Chapter 78
Disembarking from the bus Palmer was as usual thinking three moves ahead. The first things he needed to do were to find a way to bandage his wound, get a change of clothing, then secure another form of transportation so he and the kid could get out of town. He went directly to the men's room to take care of his first objective.
Plopping the baby into one of the oval sink basins he smirked as he thought it was shaped as if made for that purpose. Stripping off his shirt, he got it wet to wipe off the blood. The bullet had hit bone and lodged in his shoulder.
The door opened announcing he had company. The young black man in his mid-twenties usually wouldn't have spoken to a stranger in a public restroom, but this one had his shirt off and what looked like a bullet wound in his shoulder. "Hey man, that looks nasty! You should get to a hospital and have it looked at!"
Palmer had already turned towards the nosey youth. Without a qualm he stepped behind the kid, who was almost the same height as he was, and calmly snapped his neck. He put out the yellow plastic sign that said the restroom was closed for cleaning, took off his pants, stripped the dead man, put him into a stall, and then put on the clothes that were not his style at all and therefore a perfect cover. The youth had been wearing tattered jeans, a garish T-shirt, baseball cap and cheap sandals. He had even thoughtfully been carrying a red and white canvas gym bag. He had hoped to be able to remove the bullet, but it was too deeply embedded in his shoulder bone to be able to do so without instruments of some sort. All he could do was use a clean pair of white socks and tear up another T-shirt that had been in the bag to bandage his wound. He then dumped the rest of the bag's contents in the stall with the body.
Once more scooping up the baby he placed him in the bag and tucking the hand of his useless arm into his belt, he calmly exited the restroom.
Now, having a totally different look, he had some time to access his options as to the mode of travel he wanted next. A Trailways or Greyhound bus that would take him out of town was too confining. He needed to take care of his shoulder soon. It hurt like a son-of-a-bitch and even trained as he was to ignore pain to get through what he had to, there was only so long a person could do that. The local buses were too crowded. While the kid was quiet in the duffle, he could pass as a healthy man alone, but one wrong bump to the bag or his shoulder would end that cover.
So a taxi it was. He could ride unidentified until he found a place to stop and take care of his wound. A closed vet clinic would be perfect. He would have the tools to remove the bullet, be able to sew it up, and bandage it as well.
Giving himself kudos for a well formed plan, while mentally cursing Jordan because of the pain in his shoulder Palmer headed for the door of the station.
Hearing his name shouted, Palmer spun on his heel to see who had caught up with him so quickly. There, about twenty feet away, stood Detective Hoyt, Jordan's husband.
Their eyes met across the distance. There were teenagers playing the pinball games against the wall, a mother with a baby in a stroller, and various other innocent by standers between the two of them. Palmer grinned nastily at Woody knowing he would not shoot in this crowd for fear of hitting someone.
Woody had come out of the washroom, his eyes already scanning the crowd for Palmer and Riley. The only person of Palmer's height he could see walking towards the south exit. His hair was covered by a baseball cap so Woody took a chance and called out Palmer's name to see if he got a reaction. The man turned and they were face to face.
Palmer grinned at him, turned around again, and walked out the door. As the crowd parted a bit and he saw Palmer was carrying a duffle bag, Woody knew Riley had to be inside.
He shouted that he was a police officer and for everyone to get out of his way. Woody took off in pursuit of Palmer and the baby.
To be continued…