Evil Like Me Read online

  “Of course I can. I’m not an airhead.”

  “When you get to the Drury, come straight to room 307. Do not look at or talk to anyone.

  You are a hotel guest coming in late. Walk straight to the elevator. If someone gets on with you, get off and go to the girl’s room at the end of the lobby. It is a very normal thing to do. You must take the elevator up alone. Press floors three, four, and five.”

  “I got it. I’m almost there, honey.”

  “Good. I’m gonna let you go. Don’t forget the clothes and wig, darlin’.” Abby disconnected and stepped onto the balcony with a cigarette. There’s no way I could make that jump …

  The clouds moved into Nashville stirring the wind. The rain neared. The forecast said thunderstorms around three in the morning. Abby saw the silver Tahoe parked next to her car. How’d you figure that out? Two men stood under a light. Abby backed into the shadows of the balcony, kicked her heels into the room. The next balcony was five feet away. She could make it.

  Four minutes later Marybeth’s BMW pulled into the parking lot with the top down. God Marybeth, I said low profile. Abby watched her roll the aisles for a space. The two backed up to the Tahoe. When she passed by she waved. What are you doing? The two watched her park. Abby swallowed as Marybeth approached the Tahoe. She stopped. You’re talking to them. My God, girl! Then she pointed to the hotel. Abby sunk into the wall below the railing as they turned and looked at the third floor. Why are you pointing to my floor? One started running to the hotel. The other picked up Marybeth and carried her kicking to the silver Tahoe.

  She had less than a minute head start. When she reached the ground level she shot through the garden into the parking lot pulling her gun. She got to the Tahoe looking back at her balcony. The Russian stood with his fist in the air and ran back into her room—he was on his way. When Abby reached the Tahoe and swung open the door, she put her gun to the head of the Russian. Marybeth was half dressed in the backseat.

  “Move it,” she said. “You’re in America. This looks like rape. I can shoot you.” She pushed the muzzle into his cheek and he eased out of the SUV. She felt for keys in the ignition.

  “You not shoot me. I go,” he said.

  “Run, you Soviet bastard.”

  The Tahoe fishtailed out of the parking lot onto the highway. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Marybeth said as she finished dressing.

  “What were you doing talking to these guys and pointing at my floor?”

  “I was walking by minding my own business,” Marybeth said. “They asked if I wanted to go dancing. Did I have any friends?”

  “I told you Russians were chasing me. I said talk to nobody. I needed you here as a cover. What part did you not understand?” Abby found a quiet road and apartments. She watched her mirrors. Never should have called you …

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  She turned into the complex with the fewest lights and crawled through the lot. “We need to ditch the Tahoe. And you need to listen to me.” She parked and they jumped out. Abby checked three cars before finding one unlocked.

  “Get in. No questions.”

  “But you can’t just take someone’s car, Abby.”

  “I’m not real happy with you at the moment. Just get in and watch.” Abby leaned under the steering column feeling for the wires. I haven’t done this in a long while.

  Abby Patterson did not see the black Suburban turn into the apartment complex. And she did not see it roll up behind them with no lights. Marybeth was checking her nails and Abby was under the dash touching wires and cranking the engine.

  Three got out with guns. The driver’s door opened. The fist met the side of her head.

  Thirty-Two

  “There is love of course. And then there’s life, its enemy.”

  Jean Anouilh

  *

  Memphis, Tennessee

  *

  “Do we just kill him now or take him out of here and kill him later … ?”

  ICU released Baily to a private room the day Wilcox and Petty had left for Henryetta. Brain swelling went down and vitals returned to normal. They moved him because they needed the bed. They also pulled the 24/7 guard detail. Cottam was satisfied the Oklahoma shooters were not coming to Memphis—Baily convinced him Hunter Keller was the primary target. Although the director accepted Jackson and Baily were collateral damage, it would not alter the MPD pursuit. When a police officer is shot, they would not stop until the shooter was found.

