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“That’s a long story,” I said. “We might want to save it for another time.”
“Yeah, and parts of it are too good to waste on you in your drugged-up condition,” Hooker said.
I was standing at bedside, and I could feel Hooker pressed into my back with his hand lightly resting at the base of my neck. Probably worried I’d faint. I was pretty sure his fear was ungrounded, but it was still nice to have the support.
“They found us,” Bill said. “I don’t know how. The helicopter probably. It did a couple flyovers when we were in the Gulf. I didn’t think they saw me go into Gordon Pass, but hell…”
He was white again and his breaths were shallow.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “Are you in pain?”
“Pain that you can’t fix, Barney. They’ve got Maria, don’t they? We were in the house I rented, in bed, sleeping, when they came in,” Bill said. “Two Cuban guys. They grabbed Maria. She was screaming and crying, and I tried to get to her, and they shot me. That’s the last I remember.”
“There’s a cop outside, waiting to talk to you. He said you were shot in your driveway.”
“I guess I dragged myself out there.”
Good thing, too. The cop in the hall told us Bill was found by a passing motorist who saw him lying on the driveway. If Bill had stayed in the house, no one would have found him. He most likely would have bled to death.
“I’m going to tell the cop about the Cubans and Maria, but not about the gold,” Bill said. “You need to go to the house and see if the gold is still there. I left it on the boat. The boat is tied to the dock directly behind the house.” His eyes filled. “I love her, Barney. I really love her. It’s going to work out okay, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s going to work out okay.”
“We’ll get her back, right?” Bill asked.
I nodded, barely able to speak. “We’ll get her back.”
TEN
I talked to Bill’s doctor while the cop talked to Bill. If Bill’s signs stayed stable he’d be allowed to go home tomorrow. He had a flesh wound in his upper arm, and the bullet in his chest had cracked a rib but missed everything else. Bill had been lucky…if you can call getting shot twice lucky.
The cop was expressionless when he left Bill. I don’t imagine he was all that happy. He had a kidnapping and shooting without motive. It didn’t take a genius to figure out there were holes in the story.
I could have told the cop I’d been kidnapped and threatened by Salzar. I could have told him Salzar had photos of Bill and Maria. Problem was I didn’t have the photos in my possession. And the kidnapping was Salzar’s word against mine and Hooker’s. And our only witness was a guy who blew up a billion-dollar boat.
So, I didn’t especially want to talk to the cop. Not to mention, my cop experience to date wasn’t impressive. What I really wanted to do was scoop Bill up and take him someplace where he’d be safe. And then figure out a plan to defuse everything.
We stayed until nine. Bill was sedated and drifted off to sleep. Hooker and I dragged ourselves out of the hospital, into the parking lot.
“I’m adding this to my list of really shitty days,” Hooker said. “I’ve had a bunch of them. Not a lot of people get shot in NASCAR, but people get hurt and people die. It’s always awful.”
“Why do you drive?”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s just what I do. It’s what I’m good at. I used to think it was for the fame, but it turns out the fame is a pain in the ass. I suppose it could be for the money, but the truth is I’ve got enough. And I still keep racing. Crazy, hunh?”
“You like it.”
Hooker grinned. Boyish. Caught by the simple truth. “Yeah, I like it.”
“You’re a good driver.”
“I thought you didn’t follow NASCAR.”
“I was at Richmond last year. You were brilliant.”
“Damn. I’m all flummoxed. I’m not used to you being nice to me.”
