Perception Deception Part 2: Audrey

by Rabid Raccoons

Chapter 25: One Bad Dude

…

J. Everett Tuttle hadn't been able to reach Ralph Nardek for two days - a state of affairs that was both unusual, and annoying. Tuttle had spent about a week settling into an estate in Aruba, and Nardek was overdue. The plan was for him to oversee the liquidation of Tuttle's L.A. estate, and then join him in Aruba. Tuttle knew Nardek well enough he could trust him with his closest affairs; Nardek could decide what should be shipped to Aruba, what should go into storage, what could be done away with entirely...

At least, Tuttle had believed he could trust Nardek.

Ralph was supposed to have arrived the day before - but he was late. Worse, he wasn't answering his phone. Worst of all, he still had control of most of Tuttle's money. Oh, accounts had been set up in Aruba that would last for years; but there was more money, and Tuttle wasn't even sure where it all was. Some of the legitimate funds were still in L.A. Other accounts existed in Switzerland, the Grand Caymans; the Bahamas...all of the details were in Nardek's head, and his computer. Tuttle had left the logistics to him, with the idea that once Nardek returned to Aruba, the two of them would set about consolidating the funds; Tuttle intended to become more involved, at that point.

His face darkened, and he frowned. Ralph Nardek knew that plan, just as he knew nearly every aspect of J. Everett Tuttle's business. His blood quickened in his veins as Tuttle considered the ridiculous: could he have made a mistake? Had he trusted Nardek too much?

Tuttle indulged himself with a few moments of controlled panic. Then his eyes narrowed as he focused on the cell phone lying silent on the desk in front of him. Most of his security force was either dead or in prison, and Nardek had gone silent - but he wasn't J. Everett Tuttle for nothing. He still had other contacts, and some of them were in L.A. He reached for the phone.

It was time to make some calls.

...

Don sat in the large chair next to his hospital bed and studied his father.

Alan was balanced on a folding chair just a few feet away from Don, hunched over a book of Sudoku puzzles. He felt Don's gaze and glanced up, frowning at the serious expression on his son's face. "Donnie?" Alan shifted in the chair as if to stand. "Are you all right, son?"

Don tended toward introspection; he usually played his cards close to the chest. But so much had happened in the last few months - and so much of it shouldn't have, wouldn't have, if they had all just been a little more open and honest with each other. He looked intently at his father. "You should go see Charlie," he finally suggested. "You don't have to wait for me; you heard the nurse. I have to wait here until the doctor shows up."

Alan smiled. "It's no problem. Amita's with Charlie, and he's still sleeping all the time. He didn't even really wake up when you and I went to see him yesterday afternoon," he reminded his eldest. "Besides, I want to ask your doctor..."

Don interrupted him. "Dad, the doctor will probably release me later today. Most laparoscopic procedures don't require long hospital stays - or any hospital stay at all."

Alan arched an eyebrow. "My point exactly. You were in bad enough condition that they kept you here two nights; I want to make sure you're really good to go. Plus, I need to know what I need to do for you at home."

Don rolled his eyes. "What makes you think I'm coming to the Craftsman? Robin said she'll stay with me at the apartment."

"Robin has to work," Alan started, but Don interrupted again.

"So do you, old man," he said. "Either way, someone is going to end up taking some time off."

"I'm just a consultant," Alan countered. "Taking time off is easier for me."

Don sighed, and re-focused his train of thought. "Look, we'll talk about that later. I really think you should spend some time with Charlie."

"We'll go down together after the doctor sees you," replied Alan. He considered for a moment. "Or, if another hour goes by, I'll go down and spell Amita for awhile."

Don was silent for so long, his expression so serious, that Alan began to get a little nervous. Alan closed his puzzle book and leaned toward Don. "Do you know something I don't about your brother's condition?" he asked sharply.

Truth-time, thought Don. Aloud, he answered, "Charlie thinks you're mad at him."

Alan leaned back in his chair and smiled a tiny smile of relief. "That's ridiculous. He's barely been awake for two days."

Don shook his head. "He told me," he insisted. A flash of guilt crossed his features. "I shouldn't have let it go, but I was distracted by what he was doing on the computer... Anyway, he told me that you blamed him, back when I got stabbed, and more recently, when I fell down the stairs. He's convinced you think he pushed me - but Dad, it really was an accident!" His inflection was earnest. "I grabbed him, startled him - I've told you this already."

Alan was no longer smiling. "He thinks I blame him for your stabbing?"

Don nodded. "He says you've made it clear where he stands with you; did you say something? Either time? After the stabbing, or the fall?"