  Baily’s visitors were homicide buddies, beat cops, and paramedics. The day his vitals stabilized the mayor came by with a small contingency of the city council and large contingency of news media—the mayor never passed up a “shot-cop” photo-op. The MPD director came every day. His visits were after hours and alone. When Baily was in critical condition, Cottam sat in the dark until they sent him home. Every cop was family. When they moved Baily to a private room in stable condition, the director came every other day. With his young detective now on the road to a full recovery, he could increase his focus on the hunt.

  They required the head bandage until the stitches healed. But Baily kept pulling it off during his nightmares. The orders were to tie his hands to the railings at night.

  The crescent-shaped incision line marked the position of the metal plate covering a third of his skull. The bullet shattered the right side of his skull and buried deep in the occipital lobe. When Baily arrived in the ER, they stabilized and concluded the damage was done and internal bleeding stopped. Surgical retrieval of the slug was too risky—more brain damage, paralysis, and possible death. The neurosurgeon closed him up. They left the bullet and hoped for the best.

  Detective Baily appeared normal except for the shaved head, stitches, and selective loss of memory. Few knew his future was unpredictable. Baily could drop dead any minute or live a long, normal life. The prognosis for brain injuries was always the same—survival always a miracle.

  Baily got the bad news the day after Wilcox and Petty left for Oklahoma. If Baily lived, he would be eating hospital food another two weeks. His stay was non-negotiable. After release he would sit on his hands a minimum of six months. Although it was not said, it was unlikely he would ever return to active duty. At the moment he was alive and improving. Six months is a long time away. A lot can happen. Maybe he would be the exception to the rule.

  “Well hello Nurse Crowley,” he said in his most alluring voice. He watched the attractive lady of color punch her keyboard on her mobile work center outside his door. She rolled it into the room never looking up. The night shift—with his favorite nurse—took forever to come. Baily was more than eager to get closer to the lady of his dreams, but he kept striking out.

  “Good evening Mr. Baily,” she said with eyes on the screen and fingers tapping the keys.

  “You miss me, Nurse Crowley?” She smiled. “You know I’m very grateful you saved my life. I need to do something to repay you, like buy you dinner, or take you for a walk along the Mississippi River at sunset.”

  Crowley looked up for the first time. “I did not save your life, detective. The doctors saved your life. You need to take them for a walk on the river.”

  He leaned so he could see more of her. The tall, slender, curvy lady with athletic legs had to be a marathon runner. Her calves were firm with nice ankles. She fit well in her white uniform with the buttons up the front. Baily saw the top button undone as always, but he also noticed the bottom two were undone. That was new. As she propped her foot on the edge of the cart, her dress opened at least five inches above her perfect knee.

  Did you do it for me? He wondered. Are you warming up to me? Maybe you’re playing hard to get—I know you like me. Or am I imagining everything—wishful thinking? If you’re like other women, you have zero interest in hooking up with a homicide detective, especially one with a bullet in his head. It’s the story of my life. Nobody wants to fall in love with a guy who could get killed every day. He
ll, I’m lying in bed like a cripple. Ms. Crowley’s gotta be looking out for her future—a stable man with a nine to five job. Someone without a bullet in their head. I need to start dealing with reality. I can’t run around anymore. I need to make every minute count. I need to think about what I’m gonna do if I can’t go back to the Memphis police department.

  “I’m sorry. Did you think I was asking you on a date? I’m sure Mr. Crowley would not approve. I was simply going to do something nice to show my gratitude.”

  “There’s no Mr. Crowley,” she said still punching data into the computer.

  “A beautiful girl like you is single? I find it hard to believe.” She flashed her soft, brown eyes at him, but this time with a smile. “Then you must have a fiancé or boyfriend or significant other. When I get out of here, I would be happy to pay for a dinner for two. You’ve taken care of me from the start, and I want to do something nice.”

  “There’s no boyfriend or significant other, Detective Baily.” She left her mobile work station, walked to the bedside, and reached for his hand. His heart beat in his throat. She turned his hand over and pinched his wrist looking at her watch. “Heart rate’s a little high.”

  “Ah, I’m in shock,” he teased.

