“Yeah, Ronnie. Thanks,” Bo said.
The agent left.
Otter shook his head. “Seeing you is like trying to get into Fort Knox. How’re you doing, Spider-Man?”
“I’ve been better, Otter. Good to see you, man. Pull up a chair.”
Otter sat down at Bo’s bedside. He wore a green Hawaiian shirt, faded jeans, and old sneakers. He was clean-shaven, and he’d swept his long, graying hair back in a neat ponytail. There was nothing to be done about the beating his face had taken from alcohol and a tough life, but for Otter, he looked pretty good.
“I hope they didn’t give you a hard time,” Bo said.
“Made me sign in, give ’em an official address, show an ID. That was just the hospital security. Then your guys frisked me. The nurses, man, I think they wanted to disinfect me or something.”
“You look good,” Bo said.
“That job you told me about. The church janitor. I took it. It’s working out. Got a nice room in the basement. And Greg, the pastor, he’s in AA, too.”
“I know.”
“Thanks, Spider-Man.”
“No problem.”
Otter leaned his chair back and laced his hands behind his head. “First Lady. Man, you travel in some company these days. Who would’ve thought?” His gaze went distant for a moment. When it came back, he said, “Look, you need any plants watered at your place or anything taken care of while you’re here?”
“They’re artificial.”
“I wish there was something I could do.”
“In the drawer there.” Bo pointed to the stand beside his bed. “There are some cards.”
Otter reached in and pulled out a deck that Bo had been using for solitaire.
“Remember in the old bus, playing gin rummy for pennies?” Bo asked.
“Do I? You were terrible.”
“That’s because the cards had pictures of naked women on them.”
Otter laughed. “Yeah, I used that deck because I knew it was a distraction for you.”
“Deal ’em,” Bo said. “I’m not distracted now.”
They played a dozen hands before Stuart Coyote walked into the room.
“Sorry,” Coyote said. “I didn’t realize you had company, Bo. I’ll come back.”
“No, stay. Otter, this is Stu Coyote, my sometimes partner. Stu, this is Otter, my oldest friend.”
“Bo’s told me a lot of stories about you and him and an old bus,” Coyote said, extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure finally meeting you. Say, is he much of a cardplayer?”
“The worst,” Otter replied. He looked from Coyote to Bo. “Looks like you’ve got business. I’ll be on my way.”
“How’d you get here?” Bo asked.
“Hitched.”
“I’ll get you a ride back.”
Otter lifted his hands to decline. “You just worry about getting better. Nice meeting you, Coyote. Always good rubbing fur with another animal.”
Otter left, grinning.
Coyote took the vacant chair. “You heard about Moses?”
“Heard what?”
“They found him last night. Washington County sheriff’s office got a call at 0200 hours. Somebody reported a burglary in progress on an empty houseboat at a marina downriver, this side of Hastings. Cops show up. Shots fired. All of a sudden, the houseboat goes up in flames. When the fire’s put out, they find a burned body. There’s body armor, too, and a handgun. They got prints from the grip. They match Moses.”
“Cops kill Moses? Or did the fire do that?”
“Neither. He ate a bullet.”
“They’re sure it’s his body?”
“They’re checking his files at the State Security Hospital for dental records to match. His military file, too. They’re being careful about making any public statement until they’re sure. But it’s him, Bo.”
Bo should have felt relief, but he was reluctant to let his guard down until he was absolutely certain the man was dead and buried.
“Ishimaru make a connection with Moses and those two alphabet guys who posed as Secret Service when they talked to Dr. Hart?”
“Not yet. She’s had her hands full.”
“How are things at the office?” he asked.
Coyote’s face took on a sour look. “Investigators everywhere. The press is thick as locusts. It’s understandable, but it’s a grand pain in the butt.”
“You don’t have to tell me. I talk to a dozen different investigators from half a dozen jurisdictions every day. What about Diana? She holding up?”
“If she were food, she’d be hard tack. She’s tough as they come.”
“You look a little weary,” Bo noted.
“Things feel pretty weird right now. Jake, Jon, the others, dead. Strange faces in the office. Everything we’ve done being questioned. The truth is, I asked for some time off. I’ve got vacation days, use or lose. Figured I’d take them.”
Bo nodded. If he could hide for a while, he’d do it, too. “Going anywhere?”
“Home.”
Meaning Oklahoma. Somewhere near the Wichita Mountains.
“When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll be gone by the time you hobble out of here. You’ll be okay?”
“I won’t be throwing any punches for a while, but I’ll be fine.” Bo held out his hand. “Take care of yourself. Rest up.”
Coyote stood and clasped Bo’s hand tightly. “You, too.”
There was a moment of awkward silence, and a reluctance to release their grip on each other. Bo felt as if he were letting go of the last of all that was familiar to him and safe.
That afternoon, Nurse Rivera urged him out of bed and sent him walking. Bo’s leg was sore from the kick Moses had delivered, his back ached from the knife wound, and his left arm throbbed. But he was glad to be up and moving. He walked from one end of the hallway to the other. Agent Salone was on duty, monitoring the activity on the floor. Other agents were posted downstairs. Although Bo’s injuries weren’t critical, the decision had been made to keep him in Trauma ICU along with Tom Jorgenson and Chris Manning so that security was easier. He was on his third round when Salone called to him, “Thorsen, Dreamcatcher’s on her way up.”
He never knew when Kate was coming. Secret Service varied her visits, the time of day, the length, to keep things unpredictable. Bo returned to his room as quickly as he could and checked himself in his bathroom mirror. It was ridiculous, he knew, but he found himself eager for her visits and always a little nervous. She came, of course, to see her father, but she always dropped in to talk with Bo awhile. Her visits had become the highlight of his days.
Through his door, he watched the First Lady step into her father’s room. She glanced his way, and she waved and smiled just before she vanished.
A little while later Earl, all awkward motion and big grins, bounced into Bo’s room.
“Hi, Bo.”
“Hey, Earl. How you doing?”
“I’m real good. I’m real good.” Earl had taken a deep interest in Bo’s injuries and checked the scabbed wound on his forearm whenever he visited. “Does it still hurt?”
“They give me pills that keep it from hurting too much.”
Earl seemed to think that sounded fine. “Can they give Katie some pills? She hurts an awful lot, Bo. She cries all the time, and I don’t understand. Dad’s better now.”
