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Chapter Eleven
THE YOUNG CLERK at the night desk looked at the badge in Clete’s hand. “That says you’re a private investigator.”
“Right,” Clete said.
“I can’t give out a room number unless you’re a real cop.”
“Thanks for the compliment. Walk me to the room.”
“I can’t do that, either.”
“Call the room.”
The clerk punched in a number on the console of his phone. “No answer,” he said.
“Call 911 and ask for an ambulance.”
“What for?”
“There’s a medical emergency in that room.”
“What if the guest is just asleep?”
“We’ll tell the ambulance to beat it. If there’s any charge, they can bill the motel. Your boss won’t mind.”
The clerk walked Clete to a room at the back of the motel and tapped on the door. When there was no answer, he stuck the key in the lock and twisted the knob and let the door swing open. The television was on, the sound off. Johnny was sitting in a chair, silhouetted against the screen, head on one shoulder. Clete stepped between Johnny and the clerk. “I’ll take it from here,” he said.
“Is he all right?”
“I’ll tell you if he’s not.” He put a ten-dollar bill in the clerk’s shirt pocket. “Thanks for your help.”
After the clerk was gone, Clete shook Johnny by the shoulder. His eyes were half lidded and his mouth hung open. A syringe and the rubber tubing he’d used for a tourniquet lay on the carpet. His skin was pale blue, as though it had been refrigerated.
Clete shook him again, harder. “Wake up,” he said.
Johnny’s head sagged forward. Clete went to the phone. “No,” Johnny said.
Clete replaced the receiver. “Look at me,” he said.
Johnny raised his head and tried to speak. His words were in slow motion and seemed to break like bubbles on his lips.
“How many times a day you shoot up?” Clete said.
Johnny didn’t reply. Clete made sure the curtains were secure, then clicked on the overhead light. He pulled up Johnny’s sleeves and turned up his forearms.
“You’re a pincushion, kid,” he said.
“Not a kid,” Johnny said. “Need to sleep now.”
“Where’s your stash?”
Johnny closed and opened his eyes. “I don’t have any.”
“I’m calling for an ambulance. I need to flush your stash.”
Johnny bent over, then tried to roll himself out of the chair but obviously didn’t have the strength. “Narcan,” he said.
“Where?”
