Mr. Hooligan (22 page)

Candice needed to understand something clearly. “And where does this put us as far as tracking the movements of the Monsantos—and my neighbor?”

The waiter appeared at the table. “Uh … miss? Excuse me?” He held out a folded slip of paper. “A lady in the lounge,” he gestured to the wide-open doors to another room, “she asked me to give you this.”

Candice opened the note. It was written in neat cursive:
A moment of your time to talk about Riley? Thank you.

Malone said, “Something wrong?”

Candice shook her head briskly. The coincidence of the moment was too much; she managed a phony smile. “Can you excuse me a sec? Just a client wants to speak to me.” She rose from her chair, dropping the napkin on the floor. “It’s about a photo shoot. Let me get rid of her, it’ll be quick.”

Malone checked his watch. “I need to be somewhere in a half hour.”

“This won’t take long.”

There were only a few people in the lounge, two men at the bar and a young couple at a table by an open window. From the far corner, Sister Pat raised her hand.

They exchanged hellos. Sister Pat motioned for Candice to have a seat. There was a plate of Chinese food on the table, a glass of Coke with ice and a straw. Candice sat down across from her. “What’s going on, Patricia?”

“Thanks for calling me that. You know how long I’ve been asking Riley to call me by my real name? He says he just can’t. ‘Sister Pat,’ it’s like a habit.” She sighed. “Riley is in the hospital, dear.”

Before Candice could make a sound, Sister Pat said, “Now, now, it’s not that serious.… Well, it could’ve been, but he’s doing fine. As a matter of fact, he could be discharged as early as tomorrow.”

“What happened?”

Patricia took a big breath. “He was shot.”

“
Shot?
When?”

“It happened last night. I don’t know the details, and frankly I haven’t asked. But I paid him a quick visit this morning and he looks fine, considering.”

“What hospital?”

“Caribbean.”

Candice, without realizing it, had put a hand to her chest, and now she could feel her heart pounding. “How did—I don’t mean to sound resentful, but why didn’t he call me? Do you know?”

“He didn’t call me either, his doctor did. A childhood friend of his. Alfred Gonzalez knows I’m about the closest thing he has to family and called me this morning.”

“This is a shock.” Candice stood up. “I should go.…” She looked again at Patricia sitting there with her uneaten plate of Chinese food and full glass of Coke, sitting for a solitary lunch. In a bar. And Candice remembered Riley telling her once months ago, explaining his close relationship to Patricia, that she was a recovering alcoholic. The other nuns at St. Catherine used to be awakened some mornings by liquor bottles clinking in her market bag as she skulked by on her way to a downstairs garbage bin.

Candice said, watching her tone, “Patricia, why didn’t you call to tell me this as soon as you found out?”

Patricia put down her drink. She looked hurt. “Dear, I don’t have your number. It’s unlisted, and when I went to your house this morning, you weren’t there.”

“I see.”

“I was hoping not to upset you too much, but I’m beginning to realize that I did. I’m sorry.”

“When you visited Riley, did he ask you not to tell me because he didn’t want me to worry?”

Patricia looked at her tenderly. “Yes. He wanted to tell you after he was discharged.”

Candice didn’t know what to make of that answer. She thanked Patricia and tried to smile. But on the way to the dining room, something struck her as odd, and she turned back.

Patricia looked up, surprised to see her there again.

Candice said, “Can I ask you something? How did you know I was going to be here?”

“I didn’t.”

“You didn’t? It just seems a bit strange, that’s all.”

Patricia folded her hands in her lap and leaned forward. “Candice? This is one of a handful of places in this little city that makes a decent lunch. I come here every other Wednesday for the buffet, my dear. See over there, near the wall?”

Candice saw the silver chafing dishes and pans on the long buffet table for the first time.

