Cold Dish: A John Logan Thriller

ONE

He was a slender fellow with a scruffy three-day beard sitting behind the wheel of a dirty gray Toyota Camry. The windows were up but heavy bass seeped from the confines of the car’s interior and the driver’s head bobbed in time while his right hand tapped rhythmically on the steering wheel.

The neighborhood was quiet at nearly to two in the morning. The street was lined with older single story homes and palm and live oaks trees. There were no sounds except for the low hum of the Camry’s engine and the bass beat.

Ignoring the twinges of pain in my side and shoulder, I walked across the street, approaching the car, keeping in his line of sight. He watched me the whole way, hand still tapping and head nodding in rhythm. I walked up and rapped on the glass with two knuckles. He rolled it down and I shoved a silenced Beretta 92FS through the window and shot him right above his widening left eye. He went sideways into the passenger seat. I opened the door and rolled up the window, locked the car and stuck the keys into my pocket. The whole thing took barely ten seconds. I wore nice leather gloves, perfect for work like this, so I didn’t worry about prints. The cops would have enough to do without me adding to their troubles.

It was like a single story wood frame house on a small lot. The yard was just grass that was struggling to survive in spots, but had lost a lot of the fight to the heat and sandy soil. I checked the front door. It didn’t open so it took me a minute to work the lock and do it quietly, but at last it clicked open. Another deep breath.

I hope you know what you’re doing….

I went through. Nothing special. Living room, kitchen to the rear, hallway to the right. Everything was spotless and well kept except for the trail of clothes leading down the hallway and into the bedroom: blouse, slacks, shoes, red bra, and matching silk bikini panties. The master bedroom was empty but there was the sound of running water coming from behind the closed door of the master bathroom. I inhaled, let it out. My foot connected with the door just above the knob, putting all of my two hundred plus pounds behind it. I took in the scene in an instant.

The girl was nude and fighting like hell for her life against two burly men in dark clothing. Both men were scratched and bleeding around the face and they were working to get her into the bathtub. She hissed at them through teeth clenched with pain and fear, twisting, squirming, and the first guy held her hands behind her while the second man labored to grab the legs. He was the one who caught the full impact of the door and stumbled forward across the bathroom counter, arms pin wheeling in a futile attempt to regain his balance, knocking toothpaste, mouthwash, a Walther 7.65mm, and other assorted items onto the floor before sprawling into the tub where two of my Beretta’s 9mm slugs plowed into the back of his cerebellum to release bubbling blood and gray matter into the suddenly darkening water.

His partner forgot all about the girl; he shoved her away, spinning, hand clawing beneath his left arm for the semi-auto holstered there. The Beretta coughed and he kept collecting Personal Protection hollow points to his chest and head until he slumped in a heap beside the toilet, eyes open and staring at some unknown and invisible point past my shoulder.

The girl was on her knees gasping for air and making short wheezing sounds. I walked past her and turned off the water.

You all right?

She was crying and the words came out choked and halting and I didn’t understand a syllable of them.

I bent down and scooped up the pill bottle. Did they feed you pills?

She nodded.

They were planning on drowning her in the tub. Maybe they thought that it would look like an accident but the struggle would have left signs for any sharp-eyed ME. I said, Make yourself throw up. It’s not been too long. Most of it hasn’t gotten in you yet. I handed her a large bath towel. Here.

Maybe it was the shock of nearly being murdered or the fact that I’d shot two men in front of her but she hadn’t registered the fact that she was still naked. She looked good naked. In fact, she was damn stunning. Blonde hair and blue eyes and a body that made me wish for a little less testosterone.

Suddenly aware, she grabbed the towel and put it around her. Thanks.

You have any large trash bags?

What? There was still some shock registering on her face and those blue eyes weren’t quite focused on me.

Slowly, I repeated, Trash bags. Do you have any?

She nodded, Yeah, in the kitchen. She glanced around. I’m gonna use the hall bath.

I couldn’t blame her. There were two very dead men in this one. I gave her a wink and went to the kitchen. I grabbed the trash bags and went back to the slaughter room, heard her retching in the hallway john. I wrapped up the goons in the bags along with the Walther and carried them over my good shoulder. It took me two trips but I finally got them dumped into the car to join Driver the Mess and drove the Camry four blocks down and left it under an overpass. I checked the built-in GPS and threw the keys down a storm drain.

