Sin nodded and then scowled at Bubba. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Sin looked out over the water and saw that the sun had begun its descent. Without looking at her watch, she knew it was approximately four p.m. I better get back to the hospital before the doc has a meltdown, she thought.
As she walked to her bike, she noticed the white Lincoln Continental in the parking lot. There was no doubt whom it belonged to, but just in case someone wasn’t sure, the name Prophet Jeremiah Heap was written in gold script lettering on the driver’s side door.
Heap and another man—possibly the cemetery director—were in the middle of a discussion as she straddled her seat. Bubba strutted over to goad Sin. Before the first insult could slide from his chapped lips, she kick-started her Harley, applied the front brake and revved the engine causing her rear wheel to spin, fishtail, and kick up enough rock, sand, and shell to plaster Bubba’s face and body.
10
The paperwork was tedious, but the time spent at the hospital gave Sin a chance to talk about her dad’s condition with Dr. O’Rourke.
“How long has my dad had cancer?”
“He was diagnosed four months ago,” Dr. O’Rourke answered. “To answer your next question, we caught it late. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he was having problems keeping his food down, he probably would not have gone to his primary.”
Sin stood and paced the doctor’s office. “I don’t understand how he could have liver cancer. Isn’t that a disease caused by alcohol. He has never had a drink in his life.”
Dr. O’Rourke removed her glasses and folded her hands on top of her desk. “That’s a bit of a misconception. Alcohol can be a contributing factor, but there are others. Trying to narrow down the cause would just be speculation.”
Sin sat back down. “So what are the options? What is his prognosis?”
“I’m afraid the options are few. Radiation and chemotherapy are the protocol. The problem is that Thomas wasn’t diagnosed until his cancer was already in stage four.”
“Meaning?”
“Look, Sergeant O’Malley—”
“Sin, please call me Sin.”
“Okay, Sin, I’m not going to sugar coat this, your father’s cancer has spread to his lungs and to his spine. The best we can do is prolong his life, but. . .”
Sin finished the doctor’s thought. “Death is inevitable.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“How long does he have?”
Dr. O’Rourke shook her head. “I don’t know. I can tell you that he has responded remarkably well to treatment considering the degree of his cancer. He is already doing better than I originally thought. He is a tough old bird.”
You have no idea, Sin thought.
“What do I need to do for him at home?”
“Not much really. You need to make sure he eats and drinks plenty of water and try to keep his stress levels to a minimum. Stress plays a big role in this type of cancer.”
Sin’s eyes elicited a sad smile. “The first two are easy, I will do my best with number three.”
“That’s all I can ask,” the doctor said.
As Sin made her way to her father’s room, she thought she heard Jeremiah Heap’s voice. Her steps quickened. The door to his room was closed and Bubba and Tommy Morton—another inbred-looking redneck from her youth—were standing in the hallway. They blocked the door as she approached.
“The Prophet’s in a meetin’ and can’t be disturbed,” Bubba scowled.
Sin fumed with rage. “I don’t give a damn what Heap is doing, I’m going in to see my father.”
“I don’t think so,” Bubba said.
The muscles in Sin’s jaw tightened with anger. “You can let me in, or I can move you out of the fucking way.”
“Watch out, Bubba,” drawled the other, “she knows that kung fu shit.”
Bubba pulled a knife out of his pocket. “Reach for the door and I’ll cut you wide open.”
Hospital personnel began to gather, but no one said or did a thing. Sin eyed both men. She put her hands up in mock surrender and turned to leave.
“See, Tommy, she’s just a pussy,” Bubba said. “She ain’t nothing when she don’t have the upper hand.”
Tommy began to laugh. It was stifled when Sin spun towards him and drove the palm of her hand into his throat. The sound of cartilage snapping could be heard by everyone. As he collapsed, Bubba lunged at Sin. She side stepped his advance, wrapped her arm around his throat, and drew her straight-edged razor from her back pocket. The open blade pressed against his throat.
“One word—one movement―and I’ll cut your fucking head off,” she seethed.
His knife hit the floor.
The door to her father’s room opened and Prophet Heap stepped into the hallway.
“What in God’s name is happening out here?” he bellowed.
Sin looked up at him with venomous hate. “If your boys ever threaten me again, I will defend myself without restraint. Got that, Heap?”
Murmurs and whispers from the bystanders could be heard throughout the hall.
Prophet Heap straightened his suit coat. “We are men of God and do not act without provocation.”
Sin dropped Bubba to the ground, flicked her wrist retracting her blade, and stood nose to nose with the Prophet.
He looked around at the stunned expressions on the faces of those watching. He removed a monogrammed handkerchief from his suit pocket and wiped his pasty brow. “I was just having a friendly conversation with Thomas. If my men said anything to provoke you, Sergeant, you have my apologies.”
Sin pulled a paper out of her back pocket. “These are the legal papers giving me guardianship of my father. Next time you want to talk to him, you come to me.”
She was so close, her chest pushed against him with every breath.
He instinctively eyed her chest and then took a step back.
He leaned in to say something, but Sin cut him off.
“Move away from the door.”
He again plastered a fake smile on his face and looked
