Bitter Recoil

Chapter 26

“How are we?” the nurse asked. I’d been staring at the ceiling of the ICU recovery room and hadn’t heard her pad in. She smiled at me, a little bit predatory.

I cleared my throat. “We’re okay,” I said. “What time is it?”

She glanced at her watch. “A little after eight.”

There were no tubes stuck in me, no clicking machines. That was a plus. “In the morning?”

“Yes,” the nurse said. She was maybe forty-five, plain as a post, and looked like she had more important things to do elsewhere.

I raised a hand and rubbed my face. My skin felt thin and fragile. “I need to know about the injured deputy who came in on the same helicopter as me.” I was about to give her the name, and my mind went blank. “Christ,” I muttered and rubbed my eyes again. “Estelle,” I said suddenly. “Estelle Reyes.” I looked at the nurse. I couldn’t read her name tag. “I need to know. I’d appreciate anything you can do.”

She nodded. “I’ll see what I can find out.” She left the room, and I twisted in bed just a little. My right shoulder felt heavy and dull, but when I bent the arm at the elbow everything worked. I looked at my fingers. Other than some minor nicks and cuts, every finger was in place and worked on command. Hell, this wasn’t too bad, then.

I flexed my right leg. I couldn’t see it over my belly, but it felt like all parts were in place. My right ankle twanged a bolt of lightning when I tried to point my toes.

In a few minutes the nurse returned. “The young lady is still in surgery,” she said without preamble. My spirits sank.

“Is Dr. Francis Guzman in the building?”

“He may be in surgery, sir.”

“I need to see him as soon as he’s free.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” She left again. The room was insulated from the normal sounds of the hospital, and I had only my thoughts for company. The door of the recovery room opened, and a uniformed sheriff’s deputy poked his head in.

“Come on in.”

“You’re awake,” he said. I saw by his uniform that he was one of Pat Tate’s troops.

“I think so,” I said.

“I’ve been assigned down here,” he said, not altogether happy about it. “Sheriff Tate said that if there was anything you needed to let me know.”

“There’s a whole list of things I need,” I said, eager to rejoin the world. “What’s your name, Officer?”

“Perry Olguin, sir.” He hadn’t crossed thirty yet and was shorter than the nurse-slender, dark-skinned, and hawk-featured. He was cultivating a pencil-line mustache that looked ridiculous.

“Perry, catch me up. What the hell is happening up in San Estevan?”

Olguin frowned. “It’s a mess, sir.”

“Did they get Finn?”

“No, sir.”

I took a deep breath. “So what happened? What about Al Martinez?”

“All I heard was that Finn took Al’s car.”

“Took his car? What about Al?”

“He’ll be all right. His room’s just down the hall. Finn somehow got the drop on him and shot him point-blank five times.”

“And he’s all right?”

“Well, he’s sure sore. He had on his vest and I guess Finn didn’t notice…or see it. Al’s bruised up pretty bad. He can’t breathe so good. He’s lucky.”

“Christ. Did he manage to get a radio call off?”

Olguin nodded. “He radioed in that shots were fired. He told me a few minutes ago that it sounded like a damn war.”

“Worse,” I said flatly. “Does Tate know what direction Finn went? How he went?”

Olguin frowned again. Maybe he had to do that in order to think. “They got a roadblock on State 46, sir. They’re sure he didn’t make it that far.”

“What makes them think he’s going to drive right down the state highway for Christ’s sake?”

“Well…they’ve got every other road blocked, too. And the last word I had was that they were using two helicopters. It’s kind of tough working north and east, though, because of the fire.”

“He’s not going north or east,” I said. “That wouldn’t make any sense.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How long did it take after Martinez’ call before the next officers arrived?”

“Just a few minutes…maybe forty or so. Deputy Polk was at the southern end of State 46. He sailed on up there pretty fast. And he didn’t see any southbound traffic.”

And after the deputy went through it was an open road until they knew what the hell was going on and set up the roadblock. Whatever the screwup had been, it was more our fault than Tate’s.

“And he switched cars, so he’s not going to outrun anybody.”

“They found Martinez’ patrol car, you mean?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where was it? Where’d he dump it?”

Olguin paused and frowned even deeper. “They didn’t say, sir. They’re not talkin’ about that on the radio.”

“Shit,” I said. It was after eight. In three or four hours Finn could easily be out of the state if he headed west or swung back around north. Or he could follow the labyrinth of dirt roads, gradually working his way south toward the Mexican border. “And Estelle Reyes is still in surgery?”

“Yes, sir.”

“They recovered Paul Garcia’s body?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And nobody else is hurt? Other than Martinez, I mean?”

Olguin shook his head. Finn-that slimy son of a bitch-was loose and running, and none of us knew where he was.

“Is the fire under control?”

Olguin shook his head again. “That’s going to be a bad one, sir. I heard on the radio that the wind’s picking up. And the fire’s in heavy timber, movin’ up the mountain. They got crews from all around the state, tryin’ to stop it before it jumps across into the wilderness area on the north side.”

I nodded, but it wasn’t the forest fire I cared about. “Is Tate still at the hot springs?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get hold of him on the goddamn radio and tell him I need to talk to him.”

“You can reach one of the deputies down at the campground parking lot. The repeater reaches in there. They can patch through on hand-held to the sheriff up the canyon.”

“I know how radios work, Deputy,” I snapped and immediately waved a hand in apology. “Look, I need to talk with Tate on a telephone, not the radio. Get through to him and have him find a phone. By the time he does that, I’ll be out of here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Olguin left, and I reached for the buzzer to call a nurse. There was no buzzer. I swore loudly. The nurse showed up on the third curse.

“Is there something I can get for you?”

“Damn right,” I said. “I need a telephone.”

“There’s no phone in here,” she said, and I looked at her in disbelief.

“I know that, Nurse.”

“I’ll see one of the doctors. They may be ready to move you now.”

“That would be nice.” I smiled encouragement and then let my head fall back on the pillow. Estelle was in surgery, I was stuck in bed, and it sounded like Tate’s men were either still mining the campsite or helping fight fires.

I hoped somebody was left to hound H. T. Finn’s tail before little Daisy had to learn to speak Mexican.