The color drained from Alan's face. "Did I?" he wondered. "I could have; I was so frightened. You almost died when you were stabbed, and after the fall you were paralyzed...My God, what did I say?"

Don gentled his voice. "I don't know," he admitted, "but whatever it was, you never took it back; he said you never forgave him, and that you blame him for both accidents." His expression grew impossibly sad. "He says you're right to blame him, that he blames himself. Damn, Dad, I never should have let it go when he said that!"

Alan was on his feet, now. "Well, he's wrong," he announced vehemently, walking toward the door of Don's hospital room. "I don't care if he is a genius; sometimes, your brother is an idiot."

...

Amita stood near the window in Charlie's room, and watched the parking lot.

"It's all right, Larry," she spoke into her phone. "Charlie's doesn't have a lot of specialized equipment hooked up to him - just some oxygen and a catheter - the nurse said I could use my cell phone."

"Then perhaps I could speak with Charles." Larry's voice floated from the receiver, oddly reassuring, even though he was thousands of miles away.

Amita glanced toward the bed, then back to the parking lot. "He's sleeping," she informed her fellow physicist. "He's been sleeping almost constantly since he got here. That's why they haven't removed the catheter, yet; they don't think he's alert enough to...take care of his own needs." She blushed, even though Larry couldn't see her through the cell phone.

"Well, I'm sure his body needs the sleep," he said. "It's amazing how our bodies heal themselves, given the time."

"Ummm," murmured Amita in agreement. "They said he's okay, considering the beating he took." She glanced at Charlie again, and winced. "I doubt there's an inch of his body that isn't some shade of purple, black, or green."

"I don't envy his waking," said Larry. "He'll be quite uncomfortable for some time." He clucked his tongue. "You say this Nardek person is still at large?"

"Yes," Amita confirmed. "Colby says they're watching the airports and bus stations... At least Audrey Paris isn't going anywhere.

"It's somewhat ironic," Larry mused. "Considering the condition in which she left her brother; now that we all know that Mark Vincent is not in a coma, Audrey Paris is."

"I know," Amita replied, hesitated a moment, then changed the subject. "Larry...could you still use my help with the Hadron Collider project?"

For a moment, there was nothing but silence on the other end of the line. "Of course you're always welcome at CERN," Larry finally said. "But what about Charles?"

"He needs his rest right now," she answered bitterly. "I'm just not so sure he needs me."

"Amita, don't be ridiculous," Larry protested.

She gripped the cell tightly and ignored the single tear that ran down her face. "Things haven't been right between us for awhile," she admitted. "Charlie..." She found that she could not tell Larry about the drug abuse over the phone. "Never mind what Charlie did, and didn't do - I need some time away right now. I need some perspective."

"You're not considering calling off the wedding." Larry sounded incredulous.

Amita looked again at Charlie, and felt her heart break a little more as she remembered how happy they once were. "I don't know," she sniffed. "I'm not sure what I'm considering."

...

Ralph Nardek watched through the window of the shuttle bus as the hospital grew closer. Maybe this is a mistake, he thought. I've already wasted two days. I should have just grabbed as much of Tuttle's money as I could and gotten out of town.

The closer the hospital grew, the more apprehensive Nardek became. True, one of the Eppes brothers could have talked already, and Nardek was well aware that he was possibly already a wanted man. He had decided finally that he had no choice. Even if they had identified him to the police, he had to eliminate them as witnesses. He had spent the last two days making visits to the hospital, familiarizing himself with where the brother's rooms were, with possible hiding places, and with exits if he had to get out in a hurry. He couldn't be more ready. Now, however, as the time to act was approaching, he was seized by a fit of nerves.

The shuttle rolled to a gentle stop in front of the hospital's main entrance, and Nardek stood to join the queue of disembarking passengers. Don't be ridiculous, he ordered himself, focusing his memory on the picture of the brothers on the floor of Audrey's library. Chances are, at least one of them is dead by now; you certainly didn't leave them in the shape to talk. His thin lips curved in a smile as he straightened his posture and threw back his shoulders. You're One Bad Dude, Ralphie, he told himself as he shuffled toward the door. Tougher than an FBI agent, and smarter than J. Everett Tuttle.

As soon as the bus lumbered off, he took a quick glance around and stepped out of the line waiting to go through the front entrance, and sauntered around the building to a side door, which he knew was unequipped with metal detectors, and had a tendency to stick, and not latch when it shut. Sure enough, it was open, and with a quick glance around to make sure he wasn't observed, he slipped inside. He touched the bulge in his jacket created by his gun; it felt powerful; reassuring. Oh, yeah, he thought, glancing at his watch. Just in time for visiting hours.

...

End, Chapter 25