“Sometimes I come on Thursday, though I find the Wednesday selection to be more consistent. Their jerk shrimp salad is divine. I’m assuming you’re here for lunch? The buffet runs until two, so if I had to guess I’d say meeting you here is serendipity. That’s all it is, okay?”

Candice felt her face getting red. She said, “Then my apologies, and thanks again.” As she was leaving, Patricia called after her, “Oh, Candice?” and Candice turned around. Patricia beckoned to her, and Candice came closer, annoyed.

“Riley needs to see you at his bedside, no matter what he thinks. Don’t waste another minute being distrustful of me, Candice, go see Riley. It’ll be good for him.”

Candice kept her mouth shut and headed back to the dining room before she made another mistake.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Riley sat by the window screen in the hallway enjoying the sea breeze on his chest, eyes closed, shirt open. So pleasant he didn’t want to move. Some of the bliss was probably the Demerol Dr. Gonz had given him for the pain, but he wasn’t complaining.

This might be his last restful moment for a long time, and he didn’t think he was being pessimistic, but realistic: He had fallen into a snake pit last night and now had to do some scrambling to get out.

Gonz had dressed the wound this morning, wrapping the bandage around Riley’s midsection and propping bed pillows high for Riley’s comfort. “Sure you don’t want a private room?” he had asked Riley. Riley declined, said he didn’t intend to stay very long.

“Riley, what did you get yourself into this time?” Then Gonz shook his head. “On second thought, none of my business.”

Riley had given his friend a smile, a family man whom he hardly saw anymore, a man who, unlike Riley, had always known what he wanted to be and had excelled in high school, breezed through college in the States then med school in Jamaica. Time and lifestyles had separated them, but Riley understood that the friendships you made in childhood were the ones that lasted.

Like his friendship with Harvey? It was too soon to know if Harvey would be the exception. What Harvey had done hurt as much as the gunshot.

How about Miles? Yeah, Miles was a man he could count on.

Riley said, “Gonz, how do you make outgoing calls?”

“Press nine. Listen, I told Sister Pat. Don’t be mad at me. I thought she’d like to know.”

“I’m not mad at you. Hey, could you bring that phone this way?”

Gonz had rolled the table with the phone over to the bed, said he’d return in a few hours to check on him then take it from there, but honestly?—he’d like to keep Riley in for at least two days for observation, make sure the wound was cleaned properly. “Now, let me give you some privacy.” He nodded at the two men sleeping in the other beds in the room. “Privacy, as it were.”

After Gonz left, Riley had telephoned Miles.

Miles answered, “Big boss, how’s it hanging?”

Riley said, “Thanks for last night. Got a minute? I think I’m going to need your help again.”

They had talked briefly, but long enough for Riley to feel confident that he was taking the correct measures to protect himself.

Now, woozy, he lifted himself off the chair by the screen and walked gingerly back to his room. He climbed into bed slowly. The bullet had ripped through the outermost muscle in his lower abdomen, and the pain radiated from his wound to his groin. Recuperation time? According to Gonz, at least three weeks.

Well, then consider doctor’s orders defied, because Riley wouldn’t have three weeks, and he couldn’t half step. He was in the Monsantos’ sights—he wasn’t going to fool himself about that one. When he had called at noon, Israel listened to his story, asking in a tone of great concern if Riley was sure he was okay and was there anything he needed. Magazines maybe, or a good hot meal that didn’t taste like hospital food? Then Israel suggested a transfer to Karl Heusner Memorial, he had friends there. Riley knew that the Monsantos’ connections ran deep and they’d be able to keep tabs on him better if he were there, could exert their control if they reckoned it necessary, so he’d brushed off the suggestion.

Israel had accepted his story for the time being, but more questions would come, and Riley was preparing.

He lay in bed listening to the waves outside and thinking about last night, remembering only some spots with clarity. He did recall early this morning, talking to Sister Pat through the haze of Demerol, a strong dose he was grateful for. Though he had wanted to talk, he kept the impulse in check and simply held Sister Pat’s hand, telling her he’d be okay, he’d be just fine, don’t worry.

