Mikal Rikto showed a business card to the desk nurse. “FBI, ma’am,” he said. “Is Gus Gantt able to speak yet?”
She studied his picture on the card. “I didn’t start here last night, mister. Got a badge and some form of picture I.D.?”
“Yes. Of course. Here you go,” he said, handing her both. “After all this recent activity, I guess you can’t be too careful.”
She photocopied his FBI photo I.D. and badge. The badge didn’t copy well, so she did it again lighter. “Sign in here,” she said.
“You are thorough,” he said. “If you need a job in D.C., let me know.”
“I’d as soon lick a cow’s behind,” she said. “Didn’t leave nothing up there, so ain’t got a reason to go back to get it.”
“It’s a beautiful city,” he said. “You really should visit.”
“Birmingham is beautiful too and I don’t go there either,” she said. “Work too much. Got four kids and a daddy in the nursing home.”
“I can understand,” he said.
“I really doubt it,” she said. A doctor asked her for a chart. She pointed wordlessly. “If your patient has a name, it’s on that desk.”
Ritko smiled at the doctor. He shook his head and flipped through a stack of charts on a green desk under a dry erase board.
Gus’ name was not on the board. Security, he thought. The nurse gave him back his badge and I.D. and tossed a pen across her station.
Her joviality had been surgically removed after years of working the I.C.U. “I will take to you to his room. Wait here.” she said.
Even with her thorough check, she had no way of knowing that his credentials were faked.
He had no way of knowing that she was about to call in his info to the local FBI agent – but he suspected she would.
“Tell them I said hi,” she said to no one while she was gone. Rikto waited patiently.
The familiar antiseptic hospital smell stirred memories of a leg wound from a stint in Afghanistan. Roadside bomb. He was the only survivor.
The nurse walked into the back room and returned with a form. “Federal regulations,” she said. “Being FBI, you should be used to it.”
“Of course,” he said. “How is Detective Gantt doing?” He filled out the form with the information he had memorized.
“Shot. That’s how he’s doing,” she said. He waited. She said nothing else.
Nurses walked by carrying syringes, tubes of blood and plastic bags. It was all business – something Ritko respected.
He filled out the form and slid it back across the desk. “Now can I see Mr. Gantt?”
“No.” she said, sternly. Her features creased just short of a smile. “Just kidding. Follow me.”
“I was beginning to think you had no sense of humor,” he said.
“I don’t,” she said. “I’m just amusing myself. You should try it. It irons the ugliness out the boredom.”
“Seems like it would be hard to get bored in a place like this,” said Ritko. “Pretty exciting around here; the place is full.”
“Body fluids get boring when that’s all you see, and I see a lot,” she said. “You have ten minutes with Mr. Gantt before you have to go.”
He nodded. On the way to Gus’ room, Agent Rufus James came up the stairs and down the hall. The nurse pulled back the curtain.
“Got a visitor.” The nurse examined a plastic bottle of urine. Ritko sized up James quickly, just like he was trained. James did the same.
Gus stared at the ceiling, riding a Percocet high. His gunshot wounds were still leaking through surgical drain catheters into bags.
Bren Catton sat next to him reading a paperback. Another cop with more questions that had no answers, she thought.
She and Gus had been dating for only three weeks, but they were closer than three weeks worth of dating could explain.
James stepped into the room. “Only one of you suits in here at a time,” said the nurse. “Go down and wait beside the desk.”
“But ma’am –” his words slammed into the nurse’s intolerance. She gave him a look that finished his sentence for him.
Ritko grinned at James. “Get in line, pal,” he said. “I got 10 minutes, then it’s your turn.”
The nurse herded him out the door. “Ten minutes,” She said over her shoulder at Ritko. “I’m timing it.”
Bren put down the book and picked up her cell. Rikto walked to the bed rail and slowly ran his hand up the IV tube leading to Gus’ arm.
“You don’t have to call anyone,” he said. “I’m on your side.” Bren held her cell open, hesitating.
Gus cut his eyes to Ritko and squinted. “My side?” said Gus. “If you’re on my side, you’re on the losing team.”
“How you doing, Gus?” he said. “Looks like you got served a bullet special with a morphine chaser. You going to make it?”
“Why do you ask?” said Bren. “Does he know you?”
“Yeah,” said Gus. “You look like another fed. We’re collecting them down here.”
Rikto showed his FBI badge again, laid his card on Gus’ bed and pulled up a chair. Bren looked like she knew what he was going to say.
“Let me guess,” she said. “You are looking for Jimmy Gantt. Or is it Jolene Skunker? Or both?”
“I know Jimmy, knew Ab. We did business. I know where Jimmy is. Jolene? That’s a whole other animal. Same species, though.”
Gus smiled. “Come to finish me?” he slurred. “Is that why you’re here?”
“No. I came to watch out for you,” said Rikto. “Your father has friends. And he has enemies. We share both.”
Gus held his gaze on Ritko like he was trying to focus. “Pop doesn’t trust anybody. But he trusts you? Maybe the drugs have confused me.”
Ritko tapped the bed rail. “That may be,” he said. “But I’m not here to kill you.”
“You’re not FBI.” said Bren. “Agent James out there didn’t know you.”
“Not really,” said Ritko. “Different group. Similar agenda, less constraints. Truth is, there’s a lot Agent James doesn’t know.”
“Evasive answers,” said Gus. “Too sneaky for the FBI. They’re pretty straight up.”
“Is your name even Rikto?” asked Bren. She kept her thumb perched above the buttons of her cell.
“It doesn’t matter. Right now, I’m the best insurance Gus has,” he said. “Asking you to trust me seems shady, I know, but you’ll have to.”
Agent James walked back into the room slowly. The nurse was behind him. “Looks like your time is up,” said the nurse.
Ritko tapped his watch in her direction. “Ten minutes,” he said. James took a deep breath and pointed a thumb at the door, silently.
“Both of you out of here.” She looked at Bren, “Not you, hon, these two.” She motioned at Ritko and James. “Adios. Get the hell gone.”
Ritko followed James out. “If you will excuse me, I’ll be back for my other five minutes later.” The nurse treated them like a bad smell.
Once they were in the hallway, Ritko held out his hand. “Agent James, let’s you and I talk in private.” Agent James did not shake his hand.
“That’s exactly what I had in mind. Let me see your ID first,” said James, adjusting his shoulder holster for effect.
“The nurse checked it.” Rikto showed it again. “Call it in if you like.” Ritko adjusted his holster as well. “Looks like we both have guns.”
James tuned his back and called it in. As he listened, the muscles in his face sagged. He turned and arched an eye at Ritko.
His cell clicked shut. “Alright. What the hell is going on here?” said James. “You drove in from Atlanta, but you’re not with us.”
“Yes. Got in this morning,” said Ritko. “I’m a private contractor, big clients – the biggest: Uncle Sam. Maybe you’ve heard of him.”
“We do need to go have that talk, smartass,” said James. “If you’re a contractor, you technically work for me.”
“Not exactly,” said Ritko.
