The Devil's Right Hand - J. D. Rhoades [62]
“I’m here to visit Crystal Lee Puryear,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster.
“Are you a family member?” the woman said as she turned to her computer. Her fingers began clicking busily on the keys.
“Yeah,” DeWayne said, “I’m her brother.”
The woman’s fingers stopped for a brief second. She kept her eyes straight ahead and her voice neutral. “And your name is...?” she asked.
The too-casual tone in her voice made a chill of paranoia run down DeWayne’s spine. “Uhhhh--” he said. “Leonard,” he blurted out.
The woman turned and looked at him. “Well, the computer says you were here yesterday. Don’t you remember the room?”
The shiver down his backbone shot back up and set alarm bells clanging in his head. “Ahhh--yeah,” he said. “I ahhh--I forgot the number.”
“Your sister has been released to a--to another facility,” he woman said, still eyeing DeWayne up and down. ”She didn’t tell you?”
Dewayne smacked himself on the head with the palm of his hand. “Boy,” he laughed nervously, “I’d fergit my head if it weren’t screwed on. Where’d she go again?”
The woman stiffened and reached for the phone. “I’m not allowed to give out that information,” she snapped. “Wait here, and I’ll call somebody.”
“No, no,” DeWayne said, “That’s okay, don’t bother. I remember now.” He turned and bolted out the glass doors, pursued by the woman’s shout.
DeWayne slowed to a brisk walk as he headed for the parking lot. Someone had been to see Crystal, pretending to be him. Or Leonard. He could only think of one person who would do something like that.
“Keller,” he muttered under his breath. The guy was always there, following him. He needed to do something about Keller. He walked to the place where he had left the parked car.
It was gone.
“You fucking bitch!” DeWayne screamed. An elderly couple walking slowly by looked up in horror. DeWayne didn’t care. He ran at the nearest car, kicking the rear bumper in a frenzy. He slammed his fists down on the trunk lid, screaming in rage, then kicked the bumper again. The old couple scurried faster to get away from the madman. DeWayne nearly pulled the gun and shot them, but then he heard the beeping of a car horn. He turned. Debbie was sitting in her car, fifty feet away. She had moved to the end of the row and had been watching him. He could see her laughing.
DeWayne snarled deep in his throat and ran towards the car. He yanked the gun out of his waistband and pulled the slide back to chamber a round. She started the car, but didn’t pull away. She was still laughing. When he got to the door, he saw that the windows were rolled up and the doors locked. He stood beside the driver’s side window and pointed the gun. “Open the goddamn door!” he screamed.
“I coulda left you!” she shouted, still laughing, but with an edge of hysteria, so that it sounded more like crying. “But I didn’t! Now you see! Now you see!”
“See what!?” he yelled. “Goddamn it, you crazy bitch, open the door!” He looked up and saw a pair of uniformed men standing in the doorway. Hospital security. Rent-a-cops, but still trouble.
“You need me!” Debbie yelled. By now she really was crying. “You need me! Say it!”
The rent-a-cops had located the source of the yelling and were moving purposefully towards him. Debbie was still screaming at him. “You need me!” she repeated.
“Fuck it,” DeWayne muttered. “Right now, it’s true.” He bent down, close to the car window. “Okay, baby,” he said, trying to sound placating through his near-panic. “I do. I need you. Now please, sugar, open the fucking door!”
A smile burst across her face. “I knew it,” she sniffled. She leaned across and unlocked the passenger side door. “Get in,” she smiled at him. “I’ll drive.” DeWayne bit back another snarl. He ran around to the passenger side and slid in. He was barely in the car when she stomped the gas and peeled out of the parking space; the door slammed shut from the forward momentum of the car before he had a chance to pull it closed. They blasted past the startled rent-a-cops, one of whom had to leap out of the way to avoid being run down.