  Crowley put the BP cuff around his upper arm and stethoscope in her ears. Pressing the diaphragm inside his elbow, she held onto his elbow. She released the pressure. As the air hissed, she listened and watched for the first interruption in the dropping mercury. Baily perused her flawless complexion and full lips and high cheekbones—he was a visual person. He already liked her gentle personality and professionalism. He moved his finger on the back of her arm watching for a reaction—nothing. Nurse Crowley focused on her sphygmomanometer.

  “Your pressure’s a little high, detective. You need rest, including your imagination.” She set a cup with pills on the side table. “Take these, pain medication and antibiotics.”

  “I want to know you more than just as your patient.” Did I say it out loud? Where did it come from? Are you an idiot? Don’t ever say what you’re thinking.

  She draped the BP cuff over the railing. “It is one of my rules, Mr. Baily. I do not mix my personal life with my professional life.”

  “I have an idea,” he said. “Give me your phone number, and have me assigned to another nurse. That way we can abide by your rules.”

  Nurse Crowley smiled as the door closed behind her.

  *

  Midnight rounds were over when the three men in hospital greens and hanging surgical masks eased out of the supply closet at the dark end of the third floor. Two led with guns tucked in their scrubs beneath their white lab coats. The third pushed the wheelchair with the squeaky wheel. On the seat, the stack of sheets hid the ropes.

  As they approached Detective Baily’s room, they could see the mobile nurse station in the doorway and hear a conversation. The three backed into a vacant room and waited in the dark. When the nurse left, the floor would be quiet for hours. They could remove Baily with little risk.

  Oblivious to the impending danger, Nurse Crowley finished updating Baily’s patient file and returned to his bedside. She put a note on his palm and rolled his fingers into a fist. “I’m turning you over to Anita Martino. Call me when you get out. I am Angelina.”

  Speechless, he watched the girl of his dreams push the bulky cart out of his room and the door close. Alone with the smell of perfume he unfolded his note. As the pain-meds took hold, he savored each word.

  Lying on his side facing the window, the squeaky wheel entered his dream. Baily fantasized Angelina Crowley’s return for one last visit, maybe even a kiss, before “her rules” forbade it. But when the fat, sweaty hands pinned his head to the pillow, and clamped down a damp rag over his mouth and nose, it did not fit his paradise. Caught between a dream and reality, Baily could not move. A foreign weight crushed his chest, pinned his legs, and pulled his arms over his head.

  With one eye he saw the man straddling his massive chest like a mounted horse, and he saw another man draped over his legs, and he saw the third man pulling his arms. Baily fought through the drug-induced stupor, but the nausea grew.

  The toxic smell poured from the rag held over his face, a familiar odor—metopryl. Each second Baily became more lucid. He learned about metopryl at the police academy. It was the latest and greatest knockout drug. He would be out under a minute. Although Baily could hold his breath more than a minute in a swimming pool on a dare, he could not last thirty seconds in the heat of battle. But maybe his attackers were unfamiliar with metopryl. Maybe playing opossum could work.

  Baily gave-up the fight in increments. First he stopped moving his legs—the man left. Next he let his arms go limp. Then he relaxed his rock-hard body beneath the rag-holding straddler. Through slits he saw into the dark hall. The one off his legs dragged his Angelina into the empty room and closed the door. Baily saw red, but he had to sell them. He had to wait for the two to loosen their holds just a little—they had no idea.

  Seconds later a docile victim put sick smiles on their faces—the metopryl did its magic. The big, black cop had been tamed. They would tie the wild beast and load him onto the wheelchair. They would cover him with sheets and depart—another patient release.

  What came next happened in just four seconds. Baily yanked free his arms and threw his head forward like a mountain goat. With all his pent-up rage and raw strength, and metal plate, he crushed the jaw of his straddler knocking him out cold. Before the unconscious, rag-holding, piece of garbage could flop to the floor, Baily grabbed the telephone from the bed stand and swung it into the arm-holding intruder. On the fourth, pounding thrust the phone exploded into pieces and another bloody face slid to the floor on top of his partner.

