around for a couple of days, to see if we could have some “normal” visiting time with Mom and Dad.

“Normal” went out the window when Mom said, “But what about Claudia? We can't drop this yet. She's in danger, even though she won't tell anyone who's threatening her.”

I took a sip of my drink. “Mom, what is this ‘we' stuff?”

She shrugged. “Darling, your father and I are involved, whether you like it or not. We still don't know who the hell Loren Scranton is.”

“I'm fine with believing that he's a wacko accountant who fell in love with you at first sight.”

“Bullmarkey,” Mom muttered.

Dad laughed. “I haven't heard that in a while! You used to say that, muffin, when you were young. Mixed up ‘bullshit' with ‘malarkey.' Of course, I have no idea where you learned cuss words like that when you were little.” He winked.

Mom sighed. “Doesn't anyone agree with me? There are still questions we need to answer.”

Mickey leaned forward. “I agree with you, Sylvia. The Bigelows are in town until the day after tomorrow. Why don't we meet with them and Claudia once more before they head back to Seattle?”

I groaned. “Fine. But I don't think we should delay Luis from getting home to Ruby.”

Luis smiled. “I can take a later flight tomorrow, after we meet with the Bigelows.”

Dad stood up. “Good. Then it's settled.”

“Except for one detail!” I stood up, too. “You and Mom are not coming with us.”

Dad held out his hand to shake mine. “Agreed.” We shook.

“Apparently I don't get a say in this agreement?” Mom asked.

“Really, Mom? You really
want
to go?”

She paused. “No. I just want answers.”

***

I called Nancy Bigelow first thing in the morning and asked if we could meet to make sure that they knew what happened at the hospital, in case the police weren't thorough. It was a lame reason to get together, but she pounced on it and seemed eager, in fact, to see us.

“Phillip is here now. He canceled his Miami trip and drove down last night. He'll be grateful for the recap. What time?”

So we set it up for two o'clock, and that meant the five of us could have brunch at Mother's Bistro downtown, which, according to Mom and Dad, had the best brunch in Portland. Miraculously, again, according to them, there wasn't a line and we got right in. My parents clearly were regulars—more than one waiter and busser stopped by our table to say hello. It was fun, and I was happy again to see them so settled in their new community.

I stuffed myself with
migas
—scrambled eggs with onions, peppers, tortillas, salsa—they were almost as good as Mickey's cheesy scrambies.

Okay, they were better, but don't tell him I said that.

We left sated and satisfied and had time to stop into Powell's Bookstore before seeing the Bigelows. The store takes up a full city block and is a maze of millions of books, new and used. You truly can get lost in this store. In fact, they have maps so that you can find your way through the different sections, though I think part of the charm is the getting-lost part. We meandered around for about forty-five minute before Luis said it was time to go. Mom and Dad had ventured off to look at cookbooks, so I went to find them to let them know we were leaving.

Of course, I couldn't find them, since I couldn't find the cookbooks section. My map of the store was in Mickey's back pocket. I eventually asked a Powell's employee, who pointed me to the Orange Room, and that's when I saw Mom and Dad.

And Loren Scranton, his arm in a sling and his suit still fancy.

They hadn't seen me yet. I texted Mickey: “Scranton with 'rents in cookbooks.”

It looked like Scranton was pleading with my parents. They didn't seem scared, but they looked uncomfortable, like they didn't want to hear what he was saying. I edged closer to listen, keeping out of sight behind a bookcase.

“We don't have it. It's with the police. Now, you have a choice. Either get out of here quick, or stick around while I call the cops to come pick you up.” Dad was using his Martin-Sheen-as-president-in-“The-West-Wing” voice.

I stepped out from behind the bookshelves. “And I should probably warn you, Scranton, that two very pissed-off private investigators are finding their way here as we speak. If I were you, I'd definitely
not ándale, malo man
. I'd stay put,
comprende
?”

He regarded me for an instant, definitely not
comprende
-ing, and then darted away from us, disappearing into the bowels of Powell's.

“‘Not
ándale, malo man
'?” Mom asked.

“Don't move, bad guy. Are you two all right?”

Dad was clenching his fists. “He was looking for the gun. Said that he was supposed to pick up the backpack and deliver it.”

“Holy moly. To Claudia?” All along we'd assumed that Ricky left the backpack at the airport for Claudia to retrieve herself.

“He didn't say.”

Before they could continue, Mickey and Luis came hustling in. “He's gone?” Mickey asked.

I pointed down a hallway. “He ran that way. Turns out he's involved.” I hardly got that much out before they were both tearing down the same hall after Scranton.

“This might take a while,” I said. “They could be casing this mammoth store for several hours.”

“Well, at least we're rid of Scranton now. He knows we don't have the gun. I can't imagine why he would bother us again.” Mom sighed deeply. “Another mystery solved. Come on, let's buy these books for the bakery and then you can go see the Bigelows, once Crockett and Tubbs get back.”

“Mom! You slay me! ‘Miami Vice'?”

“They were my favorite TV duo. I meant that as the highest of compliments.”

There was a convenient check-out counter in the Orange Room, and an exit onto the street. I went outside to wait, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mickey and Luis. Turned out they were right there, waiting for us.

“He got away, or he's hiding in this store somewhere,” Mickey told me.

“You going to tell Dawson and Monroe?”

“Just texted Dawson.”