Page 57 of Rooke
“My friend here was holding out on some information that I wanted quite badly,” he says, gesturing to the pit. “He was being stubborn, and I was getting a little carried away. He needed stitching back together while I continued my conversation with him, so Raul took him over to see Margot last night. She had another patient, it seems. A man with a head injury. Some ginger guy with a bad temper.”
“He tried to start with me,” Raul adds. “He was fucking crazy. When I saw the tattoo on the back of his hand, I knew he was your guy.”
Why the fuck didn’t I think of that? I should have. I knew he was hurt. It makes sense that this motherfucker would look for help. “What’s Margot’s address?” I growl.
Raul looks to Jericho, who nods. Reaching into his pocket, Raul then produces a slip of paper and hands it to me. “I don’t know if you’ll get much sense out of him. He was rambling all kinds of madness before he got rough with me. After I hit him in the head a couple of times, he stopped rambling altogether.”
I grunt, slipping the paper into the back pocket of my jeans. “Thanks. Did Margot tell you who he was? Did she know his name?”
Raul nods just once. “Casper. She said his name was Casper.”
******
Margot Fredricks is a short, slim woman in her late forties. She looks stunned when she opens the door to me, like she was expecting someone but it wasn’t me. She glances up and down the hallway littered with used hypodermics and discarded baggies, nervous. Twitchy. “Can I help you?” she asks. She has the haunted, bone-weary look of someone who has to ask this question to dangerous strangers at least five times a day.
“Jericho gave me your address. He said you had someone here. Someone I’m looking for.”
“I don’t know any Jericho. And I live here alone. I’m afraid you must have the wrong apartment.”
I take a step forward, narrowing my eyes at her. “Look at me. Do I look like the kind of guy you should be lying to right now? I’m not in the mood to be fucked with. Invite me in.”
She looks flustered. There’s a hard edge in her eyes, though. She’s used to being threatened. She’s used to dealing with people like me. Only the left-hand side of her body is visible. She’s holding the door half closed, the edge of the wood jammed up against her chest. On the other side of the door, I hear the familiar sound of a gun being cocked. “I think you should leave now. I don’t like being bothered unexpectedly by strangers who don’t have an appointment.”
I’m not leaving. No fucking way am I leaving. I take another step forward, so that I’m only a foot away from her now. “And I don’t like hitting women,” I say quietly. “I think it’s a cardinal fucking sin to hit a woman, in fact. That doesn’t mean I won’t kick down this fucking door and force my way into your apartment, though. It doesn’t mean I won’t make a bully of myself to get what I came here for. Do you understand what I’m saying, Ms. Fredricks?”
“You think I don’t know how to defend myself?” A low tapping sound rings out into the hallway—the gun she’s holding in her hand behind the door, rapping against the wood.
She’s brave, I’ll give her that. Really brave. Still. I came here for a very important purpose. I’m not leaving until it’s taken care of. “Step away from the door,” I tell her.
“Are you deaf? You need to leave.Now.”
“Fucking move, or I’m going to move you myself.”
Margot’s a smart woman. She registers the tone in my voice, and she knows what’s about to happen: I am about to really lose my fucking temper. I am about toreallylose my shit, and she is standing directly in the path of the storm. She makes a frustrated, angry sound as she moves back, allowing me inside. “Tell Jericho he’s not welcome here anymore. Tell him not to send anyone else here again. I’m done dealing with his—”
“I’m not a fucking errand boy. Tell him yourself.” I should be a little more mindful of the fact that this woman has a gun, but I’m too lit up with anger to really pay her any attention. She’s not going to shoot me. She operates an illegal hospital from her apartment. She needs the income and badly, or she wouldn’t be taking such a huge risk. She doesn’t want the cops here any more than I do. I tear through the apartment, moving from room to room. There’s medical equipment everywhere. A gurney in the hallway. A row of IV stands in the living room. Even a heart monitor balanced precariously on top of the television.
“No! Don’t go in there, that’s a sterile—”
I force open a door, charging inside. Inside, the space is immaculate, spotless, and smells heavily of disinfectant. I was expecting a bedroom, but this room could easily be an OR in a hospital. It’s fully stocked with yet another heart monitor, what looks like a respirator, metal stands, with blue sheets of paper covering surgical instruments. No people, though. No redheaded Casper.
“Are you happy now? What the fuck iswrongwith you? I told you there was no one here!” Margot is a ball of fury as she barrels into the room behind me.
“Where is he?” I demand. “Where’s Casper?”
“I’m not telling you shit, asshole. You’ve no right to barge in here—”
I move swiftly. I’m not even thinking. I close my hand around Margot’s throat, and I take three giant steps, forcing her to move with me until her back is pressed firmly up against the wall. Her eyes are wide. She swallows, and I feel the movement of her throat beneath my hand. She’s stunned. Paralyzed, a rabbit trapped in headlights. I lean a little closer to her, so I’m all she can see, smell and hear. I need her to understand me. She needs to really believe the words that come out of my mouth next. “Donottest me. Donotopen your fucking mouth again unless it’s to give me the information I am looking for. Do you understand?”
She nods.
“I am looking for a man named Casper. Hewashere. I know he was.Where. Is. He. Now?”
“He left,” she whispers. “After that other guy Jericho sent over nearly fucking killed him last night. I don’t know where the hell he went, but he was furious.”
I loosen my hold on her neck.Looking down, I see something has me struggling to put a leash on my anger: a pair of beaten, tan leather shoes. The right shoelace is red. The left one is black. I growl under my breath. “What time did he leave?”
“About three.”
