“That can’t happen,” Dalton said. “What I need to know is if you can fix him?”
“With what? My fingernails?”
“Listen, smart ass, if you can’t help, you’re worthless to me.”
The guy riding shotgun waggled the muzzle of the weapon he pointed toward Buck.
“And if I can’t help?” Buck asked. “What then? You going to shoot me?”
“Yes,” Dalton said.
He hadn’t hesitated or wavered or even offered a maybe. A simple and absolute yes meant that Dalton wasn’t the sort you could bargain with. At least, not right now. He was amped up, probably scared, and Buck got the feeling he’d shot people for less. Still, the facts were the facts. Buck couldn’t simply wave a hand and make Dennie better.
“Look, this isn’t like the movies,” Buck said. “He needs major surgery. Not a couple of stitches and a Band-Aid.”
“Like I said, if you can’t fix him, you’re of no value. So I suggest you figure it out.”
Jesus. How did he end up in this mess? They didn’t teach him this in med school. Sure he could do the surgery. They did teach him that. But in an OR. Not here in the backseat of an SUV. Did he have a choice? Neither of the two guys with the guns looked like the types that would listen to reason. Not to mention, he believed that Dalton, whose black eyes now stabbed at him from the rearview mirror, would indeed kill him. Why wouldn’t he? Buck didn’t yet know what had happened but this certainly didn’t smell like an accident. Certainly not a hunting accident as Dalton had said. And if it wasn’t, it presented a lot of ugly scenarios.
Think, Buck, think.
“I’ll need some equipment,” Buck said.
“What kind?”
“Little things, like surgical instruments, IV fluids, antiseptic solutions, anesthetic meds. That’s just for starters.”
Dalton scratched his chin with the muzzle of his gun. Buck now noticed that the weapon had a thick silencer on it. These guys weren’t just drug-addicted punks. Guys that got into some O.K. Corral shootout with some other punks. They were pros. Who else would have a silenced gun? No way that helped his cause.
“I saw a pharmacy back in town,” Dalton said. “Would that work?”
Buck shook his head. “No. They won’t have half of what I need. But there’s another one. A larger one that also stocks hospital supplies.”
“Then that’s our next stop.” Dalton slipped the SUV into gear and spun a U-turn toward the highway. “Where is it?”
“Over on Elm Street.”
“Where’s that?”
“Head back into town; turn right on Fourth. It’s a block down on the corner of Fourth and Elm.”
It only took a few minutes to reach Shaffer’s Pharmacy and Hospital Supplies. The cinder block building, white with black trim, was dark except for a weak light filtering from the rear of the interior.
Dalton drove around the building and parked near the metal rear door. He killed the engine. Through the drizzle-misted windshield, Buck saw a smear of light spilling through the pharmacy’s rear window. A shadow moved by.
“Someone’s inside,” Dalton said. “I suspect with most of the lights off it’s the manager closing up.” He opened the SUV’s door. “We might’ve just got lucky.” He stepped out. “Sit tight.” He nodded toward his partner. “Listen up, Jessie. If he tries anything stupid, shoot him.”
Okay…Dalton, Dennie, and Jessie. He had their names. Not that that would likely help him much.
Dalton disappeared inside. For less than a minute. He returned holding a middle-aged man’s arm. He led him to the vehicle.
“This here’s the owner. Tell him what you need and we’ll get it.”
“I need too much,” Buck said. “It’ll be better if I go in with you.”
Dalton hesitated a beat, as if considering options, but finally said, “Let’s go then.”
Buck climbed out. Jessie did, too.
“Hang in there, Dennie,” Jessie said. “We’ll be out of here in a hot minute.”
Inside, Buck said to the man, “I’m Dr. Buckner. You the owner?”
“Wilbert Shaffer.”
“Sorry about this,” Buck said.
“Cut the fucking chatter,” Dalton said. “Get all your shit and let’s get out of here.”
Shaffer hesitated.
“It’s okay,” Buck said. “Just give me what I need and we’ll leave.”
Shaffer grabbed a wad of plastic garbage bags and he and Buck walked the aisles, filling them with everything Buck saw that he might need. Surgical drapes, packages of gauze, tape, surgical gowns, gloves, masks, two large plastic bottles of Betadine Scrub, a handful of scalpel handles and blades, hemostats, scissors, an automatic blood pressure device, several boxes of sutures, oral airways, IV lines and bags of fluids. While they worked the shelves, Dalton moved with them, standing at the end of each aisle, keeping them in sight.
Buck whispered, “His name is Dalton, his brother Dennie is the injured one. The other guy is Jessie.”
Shaffer gave a quick nod.
“Didn’t I say no talking?” Dalton said. “Shut the fuck up and get what you need. We have to roll.”
“Any anesthetic agents?” Buck asked Shaffer.
Shaffer led them into the back area of the pharmacy. The part off-limits to customers where the drugs and other controlled items were stored. A long counter with three arched pass-through windows and a single door separated the area from the rows of shelves available to customers. Buck did a quick survey. Rows of medication bottles and in one corner a wire cage, the controlled drug area. Shaffer unlocked it and they entered.
He and Shaffer worked together gathering Versed, morphine, Valium, Vicodin, Xanax, and Narcan. An array of bottles of Noctec caught Buck’s eye and he grabbed a couple.
“Look at what we got here,” Dalton said. He stood in the doorway, his gun hanging at his side. “The good stuff.” He waved the weapon. “Take it all.”
Of course, Buck thought. Take the drugs. Profit is where profit is found.
He swiped several rows of bottles and vials into one of the bags.
Buck looked around. Did he have everything he needed? Hard to be sure. He hadn’t had
