Hot Rocks Read Free Page B

“I’m not thrilled with their being here. While the tests don’t show anything abnormal, I can’t be sure your mental faculties aren’t temporarily affected. I may live to regret it, but there are a couple of choices. I can guide you to a phone, and you can call a lawyer. Or I can slip you out the back entrance through the emergency room and tell them you’re not up to questioning yet. However, the most that will do is buy you a bit of time. I’m certain they’ll catch on and track you down. Of course, if you’re an ax murderer or some such, I might not want to do either.” He grinned. “Are you?”
    In spite of my night of troubled, pained, and interrupted sleep, I had to smile. “No. I promise I haven’t killed anyone in … oh …” I pretended to think. “… fifteen days now. Thanks for the offer, but I may as well get it over with. Like you said, they’ll find me sooner or later.”
    “Great. That kills … oops, bad choice of words … two birds with one stone. We’ll wheel you to the lobby on the ground level and turn you over to the police. I’ll let them know they’re responsible for giving you a ride home. Look on the bright side. Saves taxi fare.”
    I groaned. “Did anyone ever say you have a strange bedside manner?”
    “Yes, someone said it once, but I figure she was envious of my witty patter.” He waggled his eyebrows.
    When I chuckled, he added, “Much better. As much as I’d like to stay and chat with you, I really must run. You’d never guess it, but there are sick people in this hospital who think I should spend time with them. However, in case I forgot to tell you, this ends our professional relationship. I recommend you schedule an appointment with Dr. Levitson, a neurologist that I know and respect. He doesn’t have my sense of humor, but he passed all his medical courses.” He handed me a business card with Levitson’s information.
    He tore out of the room, leaving my head spinning—both figuratively and literally, but relieved to have permission to escape the hospital.
    His head reappeared in the doorway—yes, only his head. “Is it okay if I give you a call? I always take a personal interest in pretty ladies with lumps on their heads.”
    Before I could speak, the head disappeared.
    Grinning so wide it stretched the skin on the bump, I pulled on yesterday’s clothes. The grin went away. Clean panties would have been nice. A hospital administrator returned my possessions, minus my gun. It was not on the hospital inventory. That bothered me. Could it be in Sargent’s evidence bag? Or maybe I left it home yesterday. The crack on my head might be affecting my memory. Worrying its absence, I signed the receipt.

four
    True to his word, Dr. Rasmussen had me delivered to the main waiting room. I preferred to walk, but a nurse explained that the wheelchair was a hospital requirement, then passed me off to a volunteer. The trip down in the elevator gave me an opportunity to remember yesterday’s activities, conjure up an image of the dead man, and wonder what I’d gotten myself mixed up in. A simple surveillance had turned deadly. Coincidence, or did someone set me up? Was the dead man my subject? With his face blown away, I couldn’t be sure. The clothes, height, and build were the same. I knew he had entered that particular room. My assumption was that he had to be my Mr. Garcia.
    Bannon and Sargent sat on a couch near the main entrance flipping pages in magazines. I studied them, suspecting that neither had any idea what was on the pages they turned. They appeared to be in surveillance mode, their eyes darting around the area. Their faces wore bored expressions, but changed as my chair wheeled into the area. They rose and approached.
    I looked them up and down. Nothing special. Two six-footers, or thereabouts, whose clothing, while not bargain-basement, wouldn’t gain them admittance to any of the fancy parties along Miami Beach. Basic blue suits, white shirts, cheap