When I got back she had dressed in jeans and a tank top that showed off the nice curves beneath. The aroma of fresh coffee wafted through the kitchen.

Nice idea, I said. Counter any of the stuff that might be in your system.

She turned. I thought you were gone. She’d been crying a few minutes ago; now she seemed calmer.

Hardly.

Where did you go?

Took out the trash, I said. You sure you’re okay?

I think so. Who were those guys?

I glanced out the window. A white SUV with heavily tinted windows pulled into the yard. I didn’t think they were there to read the meter.

Know those guys?

She looked and made a gasp. No.

Let’s go, I said.

Tell me what the hell’s going on!

No time, I said. I slapped a fresh mag into the Beretta and she made a little strangled noise in the back of her throat.

We gotta go. Now.

She hesitated.

If I’d wanted you dead I could have let those two drown you in the bathtub. I grabbed her hand. Now move it!

They came in the front way while we went out the back. It was dark and there was little sign of activity on the block. We jumped a low fence into a neighboring yard where a naked couple reclined by a shimmering pool. They glanced at the girl and at the Beretta and I didn’t bother explaining. I went out their gate while half-dragging the girl behind me, ran across the front yard toward a silver Lexus that I’d acquired. Spotted movement near the front porch and fired twice. A shot zipped by me and a window in the SUV came down. I fired three times through the window and someone cried out.

By now she must have figured she was much safer with me. She darted to the passenger side of the Lexus and jumped in. I fired a final burst to make sure they kept their heads down then I was behind the wheel, firing up the engine and we rolled out of there.

We made it, she said.

Not yet, I said.

By the way, she said, I’m Clarice.

Claire, I said. Yes, I know who you are. You used to work at the Apollo and you were friends with Danni.

How do you know me?

I saw your photo in your personnel file.

Am I in a lot of trouble?

I glanced in the rearview. Presently, I would say so.

She seemed to think that over. Who are you?

John Logan.

Her eyes widened. Oh my God… She covered her hand with her mouth. You’re supposed to be dead.

TWO

She was right.

A month ago my houseboat had exploded. I remember the moment with a kind of fuzziness, an aloof memory that faded in and out. Perhaps it was the brain’s natural way of repressing painful memories but there it was….

Opened the door to the aft deck and saw the wires, the sensor placed on the jamb. Years of training allowed me to recognize it in that brief second for what it was, then I ran like hell across the living room, swept up my cat Lucky along the way, yelled for Teri to jump.

Then came the blast, just like Paris a lifetime ago when my wife died, the concussion wave slammed me into the fore rail. I remember feeling things snap inside me before the blast hurtled me over the railing and into the dark blue waters of the Bay. I also recall seeing Teri face down in the water and trying to reach her before the darkness took me….

I awoke in a bed. It was a comfy, spacious one. The room gently rocked. At first I thought it was me then I realized I was on a boat. A very nice boat. I did an inventory. I was naked beneath the blankets except for an adult diaper, my torso wrapped in bandages. My right arm was strapped down to a board and an IV was attached to it. On the other side of the room was an older, balding guy with white hair. I’d seen him before but couldn’t remember his name or how I knew him.

You’re awake, he said. Good.

I blinked again. Where am I? My tongue felt thick and talking was not easy.

It’s okay, you’re safe here, he said. Do you remember me?

Yes. No.

He smiled. My name is Jack Carter. Like the comedian. You’re on my yacht. I was docked down in Pierson Marina the day you came by looking for those two guys on the MAGENTA. Remember? I had the topless girlfriend.

I remembered. My last case. I was tracking down the nephew of my friend Charlie. He’d been reported living on a crappy boat down there. I’d talked to Carter and his girlfriend—Kat was her name—before I walked on board the boat and found the nephew’s roommate dead.

I tried to sit up and Jack was there placing a restraining hand on my chest. No. Don’t do that. You’re not in good enough shape to do that.

What…

We’ll talk later. You need some rest, Mr. Logan. He made an adjustment on the IV.

My eyes were suddenly heavy and I went out.

***

I awoke and he was sitting in the same chair. Fatigue ringed his eyes and tugged at the corners of his mouth but he managed a slight smile. Feeling better?

A little.

Good. You were a sick man, Mr. Logan.

What…happened?

