Chapter Fifty-One
Doc had opened the trunk after watching them wheel Primo into surgery at the new IMSS hospital, intending to tie Stan Russell with bandages he’d promoted off the nurses. He regretted it the minute Dancy flew out at him screaming and scratching like a cat. By the time he got her subdued and both of the Russells securely tied, he’d drawn a medically sophisticated crowd that strongly recommended he drop by the emergency room on his own behalf. Doc declined their solicitude with an international explanatory phrase. “I’ve got to go get paid.” He thought it played better than, “I don’t want to be here when the cops show up.”
The next time Dancy regained consciousness she was face down on a very plush bed and tied hand, foot, and mouth. Which was better than coming to in a dark car trunk on top of Stan, but still a less than optimal awakening. One thing you could say for Armando, she muttered into her gag, he knew how to treat a girl while she’s unconscious. She rolled on her side and found herself staring right into the drastically damaged face of her husband, also trussed up like a yearling calf at a rodeo. It was a pretty epic stare-down, but she had few ideas on what to do with the situation.
The suspense was broken when the door opened, showing a slice of rock face that definitely established the room as being in the SolMar and admitting Doc Hardesty, cleaned up, bandaged, and dressed in a creased chambray shirt, but still showing signs of recent ill-use. Dancy ignored the muffled bleats and grunts from Stan’s bed, relying on eye contact and sheer magnetism to communicate. Doc looked from one to the other and shook his head, said only, “You two deserve each other,” before pulling a wicked looking diving knife out of his shirt, ostentatiously laying it on the dresser, and closing the door from the outside.
Dancy bucked, spasming her entire body up onto her knees, then pogoing along the mattress towards the dresser. Stan reacted almost as fast, rolling off his bed and humping across the carpet with the same goal distinctly in mind. Dancy was trying to figure out how to cross the two foot gap to the dresser top, and keeping an eye on Stan, who was evidently hoping to ram it hard enough to tip it over, when the door opened again and Doc stepped in, lazily picked up the knife, and said, “Psych!”.
Con O’Donough stepped in behind him and gave the same look from one to the other, shaking his head as if saddened to be responsible for such a pair of morally handicapped fuckups. Doc indicated the two with a sweep of his hand and said, “Here they are. You owe me money. And major medical.”
Con walked towards Dancy, who had slumped back on the bed, breathing very hard and trying to decide who to glare at, kicking Stan out of his way without giving him a glance. Looking down at her, he said, “I’d have taken her and six points. Blood tells.”
Doc said, “Yeah. I just wish I could figure out what it keeps telling me.”
Con leaned over and tenderly brushed hair out of Dancy’s eyes then was amazed as she was when a tear slipped out each eye and ran down her cheekbones. Doc said, “Could you wait until the check clears before you untie her?”
Con sat on the bed by Dancy, holding her shoulders and looking at her face. He said, “There’s a nursing team on the way to pick you up, Dan. We’ll talk when you’re all cleaned and stitched up.” He started to undo the gag, but seemed to think better of it. Looking at her closely he said, “If things get unseemly, I’ll put this back on.”
She nodded and he fumbled with the knot until Doc stepped over and deftly cut the ace bandage away. She worked her jaw a minute before saying, “I’m sorry Daddy. Am I grounded?”
O’Donough just looked at her face as if he’d never seen it before. He said, “I love you Dancy. I thank God you’re back. Come up for Christmas with me, let’s you and me and your mother see if we can start over. Or start. Or something. Will you do that?”
Doc was surprised at how subdued and warm her voice was as she said, “Thanks, Daddy. I’d like that a lot.”
Go for it, Dorothy, Doc thought, It’s got to start some place and it might as well be home.
There was a mild rap on the door behind him and Doc turned, expecting to see nurses with a gurney. Instead he saw a Captain in the state police. Half-turning he said to Con, “I’m sure you’ve met Captain Jacinto Espinosa Huerta.”
“Oh yes,” Con said, “I thought he might want to talk to Stan a minute.”
But it turned out Stan would have been better off staying gagged. His only believable comment on anything said to him was to sneer at Doc and say, “Good thing you killed all the witnesses.”
“Well, not quite,” Dancy drawled, “I found these just really intriguing stock transfers after we cracked Armando’s safe, and I’ll just bet they get more interesting after the next audit. And you know your coke deal? It was Martillo’s idea all along. He also had papers with your name on them. And it’s all in a really safe place. I mean, it went through a rocket and napalm attack. Or we could just wait and let the embezzlements pop to the surface. What it all adds up to, Stan: I’m not going to wait for you and I’m not going to visit.”
Just as the two cops carrying Stan reached the door she called out melodramatically, “I could forgive you for everything, Stanley. Even selling me into slavery in a far country. But not selling me cheap on credit like a Blue Light Special.” She was a little light-headed and always regretted not coming up with a better line the last time she spoke to him.