Heads You Lose - Lisa Lutz [55]
“Who was that?”
“Deena. She’s at the Timberline. Smashed. Needs a ride to the hospital.”
“Why?”
“Terry took a turn for the worse.”
When the trio arrived at Terry Jakes’s hospital room, a sheet was pulled over his head.
“What happened?” Deena asked the nurse.
“Pulmonary embolism,” the nurse replied. “I’m afraid it’s very common with these types of injuries.”
“A pulmonary what? I was just talking to him this morning. He was fine,” Deena said as tears began rolling down her ruddy cheeks.
“It’s a blood clot in the lungs. Most likely it traveled from his leg. A lot of damage was done there.”
“So he’s dead?” Lacey asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Um, yes.”
“Because I thought he was dead the other day and he wasn’t. So let’s just—”
“Lacey!” Paul interrupted. “That’s enough.”
“Do you want to say good-bye?” the nurse asked.
Deena nodded her head. The nurse pulled the sheet down and there was Terry Jakes, looking bruised and battered and most definitely dead.
NOTES:
Dave,
Once again, please accept my condolences. I consulted my friend Dr. Pedram Navab and he assures me that a pulmonary embolism is a very common complication with these types of injuries. There was no foul play involved in Terry’s second demise, if that makes you feel better. And he wasn’t in pain. At least not too much, although he did have some difficulty breathing. My point being, don’t delve into any hospital conspiracy. There is none.
As a friendly reminder, let’s not forget that there’s still one primary mystery to solve here: Hart’s death.
Lisa
P.S. If you bring Terry back again, I’m putting him through a woodchipper.
Lisa,
Greetings from the high road. Guess I should be pleased with small victories, like the fact that you didn’t send Terry’s gurney down an elevator shaft, or have him whisked away by a highly concentrated tornado. Putting a medical gloss on your deus ex machina doesn’t make it any less clunky. You keep harping on keeping the mystery going; maybe you should focus on the characters’ vendettas, rather than your own.
Sorry you were bored by my last chapter. Maybe, like Terry, I’ve learned that burning too brightly can be dangerous. If the Fop experience taught me anything, it’s that Bordeaux and Twinkies don’t mix.
Dave
CHAPTER 18
On their way out of the hospital, Paul and Lacey were approached by another nurse. “Paul Hansen?” she asked. “I’m not supposed to do this, but Mr. Jakes asked me to let you know that his will is on a videotape in his bedroom closet. He said to show it to everyone at the same time.” In his mind, Paul was already on the way to Terry’s. He’d already postponed grieving for his friend—right now he had to get his plants back home just in case Sheriff Ed wanted to take this opportunity to start poking around Terry’s place.
Lacey was silent on the drive home. She’d never seemed to appreciate Terry while he was alive, but apparently seeing him die twice in two days was more than she could take.
“Get some rest, Lace,” Paul said as he dropped her off at home. “I’ll take care of the plants.”
She dropped out of the truck and somnambulated into the house.
At Terry’s, Paul loaded his plants back into his truck, covered them with a tarp he found in the garage, and then went looking for the video will. Terry had a massive collection of tapes, both Beta and VHS, and Paul doubted it included one clearly marked “Terry’s Will.” Paul dreaded the prospect of enduring untold hours of dharma talks, bargain-bin porn, and metal concerts, but it had to be done.
After sampling a dozen tapes in front of Terry’s nineteen-inch console TV, he played a hunch and inserted one marked “Intermediate Levitation.” When Terry came on screen with a solemn look on his face and announced, “This is Terrence Leotis Jakes,” Paul knew it was the one. Terry’s forehead was smudged with the remnants of tribal war paint—he must have taped the will after one of his Survivor application sessions a few years back. Paul ejected the tape,