I spent an hour answering questions for a group of SDPD officers as they tried to clean up the chaos on Mission. I said I didn’t know if the shots were aimed at me. That was the truth. I assumed they were meant for me, but I didn’t know that for certain and I didn’t plan on spending the whole night explaining myself.
Being shot at made me think about Rachel and I hadn’t been to the hospital yet to visit her. While I wasn’t enamored with visiting a hospital again so soon after being released, I wanted to get out of Mission Beach and I needed to talk to her.
I made the drive to Sharp, my muscles stiffening up and throbbing after another long drive, reminding me that I wasn’t recovered yet. I needed one more good night’s sleep, but I wasn’t sure if I’d get it.
I called the hospital on my way over, asked for Rachel’s room. She sounded tired when she answered, but told me she wouldn’t mind if I stopped by and gave me her room number.
A lady at the information desk in the lobby directed me to the fifth floor and I found Rachel in her room, propped up in her bed, watching TV.
She looked at me when I stuck my head in the doorway. “Hi.”
I held up a hand and waved. The color was gone from her face. Her red hair was pulled back into a sloppy ponytail. She looked small and weak.
“How are you?” I asked.
“I’m okay, I guess.”
I pointed at the chair next to the bed. “You mind?”
“No. Go ahead.” She watched me sit down. “What happened to you?”
“Got in a fight with the wrong guys,” I said, trying to find a comfortable position where my back didn’t feel like it was on fire.
“Have you found Linc?”
“No. Not yet.”
She turned back to the TV. It was tuned to one of those home decorating shows that I tried to never watch.
“So,” I said. “You’re going to be okay?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”
“Where did the bullet hit you?”
She winced when I said bullet. “Just below my collarbone, I guess. They said it went out my back.”
“That’s good.”
“Unfortunately, it hit my collarbone,” she said. “It’s fractured.”
That was going to make her uncomfortable for a while. “How long will you be here?”
“A couple more days,” she said. “They wanna make sure there’s no infection and that it starts to heal okay.”
“I’m sure it will.”
She glanced at me. “Yeah.”
We listened to the host of the show ramble on about colors.
“What happened at your apartment, Rachel?” I asked.
“I already told the police.”
“I know, and I’m sorry to bring it up again. But can you tell me, too?”
She sighed, kept her eyes on the show. “Someone knocked on the door. We thought maybe it was you again. I opened the door, but no one was there. I walked outside to see if anyone was around. I didn’t see anyone, so I guessed someone was just messing with us.” She went silent for a moment. “That’s when it happened.”
“Did you see the gun?”
She shook her head.
“Any cars you recognized?”
She shook her head again. “There were a bunch of cars on the street. I heard this big bang. Then I felt something hit me-hard. After that I don’t remember a whole lot other than being in pain.” She looked away-I could tell it wasn’t easy for her to talk about what had happened. She was still scared and still confused. And she had a right to be.
“I told you I got in a fight,” I said. “It was with some other guys looking for Linc-skinheads, Rachel. Do you know anything about them? Or have you seen them around the apartments?”
She wiped the tears off of her face and took a deep breath. “Skinheads? No. That doesn’t sound like Linc.” She sighed and turned back to the TV. “Does Linc have something to do with what happened to me?”
“Honestly, I don’t know.” I started to feel guilty for coming. Her eyes were heavy with fatigue and I wasn’t helping. “Can I get you anything, Rachel?”
She sighed again and her eyes fluttered. “Um…some more water, maybe?” She turned to the side. “There’s a pitcher, but it’s empty.”
I grabbed the pitcher off the table and stood. “Be right back.”
I walked down to the nurses’ station and had them refill the pitcher with water and ice. When I walked back into the room, Rachel was asleep.
I set the pitcher back on the table, found the remote and switched off the television, and moved quietly out of the room, letting Rachel get the rest she needed.
Thirteen
After getting back from the hospital and a night of thinking more than sleeping, I woke to find Carter drying himself off out on the patio in the sunshine, his board on the concrete next to him.
He shook his head and water sprayed from his hair like from a Labrador’s coat. His wet trunks dripped the ocean all over the ground.
He plopped down into one of the chairs. “I’m getting old.”
“Why’s that?”
“Little fourteen-year-old kid just put on a demo out there,” he said, motioning to the water. “Snapped the board like it was glued to his feet. Just ripped the ocean a new one. I looked like a robot out there compared to the little shit.”
I leaned against the doorjamb. “Maybe I can help you recapture your youth.”
He ran his hand over his face. “How’s that?”
“Do some things that might get us in trouble.”
His mood brightened. “Gimme five minutes.”
Ten minutes later we were headed east on I-8 to the college area and Linc Pluto’s apartment complex.
I told him about the shooting on Mission, but didn’t mention anything about seeing Mike and Liz. I had other things to worry about.
“For sure they were aiming for you?” he asked, twisting in the passenger seat of my Jeep and adjusting the seat belt around his large frame.
“Seemed like it. I was the only one standing there.”
“The Camry is pretty standard stuff.”
“What do you mean?”
He straightened up in the seat. “The young bangers do the setup while the older guys make the hit. Kid probably moved up a rung by getting you to stand still for the hitter.”
I nodded, thinking he was right. Even if I had pegged the Camry immediately, about the only thing I could’ve done was scamper back into the bar, making me an even easier target if they’d chosen to come in.
I took the southbound exchange to 805. “Really bothers me that they knew where to find me.”
Carter shrugged his big shoulders. “Yeah, but come on. People know you down there. They know you’re a PI. Hell, you use that bar as much for an office as you do anything else.”
“Still. Bunch of gang members stick out in South Mission. Anybody that knows me would’ve known they weren’t looking to hire me.”
