Page 90 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

That made her look up. “You sure? I can get you something stronger.”

I shook my head. “I need my brain clear.”

She gave me a long, searching look, then nodded. “If you're sure, I’ll go and get it.”

Once she was gone, I sank back against the pillows, trying not to wince. A minute later, Ira returned—just as quiet, slipping into the room like he’d never left. His face was calm, but I could see something restless in his eyes.

He waited until the nurse left again before crossing to the side of the bed and pulling his phone from his pocket.

He held it out like it was a cursed object. “Everyone keeps talking about what happened with Gladys and Colin. Said it’s all over the internet. I don’t know how to find it, but if you can…”

I took the phone from him, the ache in my arms flaring with the movement as I tapped at the screen. It didn’t take long—just a few quick searches. The video was already everywhere, clipped, shared, and hash tagged into oblivion.

And there she was—Gladys, storming into the courthouse with all the fury of a woman on a mission. She marched straight up to her son, grabbed him by the ear like he was five years old, and dragged him out as if they were leaving Sunday school because he’d just cursed at the pastor.

She pulled him off the pew, past reporters and cops, and shoved him toward the sheriff while rattling off charges, threats, and her phone passcode like she dared the world to stop her.

Ira leaned in beside me as we watched, and I could hear the smile in his voice even before he spoke.

“What a woman,” he murmured. “Isn’t she amazing?”

I couldn’t help the grin that spread slowly across my face, even with the tightness in my skull. “Yeah, she really is. You’re a lucky man.”

He nodded solemnly. “I know it.” We watched in silence for another beat, and then he added, “That nice fella outside—Edward—he said they’re on the lookout for Maddox’s friend, Clayton Barris.”

I tensed at the name.

Ira’s voice dropped slightly. “Apparently, he’s not a good guy. And I finally understand why Gladys didn’t want Colin hanging around with him.”

“That’s an understatement. He’s the one I’m worried about.” I paused, then shifted my gaze to him. “I need your help.”

He looked at me, his eyes sharp. “What kind of help?”

I hesitated, carefully measuring my words before I spoke. “The kind of secret you don’t share with anyone—not Eddie, not Webb, not even Gladys.”

He blinked, caught off guard, but didn’t argue.

I leaned in closer, dropping my voice. “If Barris is organized enough to keep track of his men, then the fact they’ve gone missing will tell him something. Maybe not exactly where I am—but it’ll narrow it down. If I do this right…I can use that.”

Ira stared at me, and for a second, I thought he might push back. But then he gave me a small, grim nod.

I reached for his hand and squeezed it gently. “First thing in the morning…”

And he leaned closer, voice low and steady. “I’m with you, kid.”

If I hadn’t beenin blinding pain, I might have appreciated the absurdity of what we were doing. As it stood, I was doing my best not to groan audibly with every movement, my ribs feeling like cracked ceramic and my head pulsing with a dull, persistent throb that reminded me my skull had not, in fact, healed overnight.

Ira had managed to find two sets of scrubs—who knew from where—and tossed one at me, along with a silk scarf that smelled like Gladys’s perfume. “She must’ve left it when she went to deal with that menace of a son of hers,” he explained with a shrug.

The perfume it smelled of was soft and floral and slightly overpowering, but I wrapped it around my bandaged head anyway and pulled on the oversized scrub top. He threw on his own pair and looked just left of official—somewhere between “retired volunteer” and “runaway orderly.”

“Right,” he said, patting the side of the gurney he’d wheeled in from God knows where. “Lie down and play dead.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

He grinned. “You heard me. We’re going out the back like two ghosts, and I’ve got a cover story if someone stops us. But it’ll work better if you don’t move.”

I sighed and eased myself onto the gurney. Every inch of me protested—my casted leg throbbed, my ribs screamed, and my head was its own symphony of misery. But I lay down, and Ira covered me with a sheet like he’d done this before, which wasprobably a conversation for another time. Once I was settled, he wheeled me into the hallway without hesitation.

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