  Baily stepped onto the cold linoleum barefoot and boiling. “Who are you sons-a-bitches?” he muttered under his breath as he yanked a gun from the unconscious man with a Russian tattoo.

  Are you the guys who shot me in Broken Bow? He stepped on the necks, but neither moved. They would be out for a while. I thought you were only after Keller …

  Baily approached the closed door across the hall, his hospital gown sailing behind. As he eased open the door he saw Angelina on the bed and the back of a man. Her buttons were scattered on the floor and her dress was torn open and her legs were gripped on each side of the dark figure with his pants at his ankles.

  The head turned when the door squeaked closed. Baily’s first blow jarred the man’s head and buckled his knees. Baily pulled him from the bed and held him by the neck and squeezed. The bloody hand gripped his wrist as Baily pounded the face until his body hung like a wet blanket on a hook. Baily dropped him to the floor and stepped over the bloody heap. He gently covered Angelina with bedcover and carried her down the hall. When he rounded the corner he met three sets of wide eyes and open mouths at the nurse station—they had heard nothing.

  “You know me—Detective Baily. Call the police. Do not ask questions. Just do as I say.” He set Angelina in a chair—she was in and out wincing in pain, her eyes swollen closed. A nurse held her shoulders.

  “Tell them we’ve got three guns on the floor. Tell them the perps came for me. They attempted to sedate and transport. They are armed. MPD will know what to do.” His eyes jumped back to Angelina—she attempted a smile.

  “You’re gonna be okay,” he whispered. “Do you hear me?” She nodded but could not open her eyes. “Get her out of here. All of you go, now. Leave the floor.”

  “We have seven patients on this floor,” said the head nurse. “I will not leave them. I’m staying right here.” She turned to the two nurses. “Take Angelina to the south elevators. Get her to emergency.” They disappeared.

  “Sounds like you’re good at what you do—” Baily checked her name tag with a fleeting eye, “—nurse Sims.”

  “I am. These are my patients, detective.”

  “Are the seven sedated?” he asked.

  “Yes. All are post-op, elective surgery.�
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  “That means nobody’s in critical condition, right?”

  “Yes, detective. They are healthy surgical patients we hold overnight for wound drainage and basic recovery. We sedate so they get a good night sleep.”

  “Pain meds and sedatives intended to knock them out?” he asked.

  “Yes. We don’t want them moving in their sleep and popping stitches.”

  Baily looked back over his shoulder down the hall. “I got some caged, wild animals looking for a way out of here, Nurse Sims. Left alone, they’ll avoid trouble and your patients. You saw what they can do when they are nervous. I don’t want them nervous, Sims. I don’t need them doing any more stupid things. Right now you’re in the lion’s cage with me.”

  “I stay with my patients,” she said like a soldier watching a border.

  “When you’re in the lion’s cage, you live when you do everything the lion tamer says. When you don’t, you are eaten by the lions, Nurse Sims.”

  Her eyes darted from Baily down the dark hall. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying your patients are safe. I’m saying your presence puts them and me at risk.”

  Baily turned back to Nurse Sims with brow dipped. “You’re leaving the floor, now. You’re telling security to shut down elevators and to keep people off this floor. You’re telling the police that Memphis Homicide Detective Baily is armed. I have three pinned in the north corridor and want our people on all exits.”

  When the door closed behind Nurse Sims, Baily moved to the edge of the corridor and confirmed his borrowed Glock was fully loaded—he was going hunting.

  Can’t let you bastards get off this floor. And I sure as hell can’t let you hurt these drugged patients. He slid in the clip. Why did you come for me anyway? I can’t be that important.

  With adrenalin pumping and heart pounding, Baily leaned an eye into the hall. You guys botched this one up. What kind of idiot rapes a nurse while the other dumb-asses try to hold down a big cop? I saw the flag tattoo—damn Russians. This has gotta be what Bone said, some kind of weapons race is goin’ on. The damn Cold War all over again. I gotta get this to Wilcox.