Are you hungry?

I was and nodded. He came to the side of the bed. Do you think you could sit up and eat some soup?

He propped pillows behind me and brought a bed tray over. Chicken noodle soup. Saltine crackers. Water. I only had one arm since the other was strapped to the IV so he helped me crumble some crackers into the soup. It was an effort but I picked up the spoon and fed myself. It tasted like heaven. The water was just as good.

I suppose you have questions, he said.

Teri…

Who?

My girlfriend. She was on the boat with me.

Another nod. The newspapers didn’t say much about another party being on the boat. My guess is she’s alive. I could try to find out for you.

I closed my eyes for a moment to keep from losing it. The thought of losing her…well, I didn’t want to think about that right then. Thanks. How long have I been here?

Six days, he said. He rubbed his eyes with his palms. I found you floating unconscious in the water. You’d drifted out over two hundred yards from the boat. Luckily, you were on your back, otherwise you’d have drowned. I brought you on board.

He saw the question in my eyes.

I’m a doctor, retired, he said. "I worked hard, socked away every penny I could, determined to get out of the business as soon as I could afford it. Medicine is a brutal demanding business, Logan, unless you specialize, which I didn’t. I was an ER doctor. I did it because I said I was helping people; in truth, I loved the adrenaline rush of trauma medicine.

I retired two years ago. In the end even the rush wasn’t worth the price it was costing me. I was drinking too much, living on uppers to get through the long nights. I knew it was a matter of time before I went too far and killed someone. I knew I had to get out. I’m divorced, a long time ago. Kat was the third young woman I’d taken in to cure my loneliness.

I glanced around. Carter smiled. Kat’s gone. I told her to leave last week. She was less than half my age, Logan. She wasn’t happy with me and we both knew it. She found out what I learned long ago. Money doesn’t always buy happiness.

The soup was gone and I munched on some crackers.

Don’t overdo it. Your stomach starts feeling queasy, you stop.

I’m fine. The water made speaking easier although my voice sounded weak. How bad?

Do you really want to know?

Yes. All of it.

You should be dead. You suffered three broken ribs, one of which punctured your lung, a concussion, a bruised kidney, and a piece of shrapnel tore into your abdomen and I had to operate on you right here on the boat— He reached under the bed and pulled out a sliver of wood about a foot long. One half of the wood was dyed a dark crimson. This thing went in your side going through your back and came out just above your navel. It tore a lot of tissue and I had to stitch an inch of your gut back together. Thank God it missed the vitals or we wouldn’t be talking.

That explained the bandages. Carter continued. You wonder why I didn’t take you to the hospital?

Yeah.

I’ve been wondering that myself lately. I should have. I violated every oath I took and probably a few state laws. At first I said it was because men were trying to kill you and you wouldn’t be safe in the hospital. Also I saw you and recognized you. Kat told me that you’d talked to her later after the boy had died and in spite of her invitation you didn’t sleep with her. Most men would have. I couldn’t blame you if you had, but you didn’t and for some reason I wanted to say thanks somehow for that. It means a lot to me although I don’t know why the hell it should.

He walked to the dresser where he had a pitcher of water. He poured a glass and sat down beside me. When I saw you there and saw you weren’t dead I dragged you on the boat with every intention of getting you stable then hauling you to the nearest trauma unit. But when I started to work on you I realized how much I missed the thrill. I took it as a challenge, I suppose, to keep you alive. I still had my medical bag and a few things from my office on board for emergencies. Scalpels and things, some meds. The rest I could get; it’s easier than you think. Still, it was patchwork surgery, trying to put you back together with half the equipment. But I needed to see if I still had the touch.

Thank you, I said.

He gave a slight nod of his head in the way guys do. His next words were said softly. Someone tried to kill you.

I nodded.

Know who?

I shook my head. I didn’t have a clue. Where are we?

Key West, he said. Been here for two days.

I said. Got to take a leak.

You got a diaper on.

I made a face and he laughed. He held out a bedpan. Okay, here. You’re not up to walking yet. If you’d gotten a good trauma unit you’d be well enough. But with what I had to work with, recovery is taking a little longer. That’s a good sign, though, needing to pee.

With that done he seemed happy. Kidneys seem to be working. Any pain during urination?

No.

Good. Any pain anywhere else?

My gut.

"Yeah,