Rune Alignment
Chapter 57.
Bishop led the two cars to the area northeast of the university, an industrial park with large warehouses, empty sheet metal structures, bars, porn shops and sleazy motels. Railroad tracks, dusty gravel parking lots, tall chain link fences with rusty barbed wire trim accessorized the depressed region.
Bishop said, "Here it is," and pulled into a parking lot of cracked and broken pieces of macadam and gravel. They bounced across, kicking up plumes of dust. She slowed, stopped and scanned the few cars scattered across the front of the building. "I don't see his car," she said, "he must not be here."
Bobby didn't reply. Bishop looked over at Bobby. "Are you ok?" Bobby nodded but he didn't look it. Sledge pulled up beside Bishop.
"He's not here," Bishop said through Eames' window to Sledge. "He's in number fourteen, there, next to the end on the right."
"You go park and I'll get the key from the manager," Sledge said.
Bishop nodded and pulled in front of number fourteen.
"Did you bring that water with you?" Bobby asked.
"Yes, here," Bishop replied digging into her purse. She opened a bottle and handed it to him.
"Thanks," he whispered and drank heartily.
Bishop looked at him, afraid to say anything. "How's your headache?"
Bobby took another big drink and barely shook his head. His stomach rolled with the water. Oh, no, please no, he begged. He shut his eyes and finished the bottle.
Bishop watched Sledge, Eames and the manager walked from the motel office. The manager was a short troll of a man, hair like that on a troll doll – straight up, the color of calf shit. He was completely round – round head, round torso complete with man-breasts, chubby round legs sticking out from long shorts. As they approached, Bishop realized those weren't man-breasts, the troll was a woman.
The pair exited the car together. Bobby opened the glove box and grabbed a fistful of evidence bags. He shoved them into his right back pocket and shut the passenger side door. He leaned on the car door for a second, waiting for the turmoil in his gut to settle.
Eames ushered the manager back behind her and stood to the left, in front of the door marked thirteen. Bobby and Bishop stood to the right, in front of room fifteen. Sledge filled the space in front of Clive's door. Sledge, Eames and Bishop each had a hand on their sidearm. Bobby stood behind Bishop because he was unarmed. Sledge looked at the pair behind him, Bishop nodded. He glanced at Eames, she nodded as well.
Sledge pounded on the door loudly and shouted, "Police, open up!" No sounds came from inside. He stepped back and said to the manager, "Just open it and go back to your office. Stay there. We'll let you know when we leave. Understand?" Sledge ordered. The troll nodded.
The nurse attached the new bag to the pole at the head of Gleason's bed. She unrolled the fresh tubing and connected it to the junction above Gleason's wrist. The nurse recorded all the numerals from the screen. She inserted a thermometer under Gleason's tongue and held her chin to keep her mouth closed. She watched the digits fly past ninety and slow to one-oh-four, then -oh-five and stop. She removed the thermometer, made a note and was surprised when Gleason coughed. She coughed again, winched, moaned and coughed again. She coughed again and moaned, then gasped and moaned once more. Oh, no thought the nurse.
Clive drove around looking for a new car-side pay phone. He also needed to purchase some kind of cream or lubricant. He had an open spot and it hurt when he really got going. Should have had that all along, he thought. Foolish, eager boy, shame on you. He figured he would need the lubricant for his upcoming times with his lady. She's getting older, now, you know and might need an assist with juicing up. No, he thought, she'll cream when she sees me. But, better to have it, than to need it. He smiled.
His mind wandered to the bitch. I wonder where she is, he thought. I am ready for you, my love. Found a lovely dispensing chemist with just the right stuff. Wasn't sure I was going to be able to find it in this country, such fucking stiff controls on every goddamn thing. But there it was. Oh, it wasn't out in the open, no, no; had to inquire. He was quite pleased with how that went.
He moved from thinking of her to his new design. How it would compliment his work on her back. The opportunities her silken abdomen, her just-enough breasts, her dimple of belly button presented. Oh, it would be exquisite.
But, he was tired of waiting for her. Tonight, he'd go and get her. Tonight, in just an hour or two.
Sledge and the two women pulled on latex; Bobby did not. Sledge swung the door wide open and stepped in. The gloomy room was dark. The air was heavy with the sick scent of stale sex. The hem of the black out drapes sat secured to the ledge above the air conditioner by the phone book, holding them closed.
