Читать книгу The Evil That Men Do - Dave White - Страница 24
ОглавлениеJackson Donne woke up in a bed and immediately asked where he was.
“You’re an asshole. And you’re at Mountainside Hospital. You have a knock on the head, but they want to check you out, make sure it doesn’t get worse. Plus you were drinking, so they want to hydrate you.” The white room came into focus. Donne was in a bed, slightly inclined. Then he realized he wasn’t in a room at all, but instead a cubicle-like area enclosed in a white curtain. Iapicca was the only one with him.
An IV tube extended from Donne’s left forearm. It pinched his skin, and pain stabbed up his arm into his shoulder. He didn’t want to move it.
“Gotta be honest,” he said. “I’m starting to believe you.”
“What are you talking about?”
Donne’s head throbbed, and he wanted to go back to sleep.
“I think there really was another guy in there with your aunt and uncle. We found some fingerprints that aren’t yours. The lab guys found tire tracks by the curb that aren’t matched up with your car.”
As if the gods had been watching, a nurse came through the partition in the curtain, holding a clipboard. She smiled at him, then turned to the detective.
“Would you mind excusing us for a moment?”
He grinned back at the nurse, then shot Donne with his thumb and forefinger.
“We’ll talk about this later, buddy,” he said, and disappeared through the partition.
They wanted to hold Donne overnight, just to keep an eye on him. What choice did he have?
***
Franklin Carter turned off the lights and locked the door. Being the last to leave the restaurant was a rarity for him, but today he found it to be a refuge. He didn’t have to talk to Susan about what had been going on. He didn’t have to worry about paying off anyone. The FBI wasn’t bothering him. He could just sit and count bills and reflect on how this restaurant was something he’d built, something he created. And it wasn’t a pile of rubble in New York City.
After he finished tallying tips, checking time sheets, and calculating expenses, he put all the receipts back in the register, checked all the silverware was put away, and made sure the oven was off. The last thing he needed was a gas explosion here.
Carter noticed the irony of the thought and stepped through the door onto the sidewalk. It was after midnight and the street was nearly empty. A few college kids spilled out of the bar up the street. To his right, on the corner of Church and Bloomfield, a homeless guy eyed him up and started to walk toward him. The last thing Carter wanted to do was hand out money.
