Silent Screams - C. E. Lawrence [38]
“Hey there, fellows!” Eddie sang out in his high, squeaky voice. “Come join us!” The pair came over to their table and slid into the booth, one on each side. Lee was surprised the taller one could fit at all, his legs were so long. Lee was just over six feet, but sitting next to this guy, he felt like a toy poodle squeezed next to a St. Bernard.
“I’d like you to meet my pals,” Eddie said as he signaled the waitress for another round. “This here is Diesel,” he continued, indicating the giant sitting next to Lee, “and his buddy is Rhino. That’s what we call him. His real name’s Rhinehardt, John Rhinehardt, but he likes his nickname, don’t you, Rhino?”
John Rhinehardt, a.k.a. Rhino, pursed his lips and gave a small nod of assent. With his stocky build, crooked nose, and small eyes, he did bring to mind an albino rhinoceros.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Lee.
Rhino responded with another lip pursing.
“And his buddy is Diesel,” Eddie went on, “named on account of—come to think of it, no one knows how you got your nickname.”
“I used to drive the eighteen-wheelers,” Diesel responded in an elegant baritone. “And I like to drink quite a bit.”
“I don’t even remember your real name,” Eddie admitted.
“No one uses it anymore,” Diesel answered. “I prefer Diesel.”
“Right,” Eddie agreed as the waitress approached their table.
“What’ll you have?” she said, standing over them, pen in hand.
“We’ll have another round of the same, thanks, sweetheart,” Eddie replied. “And add my buddies’ drinks to my check.”
She turned to Diesel. If she thought he was odd looking, her face didn’t betray it. Lee figured that working in a bar a block from Times Square, she had pretty much seen it all.
“What’ll it be?” Her voice was ragged with fatigue.
“Two pints of Guinness, please,” Diesel said. As she turned to go, he added, “And a Diet Coke for my friend.”
The waitress did a double take that consisted of one raised eyebrow; then she turned and headed for the bar.
“What’s the idea of ordering a Diet Coke?” Eddie demanded.
In response, Rhino patted what appeared to be a rock-hard stomach.
“He’s always calorie counting,” Diesel said with a disgusted snort. “Oh, well, looks like I’ll have to do the drinking for both of us.”
“Bet you’ll never guess what these guys do for a living?” Eddie chirped.
Break kneecaps? Lee wanted to answer, but he said nothing.
“Tell ’em, boys.” Eddie leaned back in the red leatherette booth, enjoying himself hugely.
“We are currently working as hospital orderlies,” said Diesel. Evidently he was the talkative one.
“Oh,” said Lee, not sure what he was supposed to make of that information.
“But you didn’t tell him the best part!” Eddie said. He leaned across the table toward Lee, and Lee could smell his tobacco-stained teeth. “These boys work at Bellevue!” He pronounced the word as though he were announcing the discovery of the Holy Grail. “So I figure they can get the lowdown on all sorts of nutcases—maybe your guy, for instance.”
“Wait a minute,” Lee interrupted. “That would be illegal and unethical, violating doctor-patient privilege.”
“But these guys ain’t docs,” Eddie protested.
“This guy is probably flying under the radar,” Lee said. “Not in treatment, probably not in the system at all. Even if he is, the chances of him coming through Bellevue—”
“Are roughly one in one hundred and forty-six thousand, if he lives in Manhattan,” Diesel said solemnly. When Lee stared at him, he leaned back and folded his powerful hands in front of him. “I enjoy statistics. It’s kind of a hobby.”
“Diesel’s a