Things went kind of dark and speedy then, and the next thing Tom knew, Halo and two security guards were dragging him off Stanley, while Lucia’s mother hit him repeatedly in the back with what was left of her copy of Little Women.
44
THE TWO ARRESTING cops grinned happily and gave the thumbs-up to Tom’s phone-cam as they held the bandaged Rickard Stanley between them. Then Tom sat on a low wall to watch them push the man’s head roughly down into the back of a Lexington Police Department cruiser.
A doctor had checked Stanley out in a manner so cursory and rough that Tom figured he must’ve been told about the incident with the hyperbaric chamber and the cigarette. He’d declared that Stanley’s nose was broken but that his other cuts and bruises were not serious and that he could be released into police custody. He remembered his Hippocratic Oath in time to hand Officer Ridge a bottle of codeine, with offhand instructions about when Stanley should take the tablets.
As the cruiser pulled away, carrying with it a message to contact Assistant Director Luke Channings at the FBI office in DC, Tom flipped open his phone and called Ronaldo Suarez.
‘Hey, it’s Tom Patrick.’
‘Hey. What’s up?’
‘I’m sending you a photo. Show it to Chuck Zhong. I’m betting he’ll feel safer about talking once he sees this guy is behind bars.’
Suarez gave a low whistle. ‘Nice work.’
‘Tell him we got the man in the suit too.’
‘Nice one.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s a lie but it’ll help. And offer him protection in the joint.’
‘You think he needs it?’
Tom sighed. ‘I’m amazed he’s still alive. These guys go all the way.’
‘You sound like you know what you’re talking about, Tom.’
He could hear the question in Suarez’s voice but was too tired to explain.
‘I wish I didn’t.’
‘Thanks, man. Anytime you’re in Irving, lunch is on me.’
‘Not at that crappy place I took you to, you cheap bastard.’
Suarez laughed and hung up.
Tom stretched his face up to the sunshine, like a bear emerging from a long winter.
He felt a brush on his shoulder and opened his eyes to see Halo sit down beside him. ‘What did she say?’ asked Tom.
‘You come near Lucia, she’ll kill you.’
‘Shit! Did you tell her I pulled her daughter out of the goddamn plane?’
‘Yup. She didn’t believe me. Then said she didn’t care anyway, said Lucia wouldn’t have been on the plane if it wasn’t for you.’
‘Did you tell her— Oh, fuck it.’ Tom waved away his own argument as he realized Mrs Holmes held the over-card every time: Lucia would be fine and dandy if she’d never met him. It was the royal flush of protective motherhood.
‘Did you do the whole black thing?’
‘No, I didn’t do the whole black thing.’
‘Call yourself a fucking friend?’
‘Yeah.’ Halo shrugged defensively. ‘I do.’
45
IT TOOK TOM three days to clean Lucia’s place up properly and to replace what was broken. Now and then he’d start to choke and have to cough muck into his hand until he could breathe again. It was gross, and he was glad Lucia wasn’t there to see it.
He’d left her in the hospital. He’d stuck around Lexington for a few days, hung around the hallway where her room was, watched from behind Quilting Quarterly and the Weekly World News as they transferred her from the chamber to a recovery ward. The whole time, her mother never left her side.
Finally frustrated, Tom had caught a cab to the airport, where one runway was still cordoned off. He’d run into Mike Carling, who was there investigating the crash and seemed genuinely pleased to see him. They shook hands, then Carling hugged him briefly and Tom wasn’t even embarrassed. The last time they’d seen each other, it had been over the body of Lenny Munro; both of them apparently felt good that Tom, at least, was still alive.
Carling had been told all Pete LaBello knew, but still pumped Tom for more information as he waited for his flight, jotting down notes in a little black book that made Tom think wistfully of Sergeant Konrad, Lemon and Harold Robbins.
He’d been allocated a seat ten rows from the exit over the wings. For the first time ever, he didn’t care. If the plane crashed now, he’d know that God not only existed, but also wanted him dead real bad.
He left Kentucky without ever laying eyes on a horse.
At LAX he’d paid a hundred and seventy-five dollars in parking fines and then found the Buick wouldn’t start so he’d called Halo for a jump. Halo had come over from Hangar Five and they’d had a cup of coffee before going out to start the car.
When Halo admitted he’d been ripped off by his decorator and was having to do everything himself, Tom had managed not to say, ‘I told you so.’
Finally, Tom had driven straight to Santa Ana and thrown himself on the mercy of Lucia’s landlady, who was suspicious and hostile until he peeled next month’s rent in cash from the fast-diminishing wad of his eleven-thousand-dollar winnings. It didn’t matter. From next month he’d be back at work on full pay.
