I didn’t realize how stuffy the bedroom was until I exit, leaving the door ajar so I can see and hear them if need be. It also means I need to keep any conversations and my activities quiet as well, so as not to be overheard. It’s not that I don’t trust Cheryl, she knows the consequences of crossing us, but I don’t need to give her anything more than what she needs to know, not to mention Maxine is a complete unknown, which is why I’m searching through her pockets and unfortunately coming up empty. There isn’t even a receipt or a piece of gum. I move on to her purse on the kitchen counter.
The black material does a fairly good job of hiding the bloodstains I know would be visible on any other color. The Glock I put inside is loaded, the safety is off, and there is a round in the chamber. She’s either brave or incredibly stupid. Remembering her face when she had the gun pointed at her attacker makes me think it’s the former. She looked comfortable with the weapon and sure of herself.
I take out the mag and empty the chamber round, shoving both deep into my pocket while tucking the gun into one of the many empty kitchen drawers. While there’s furniture and shit here for emergencies, it’s not set up for extended stays. I lay her phone, wallet, and lip balm on the counter, then flip the bag inside out to make sure there are no trackers or anything else I should know about.
Once I know her bag’s clean, I open her wallet and find her license. She’s not smiling in the picture, and something about that bothers me. Her address is listed as the same one I read off to Iron, and it shows she’s an organ donor. There’s a debit card and four hundred and twenty-three bucks in cash. Looking at the contents and the bag makes me wonder why she even carried it. She could have easily had this shit in her pockets.
I run my hands all over her bag again to make sure I’m not missing something but come up empty again. My eyes go to her phone. I turned it off before leaving the parking lot in case she was sharing her location with anyone. It’s nothing too fancy, so I’d bet it’s a burner. Turning it on could alert whoever she’s working for to our location, which isn’t part of my plan yet, so I leave it off.
Options extinguished, I head over to the far corner of the living room and look out through the crack in the curtains. Masher picks up on the first ring after I dial his number.
“Give me an update,” I instruct.
“The only things he had on him were fifteen hundred bucks and a phone. You know who he is?”
“No clue. You turned off his phone before moving him?” I confirm.
“Yeah, you want me to put him in the cooler or dispose of him?”
“Cooler, and get his phone to Iron. Make sure he knows it might be tagged.” I’m certain he would know to take precautions, but I still feel the need to say it.
“Will do.”
“What about the cops?”
“Never showed. I got D sitting on the lot to report back just in case.”
“Let me know if you hear anything,” I tell him before hanging up. Waiting has never been my strong suit, but there’s nothing else I can do until she’s awake and not in danger of having her guts fall out.
My eyes go to the cupboard. I could use a drink. The moment the thought becomes conscious, I physically turn away from the kitchen. I know better than to think I could only have one drink.
After thirty minutes of fighting the urge, I end up back in the room with Maxine. There’s an IV bag hanging from the curtain rod, with lines leading down to Maxine’s arm. I’m guessing it’s an antibiotic and maybe more pain meds.
Cheryl is seated in the only chair in the room with her phone in her hand. I give her a look, and she’s quick to say, “I don’t have my location turned on.”
“That doesn’t mean anything if they get a warrant for your phone’s records. It will tell them exactly where you were regardless.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.” She fumbles with the phone, trying to hold down the power button to turn it off as her face grows red. Once she has it powered off, she glances up at me and questions, “Warrant?”
I don’t bother answering her or even acknowledging the inquiry, instead I say, “I’ll keep an eye on her.” I motion with my head, indicating that she can leave the room. She’s quick to vacate the chair and step to the side, as if she thinks I would have pulled her up if she was too slow to respond.
“Keep an eye on her breathing,” she tells me. “Do you want me to come back and check her for a fever every hour or…”
“Where’s the thing?” I draw a blank on what it’s called for a second.
“In the bag, you just need to run it along her forehead. I can show you,” she offers.
“I’ve got it.” I sound gruff because I feel like an idiot for the brain lapse.
“Okay, well, just let me know if you need anything. I might try to sleep if that’s okay?” Her shoulders are all high up around her ears. I know I’m making her uncomfortable, but I do that to just about everyone.
“It’s fine.”
She leaves the room, taking care to leave the door the way I did when I left earlier, so it’s only slightly open. The next several hours are slow as fuck. My mind wanders through minefields, going over the shit I know about her and her past, but I’m not any closer to figuring anything out now than I was when we arrived.
She grows restless in the early morning hours. Instead of using the thermometer, I place my palm on her forehead. She feels a little clammy, but I can’t tell if she has a fever. Her eyes slit open as I reach for the thermometer.
Her flinch when I bring my hand over to take her temp bothers me more than it should. “Are you in pain?” I ask while dragging the thing over her head until it beeps.