He remembered, as she got up to leave, he motioned to her and she brought an ear to his lips and he whispered, “I did it again … I did it again, Sister Pat,” and the tears came. He covered his eyes. He told her, “Two men again. Just like the last time.”

Sister Pat placed a warm hand on his cheek, then over his mouth. “Now isn’t the time, dear. We’ll talk later.” She kissed him on his head and was gone.

Then he slept a long time and woke up to find a lunch tray on the bedside table and Candice walking into the room. A scene similar to Sister Pat’s visit replayed. He tried to be honest without being honest all the way, saying, “Candice, there are some things you better know about me. I’m in a little situation here.”

“Are the cops looking for you?”

“No—not as far as I know.”

“Is anyone else looking for you?”

He said, “No.”

“Then shhh,” and she put a finger over his lips. “I want you to recover. Don’t waste your energy worrying, just rest.”

He lay back on the pillow and looked at her, her eyes glistening. “It’s going to be all right. The doctor is a friend of mine, I trust him.”

“Have I met him?”

“Not through my introductions.”

“I’ll have to meet him sometime.”

He looked up at the ceiling so he wouldn’t have to stare at her face and feel so alienated from her. Like a part of him had changed. “I was thinking how much I respect you, you know? You not being from here but how you mixed in well with people. How you probably heard all these stories about me but you never brought those things up. I respect that.” He studied her face, then turned his eyes back to the ceiling and said, “But I was thinking, even though I love you, and I do love you, I can’t deny it, I might not be the best person for you. It could be I’m trouble, like a lotta people think. Bad news.”

“Stop, Riley.”

He shifted around to get comfortable and grimaced from a tug of pain.

“You okay?” Her hand reaching out to his shoulder. She left it there.

“It might be,” she said, “there’s something you don’t know about me either.”

He agreed. She said, “So there,” and they sat in silence for a while as the room cooled with the afternoon breeze. Nurses passed by in the screened hallway. An old white man in a Cardinals baseball cap was parked by the screen in a wheelchair. Every now and again he’d smile at the nurses and one time he smiled at Candice. Riley asked if it had rained today; she said no, and they held hands, Riley understanding that they’d talk about the important matters in private. There might be time. For now, just be with her.

He fell asleep that night remembering those quiet minutes.

*   *   *

A jolt of pain woke him up and he hurt himself when he sat up fast in the dark. One of his roommates was snoring softly, the other one talking in his sleep. The air-conditioning hummed but the room was stifling. Riley slid out of bed and walked to the half-open door, testing the ground for any Demerol tilt. The breeze in the hallway felt nice, and he found a plastic chair and dragged it closer to the screen and sat down.

He had a notion that his life had altered irrevocably. The man he thought he could be was never going to be. He was a killer and he was going to have to learn to live with that. When you do something, do it fully, be absorbed by it. Where had he read that? Didn’t matter. It was true. He would have to burn with the will to survive and do whatever it took without judgment and regrets. It scared him somewhat to think like that, but fear was good if it kept you alive.

He heard someone coming down the hall, turned to see the old man in the Cardinals cap rolling up in his wheelchair. The man paused to rest, smiling at Riley. He eventually parked beside Riley, facing the screen. He blew out a sigh, then coughed, pasty skin between his collarbones sinking in. Wiping his lips and gazing ahead serenely, he said, “Can’t sleep either, uh?”

Riley said, “Panic attack.” For some reason, he felt it didn’t matter if he told anyone. In fact, it felt good to tell someone; he’d suffered them off and on for years.

“I see. Can’t say I’ve ever experienced one. But I know what it is to be terrified.” The old man nodded, looked Riley in the eyes. “Full of dread. Weepy with existential horror.”

Riley thought, Whoa. Who’s this guy?

The man said, “I’m dying. That’s how I know.”