Blood Red

Alan didn’t have time for any of this. He’d expected to be on his way by now and instead the damned fool was fighting him. Alan swung his left hand in a wide arc and the guy ducked under it, just in time to meet Alan’s knee at the apex of its rise from the ground. Alan felt the nose give out against his kneecap and heard the man grunt, then sigh. He landed like a sack of potatoes when he fell to the ground. This time he didn’t get back up or suddenly pull a Bruce Lee maneuver. Just to make sure, Alan kicked him four times in his stomach.

Then he left the room, pausing only long enough to pull the keys from the man’s belt loop.

His hand was bitching and moaning about its mistreatment, and his knee was singing a similar song. Alan didn’t care. He didn’t have time to care.

He hopped down the hallway as best he could and looked for an exit sign. It was a hospital; they were always nice enough to have exit signs all over the place. When he found one and tried the door under it, the door was locked. The fourth key opened it. He took the key ring with him and went down the stairs as nimbly as he could manage. Graceful he was not. The knee he’d used as a battering ram was swelling, and he could actually see it happening. The sad side effect of wearing a hospital gown was that it didn’t let you lie to yourself about how bad the injury was. He got to see the bruising colors as they formed.

It took him ten minutes to reach the second floor of the hospital. He let himself breathe for a minute when he got there and then he pulled the fire alarm right next to the secured door to the second floor.

Alarms started screaming shrilly and he nodded to himself. In a minute or so, the entire staff would be busy trying to find the source of the fire and while they were busy he would make his escape. He hobbled down the rest of the stairs and pushed the door open. It led to a garage just filled with cars.

He started trying handles.

VII

“I can see the headlines now,” Boyd held his hands up to show the imaginary paper to Danny. “Escaped ball-buster seeks revenge against cop that did him wrong.”

“Bite me.”

“I figure he should be after you in no time. You’re the one that got away with only one cracked nut.”

“It was both, Boyd. And if he shows, I’m using you as my shield.”

“You would, too. Wouldn’t you?”

“Damn straight. It’s why I keep you around.”

“I thought that was why I kept you around, Danny.”

“See? I always get confused about that part.”

They sat down at the booth farthest back in the diner and waited for Sally to come serve them. She knew who they were and what they wanted, so she just waved and indicated she’d be there soon.

“I don’t get it.” Danny slipped his napkin into his lap and placed his flatware just so.

“Get what?”

“Why the guy would go all postal and break out of his room when they were planning on letting him go?”

“Because they didn’t fucken tell him is why.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to watch that nasty fucking language in my restaurant, Boyd?” Sally set down his burger—rare, extra onions—and Danny’s fried shrimp as she spoke. The third plate, a double order of onion rings, she placed between them.

“Sally, I love you. Marry me.”

“In your dreams and my nightmares, hon.” She smiled as she said it.

They waited until Sally had put down the coffees and the large pot on the side before they started talking again.

“What did you find out about Jason Soulis?”

“Not much. Lived in Ohio before this, and off in California before that. Guy gets around. Mostly he likes to travel. In the last few years alone, he’s hit almost every continent.”

Boyd looked at him and chewed his burger slowly. “What? There was a really hot tamale at the information center?”

“What do you mean?”

“You were gone four hours and all you can find out is that he liked to travel?”

“There’s nothing else to find out, Richie.”

“My ass! How about where he’s from? What about his date of birth? What does he do for a living? Why the fuck did he move here?”

Danny eyed him and popped a shrimp into his mouth before answering. He chewed nice and slow, too. “Oh, that stuff.”

“Last nerve, Danny Boy, you’re stepping on it.”

“Don’t get your panties in a wad.” He took a sip of coffee. “Soulis was born in Europe, the records were destroyed in some bombing or other, but he lived in Scotland, Ireland, and Wales when he was a kid. He doesn’t do anything for a living, because he’s fuckin’ rich as hell. His date of birth is among the missing, but he’s supposed to be forty-five. He likes to move around because he’s rich and easily bored. He bought his house from Albert Miles, who I also can’t find out much about.”

“Four hours of my life wasted so you could find out jack and shit.”

“They weren’t wasted. You had your own work to do. Tell me what you learned while I was breaking my balls for you.”