“Where?” the officer barked.
“I don’t know. Mine was on the dash, but it could be anywhere now. I don’t know about the others.”
“I lost mine, too,” Goose said. “I don’t know where it is.”
“Mine, too. I dropped it in the crash,” Big Dick said softly.
“Anybody else in here?” the officer asked.
“No. We’re it.”
“Everyone… keep your hands out where I can see them.”
The officers entered carefully, the first officer picking up the gun lying beside Fish and handing it to the officer behind as they entered the RV and looked around.
“These two men are hurt,” Willow said as she started to rise to her feet.
“Stay down!” the officer barked.
“Please!” she begged as she settled back to the floor. “They need to get to the hospital. Reed’s been shot in the leg and is bleeding badly, and Kenny’s arm is broken.”
The officer ignored her request and moved farther back into the RV, looking into the small bathroom and then the bedroom farther back. When he returned, his hand was off his weapon.
“Please, Officer… Trumbull,” Willow said, “these men are hurt. Please let us get to the hospital.”
The officer, Trumbull I assumed, nodded. “I’ll ride with you. ER is expecting you. Are you hurt?”
“No,” Willow replied.
“You, sir?” the officer asked.
“Just a few cuts from flying glass.”
“Drive slowly. The officers will follow. We need to speak to you after we get these men taken care of.” He turned to his shoulder and spoke into his mic. “Clear here.”
I snorted as I put the RV back in gear and followed the police car as it pulled away. “What a surprise,” I muttered, but too softly for the officer to hear.
.
.
.
WILLOW
The emergency room staff at Doctors Hospital were waiting with three gurneys. Goose walked in under his own power, but Big Dick, weak and pale from blood loss, was glad to have the ride. I didn’t want to think about what the third gurney, the one with the black, plastic, zippered bag, was for. Both Colt and I wanted to follow, but the police were having none of that, and immediately separated us.
I was escorted into a small room that was probably some doctor or nurse’s office where I was joined by not one, not two, but three officers. At least they had the courtesy to let me wash my hands first. I forced myself to be patient as I answered the same questions repeatedly. Why were people shooting at you? You don’t know who they were? Why didn’t you call the police? Did you kill anyone? and what seemed to be a million more. I told them everything I knew, occasionally having to stop to cry and to gather myself. To the officer’s credit, they didn’t treat me like a complete criminal, and when I started crying, they allowed me time to collect myself before they began their questioning again.
After a half dozen times of asking their questions, they left me alone in the room for a long time. I had no way of knowing, but I assumed they’d asked all four of us the same questions and were outside somewhere comparing notes.
After a long wait, they returned and asked me even more questions. I could tell by the questions focusing more on the where instead of the what, they were going to send someone to check our story. I didn’t know exactly where the RV was parked, but I showed them the general area on a map. They could find it from there based on where my Jeep and Big Dick’s pickup were parked.
Finally, after over four hours of interrogation and waiting, I was released.
“Where’s Colt?” I asked as I rose from my chair.
“Mr. Arne will join you in a minute,” the officer said as held the door open for me.
I knew from the questioning, the police’s definition of a moment or minute wasn’t the same as mine. I stepped into the hall, and was wondering what to do or where to wait, when Colt appeared from around a corner. We didn’t run to each other like in the movies, but there was no hesitation in our steps before I flung myself into his arms.
He wrapped me in his embrace. “I’m so, so, sorry…” I murmured into his chest. I didn’t cry because I’d cried myself out telling my story over and over again.
“It’s okay,” he murmured.
“But Fish, and Juice, and Grace…”
“I know,” was all he said.
After a long moment, I squirmed out of his arms. I didn’t want to as his embrace was comforting, but I was sure he wanted to check on his brothers, and I didn’t want to keep him from it. I looked up at him. “Have you talked to Goose or Big Dick?”
“No.” He glanced around. “The fucking cops were grilling the shit out of me and wouldn’t let me leave,” he said more softly.
I nodded. “Yeah. Same.”
He took my arm and guided me to the admissions’ desk. “May I help you, sir?” the woman behind the desk asked.
“I need to know where Reed Dickson and Kendal Gosling are.”
“Are you family?”
“They’re… my brothers,” he said.
She looked at him, her face hardening into suspicion. “One his, one mine,” I added.
Her gaze flicked from me to him and then back to me before she looked down and typed on a hidden computer. “Mr. Dickson is scheduled for surgery. Mr. Gosling is in recovery.”
“Where’s recovery?” I asked.
“Follow the blue stripe. Ask the nurse on duty.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Wait,” Colt said as I tried to pull him away. “Why is Reed in surgery? Does it say?”
She typed a moment. “It says here that it is to repair multiple fractures of the Tibia, suture the Anterior Tibial Artery, remove embedded bone splinters, and to repair torn muscle.”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
We followed the blue line on the floor until we came to another desk occupied by another nurse. “Kenny Gosling?” Colt asked the moment the man looked up.
He smiled. “Mr. Gosling is right through there, in our waiting room,” he said, pointing to a door labeled Recovery Waiting Room.
“Thanks,” he said as we turned away.
Goose was sitting in a chair with his arm in a cast supported by a sling. His head was tipped back against the wall and he appeared to be sleeping.
“Goose?” Colt asked softly as we approached. Goose slowly opened his eyes and raised his head before he smiled. He looked like he was stoned out of his mind. “How are you doing brother?”
“Better now. This place has some good fucking drugs.”
“What did they say about your arm?”
“Nothing much. It’s a bad but clean break. They had to set it, which I suspect would have hurt like a motherfucker if not for the drugs.” He shrugged his good shoulder. “I can go home as soon as someone can pick me up.” He smiled again. “Obviously, I shouldn’t be driving.” His smile faded. “How’s Big Dick? They won’t tell me shit.”
“He’s either in, or is going into surgery. It sounds like the bullet must have hit a bone and severed an artery, but hopefully he’ll be okay.”
“Good,” Goose said softly. “This is fucked.”
“Yeah,” Colt agreed.
“What’s the plan?”
“She’s done on site,” Colt said, his tone brooking no disagreement. “I’m getting her back to Houston as soon as I can. We were sitting ducks out there! I was stupid to take this job!”
“If you hadn’t, I’d be dead,” I said quietly. “And no arguments from me about going home.”
“She’s right. Go. Get her out of here in case they tracked us somehow. I’ve already called Deb, and she and Haley are on their way.” I assumed that Deb and Haley were Goose and Big Dick’s wives or girlfriends.