The two women and Bobby stepped inside. Sledge turned on the bedside lamp. Weak yellow light illuminated the small grim room. Sheets and spread twisted in a heap on the unmade bed. Stiff tissues and wads of crisp toilet paper littered the floor around the bed; piles of it filled the top of the bedside table. Odd bits of clothing lay strewn about. Empty food containers lay everywhere; drained liquor bottles rested on their sides. A roach scuttled from the neck of one and darted into a pizza box. Porn magazines lay open on the bed, the floor, the nightstand; crushed and stained pages hinted at what had gone on in this bed, this room.
"Jesus," Sledge mumbled. The smell alone was going to hurl the wee bit of water up and out of Bobby's stomach. He stood by the door. Sledge glanced at the other man, "Let's be quick about this." Instinctively, the three moved to different areas of the room. Sledge took the bathroom, Eames opened the closet, and Bishop pulled open the top dresser drawer. Bobby leaned against the jam and lowered his head to his hand.
"She's coughing," the nurse spoke into the phone. "No, no production. Raspy at this point. I think it's pneumonia." Listening. "Ok, I'll call x-ray." Listening. "Right, I'll reschedule her after the films come back, see what it is." Listening. "Yes, I'll see to it." The nurse hung up. Oh, this isn't good, she thought. She called and ordered the mobile x-ray machine for a series of films of Gleason's chest and lungs.
The nurse returned to Gleason's cubical with an aide. She pushed a button on the bed control and the foot of the bed rose a bit. The aide moved to Gleason's left and the nurse was on her right. Each wrapped an arm over Gleason's and set a forearm across her armpit. They slid the other arm under her, grasped hands and, "on three," lifted and pulled her to the very top of the bed. Gleason gasped and moaned aloud and coughed with a wince.
"I know, sweetie. I know," the nurse said softly, then pushed another button on the bed control and the foot lowered. Another button and the head rose. Gleason was nearly upright. She coughed and her head fell back. Her breath came in rapid, short, shallow gulps.
The nurse glanced at the O2 count, sixty-two. "Hand me that mask," the nurse said to the aide, removing the cannula from Gleason's nose and lifting it over the tops of her ears. The aide removed the clear plastic mask from the plastic bag on the wall, handed it across Gleason's body to the nurse and they traded. The aide then pulled down on the end of the plastic tube running from the end of the cannula, removing it from the connector on the bottom of the short cylinder gauge on the wall. She grasped the end of the tube attached to the mask and pushed it up onto the connector. "Increase the flow to eighty-five," the nurse said. The aide adjusted the airflow and the mask fogged slightly. "Thanks," she said to the aide. The aide left and the nurse walked around the bed to check the gauge herself. Gleason coughed inside the mask and moved her head from side to side in misery.
"I know," the nurse whispered.
"There's nothing in this closet," Eames said. She turned to face the room again and glanced at Bobby barely leaning against the door jam. She reached for the plain wooden chair sitting beside the closet door and moved it to where Bobby stood.
"Here, sit down before you fall down," she said, placing the chair in front of him and putting a hand on his arm. She touched him without thinking. He didn't flinch or pull back, but allowed her to help him sit.
"Thanks," he whispered in an exhale. He leaned forward with his right elbow on his right knee. He knew he was going to be sick again before this was all over. He looked at the floor. Christ, just let me die, he thought. He scanned the floor, another roach made a run for it and dove into the darkness under the bed. Bobby watched the spot where the bug disappeared. He thought he saw something. He squinted and moved his head. Something is under there, he said to himself.
"Eames, reach under the bed, something's under there," he said to his former partner.
"Where?"
"Right there, at the foot. It's a bag or something."
Eames bent down, then went onto her knees, dipping her head.
"Careful, I saw a huge roach take cover under there," he warned her.
She turned her head and looked up at him with a horrified look. "Oh, thanks," she replied, not leaving his gaze.
He couldn't help but smile wanly back at her. "Go on, reach in there. Roaches are generally nocturnal. They only eat at night." You could hear the want to smile in his voice.
She looked into his eyes and he held her gaze. She thought she saw remorse. On the other hand, maybe he's about to hurl again, she thought.