Робин Кук - Mortal Fear

“Hold it, Díaz,” called a voice unfamiliar to Jason. It was thick with a South Boston accent. “Don’t do anything stupid. We don’t want trouble with you or Miami. All we want you to do is walk to your car nice and easy and leave. Can you do that?”

Juan nodded. His left hand was still vainly trying to shield his eyes from the light.

“Then do it!” commanded the voice.

After taking two or three uncertain steps backward, Juan turned and fled to his car. He started the engine, gunned it, then roared out of the driveway.

Jason rolled onto his stomach. As soon as Juan left, Carol Donner ran out of the circle of light and dropped to her knees in front of him.

“My God, you’re hurt!” A large bloodstain had formed on Jason’s thigh.

“I suppose,” said Jason vaguely. Too much had happened too quickly. “But it doesn’t hurt too much,” he added.

Another figure emerged from the glare; Bruno came up hefting a pump-action Winchester shotgun.

“Oh, no!” said Jason, trying to sit up.

“Don’t worry,” said Carol. “He knows you’re a friend now.”

At that moment, Shirley appeared on her front porch. Her clothing was disheveled and her hair spiked up like a punk rocker. For a second, she took in the scene. Then she stepped back and slammed the door. Locks were heard being engaged.

“We have to get him to a hospital,” said Carol, pointing to Jason.

A second body-builder appeared. Gingerly they picked Jason up.

“I don’t believe this,” said Jason.

Jason found himself carried behind the glare of the lights. The vehicle turned out to be a white stretch Lincoln with a “V”-shaped TV antenna on the rear deck. The two muscle men eased Jason into the back seat where a man with dark glasses, slicked-back hair, and an unlit cigar was waiting. It was Arthur Koehler, Carol’s boss. Carol jumped in after Jason and introduced him to Arthur. The muscle men got in the front seat and started the limo.

“Am I glad to see you two,” said Jason. “But what in God’s name brought you here?” Jason winced as the car bumped out of the driveway.

“Your voice,” explained Carol. “That last time you called, I knew you were in trouble again.”

“But how did you know I was here in Brookline?”

“Bruno followed you,” said Carol. “After you called, I called my lovable boss here.” Carol slapped Arthur’s leg.

Arthur said, “Cut it out!” It had been his voice that had terrified Juan Díaz.

“I asked Arthur if he would protect you and he said he would under one condition. I have to dance for at least another two months or until he finds a replacement.”

“Yeah, but she got me down to one month,” complained Arthur.

“I’m very grateful,” said Jason. “Are you really going to stop dancing, Carol?”

“She’s a goddamn brat,” said Arthur.

“I’m amazed,” said Jason. “I didn’t think girls like you could stop whenever you wanted.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Carol indignantly.

“I’ll tell you what he means,” laughed Arthur, reaching forward and returning Carol’s slap on the thigh. “He thinks you’re a goddamn hooker.” Arthur collapsed into paroxysms of laughter that changed to coughing. Carol had to pound him on the back several times before he got control of himself. “I used to have more fits like that when I lit these things,” said Arthur, holding up his cigar. Then he looked at Jason in the half-light of the car. “You think I would have let her go to Seattle if she were a prostitute? Be reasonable, man.”

“I’m sorry,” Jason said. “I just thought...”

“You thought because I was dancing at the club I was a hooker,” said Carol with somewhat less indignation. “Well, I suppose that’s not entirely unfair. A couple of them are. But most aren’t. For me, it was a great opportunity. My family name isn’t Donner. It’s Kikonen. We’re Finnish and we’ve always had a healthier attitude to nudity than you Americans.”

“And she’s my wife’s sister’s kid,” said Arthur. “So I gave her a job.”

“You two are related?” asked Jason, amazed.

“We don’t like to admit it,” said Arthur, starting to laugh again.

“Come on,” Carol said.

But Arthur continued, saying, “We hate the idea of any of our people going to Harvard. It hurts our image.”

“You’re going to Harvard?” asked Jason, turning to Carol.

“For my doctorate. The dancing covers my tuition.”

“I guess I should have known Alvin would never have lived with your average exotic dancer,” said Jason. “In any case, I’m grateful to you both. God knows what would have happened if you hadn’t come along. I know the police will take care of Shirley Montgomery, but I wish you hadn’t let Juan go.”

“Don’t worry,” said Arthur with a wave of his cigar. “Carol told me what happened in Seattle. He won’t be around for long. But I don’t want trouble with my people in Miami. We’ll deal with Juan through channels or I can give you enough information for the Miami police to pick him up. They’ll have enough stuff on him down there to put him away. Believe me.”

Jason looked at Carol. “I don’t know how I can make it up to you.”

“I have a few ideas,” she said brightly:

Arthur had another laughing fit. When he was finally under control, Bruno lowered the glass to the front compartment.

“Hey, pervert,” he called with a chuckle. “Where do you want us to take you? GHP emergency?”

“Hell, no,” said Jason. “For the moment, I’m a little down on prepaid health care. Take me to Mass General.”

Jason had never enjoyed ill health, as the saying goes, but currently he was loving it. He’d been hospitalized for three days following surgery on the wound in his leg. The pain had lessened significantly and the nursing staff at General was superbly competent and attentive. Several of them even remembered Jason as a resident.

But the best part of his hospitalization was that Carol spent most of each day with him, reading out loud, regaling him with funny stories, or just sitting in companionable silence.

“When you’re all better,” she said on the second day as she rearranged flowers that had come from Claudia and Sally, “I think we should go back to the Salmon Inn.”

“What on earth for?” Jason said. After their experience, he couldn’t imagine wanting to revisit the place.

“I’d like to try Devil’s Chute again,” Carol said cheerfully. “But this time in daylight.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Really. I bet it’s a gas when the sun’s shining.” A soft cough made them turn to the doorway. Detective Curran’s disheveled bulk looked distinctly out of place in the hospital. His large hands were clutching a khaki rain hat that looked as if it had been run over by a truck.

“I hope I’m not bothering you, Dr. Howard,” he said with uncharacteristic politeness.

Jason guessed that Curran was as intimidated by the hospital as Jason had been by the police station.

“Not at all,” Jason said, pushing himself up to a sitting position. “Come in. Sit down.”

Carol pulled a chair away from the wall and positioned it next to the bed. Curran lowered himself into it, still clutching the hat.

“How’s the leg coming?” he asked.

“Fine,” Jason said. “Mostly muscle injury. Not going to be a problem at all.”

“I’m glad.”

“Candy?” Carol asked, extending a box of chocolates that the GHP secretaries had sent.

Curran examined them carefully, chose a chocolate-covered cherry, and plopped it whole into his mouth. Swallowing, he said, “I thought you’d like to know how the case is developing.”