Some Degree of Murder

Monday, April 19 th Davenport Hotel, Late Morning

VIRGIL

I woke up to the smell of coffee brewing. My eyes adjusted to the light coming out of the bathroom, which illuminated only a portion of the room. The various signals of pain were still there on my body. I ran my fingers over the cuts and bruises and the improvised stitches.

“Hey,” I said softly, my voice strangely hoarse.

Gina leaned her head out of the bathroom.

“You awake?”

“Yeah,” I said and pushed myself up in bed.

“Want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

Gina’s head disappeared in the bathroom. A moment later she walked out with a cup of coffee and carefully handed it to me. She was wearing a faded pair of Levi’s and a WAZZU sweatshirt.

“Where’d you get the clothes?”

“From home. After you fell asleep, I took off and grabbed a change of clothes before coming back.”

I looked around the room. “Did you spend the night here?”

She smiled at me and crossed her arms.

“Did we…?”

“Like you could have?”

I shrugged and then took a sip of the coffee. The hot liquid slashed against the broken teeth in my mouth and I almost dropped the cup. “Goddamn it,” I muttered.

“Your teeth?”

“Shit, that hurt,” I said and put the cup down on the nightstand.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I got hit by an aircraft carrier.” I pulled back a bandage on my left arm and touched the stitches holding the razor cut together. “Good job on the sewing.”

She pointed at the stitches. “That’s the grossest things I’ve ever done.”

“But you did it.”

“I almost puked.”

I cocked an eyebrow at her. “Did you?”

“No, I said almost.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that I’m not a nurse or a doctor. I sewed up your back, your arm and your leg. I refused to sew up that gash on your face.”

My fingers gingerly touched my cheek and felt a bandage. “Was it bad?”

Gina nodded at me.

“Let’s see. Torn up face, fat lip, broken teeth.” My fingers wiggled my nose. “At least that’s not broken.”

“You’ve got a black eye around your left one. You’ve got a good sized cut through your right eyebrow. Bruises all over your body. There’s an especially nasty one near your kidney.”

I touched my back and thought about Mikey’s fist hammering on my kidney.

“Those cuts should really be checked out by a doctor.”

I shook my head. “Can’t do that.”

Gina sat down on the bed next to me. “What are you going to do next?”

“Lay here for a while and lick my wounds.”

She smiled softly at me. “After that?”

“I don’t know. I guess that depends on what’s going on with the Brotherhood.”

“What do you mean?”

“It means, three of their crew are dead in a hotel room down on Sprague.”

Gina’s eyes never changed. She must have come to terms with the killings last night.

“Would you turn on the TV? Find a local channel and let’s wait for the news.”

She grabbed the remote, flicked the button until she was on channel 2.

“You want some breakfast?”

“Yeah.”

She tossed the remote on to the bed next to me. “What sounds good?”

“An Egg McMuffin.”

Gina crinkled her nose. “From McDonalds?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Only for you.”

“There’s a wad of bills in my pants from last night.”

“Not anymore. That’s what you gave me to buy the supplies to clean you up.” She softly patted my leg. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

I read the entire Monday version of the newspaper, finished off two Sausage McMuffins, two hash brown patties and two cups of coffee before I ever climbed out of bed. With each bite and each sip of coffee, I was careful to avoid the broken teeth in my mouth.

When I finally stood up I had to steady myself on the wall.

“You okay?” Gina asked and came to my side.

“Shaky.”

“You look like hell.”

“It’s better than the alternative.”

I shuffled into the bathroom and checked myself out in the mirror. Bandages and Band-Aids covered my entire body. What wasn’t covered was black and blue or swollen red.

After I took a shower, Gina helped me change the bandages. She watched me carefully shave and helped me get in to a pair of black slacks and a grey button-down shirt.

When I was finally dressed, Gina kissed me soft on the cheek. “I’ve gotta run. If you want, I’ll be back later.”

“I’d like that.”

She smiled and hurried out of the hotel room. When the door closed, I checked behind the television cabinet and found all three guns were still there. With a careful pull, I freed one of my Glocks. I stuffed it into the back of my pants and grabbed my jacket.

Downstairs, I walked over to the payphone and watched a tall, thin socialite gab away. She must have been in her early sixties, but looked like she’d spent a fair amount of time with a plastic surgeon. The skin around her face and neck were pulled tight and she wore a short haircut that did its best to hide any scars from surgery. The gal was in dark blue slacks with a yellow blazer. Big, gaudy rings covered a number of her fingers while a shiny silver bracelet wrapped itself around her left wrist.

I grabbed a seat nearby and waited for her to finish her conversation. After several minutes, she hung up and hurried away. I walked over to the phone, lifted the receiver and tapped out what seemed to be an endless stream of numbers.

“Bobo’s House of Chicken,” the familiar thick voice announced.

I put my arm on top of the phone and rested my head on my shoulder. “Jay, it’s me.”

“Virg?”

“Yeah. I’m at the same number as before.”

I hung up the phone and continued to rest my head on my shoulder.

When the phone rang, I snatched it off the cradle. “This is Virgil.”

“What the hell are you still doing up there?” Irritation laced Mr. Saccamano’s voice.

“I’ve almost got it wrapped up.”

“Almost?”

“I’ve found her killer.”

Saccamano was quiet for a moment as the information sunk in. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer. “Then he’s dead?”

“He will be.”

“Make it quick, kid.”

“Yeah,” I said softly and hung up the phone.