Hinky (18)

Yates knew more about what he didn't want than about what he did want. For that reason, he opted for the bus stop on the shady side of the street not caring which bus would come along to collect him. At least he was out of the sun. No one had followed him out of the hospital so he assumed he would have several hours before I.A.D. would be alerted. The bus that finally arrived took him in the direction of West Los Angeles.

Yates realized he was getting curious stares from the other bus riders. Just you try taking a shotgun blast to the chest and face and see how good you look, he thought to tell them. Instead, he asked, "Anyone got some extra meds they can spare?" That ended any interest they may have had in Yates.

The thousand dollars had been a surprise. How the cash had come to be in his pants pocket was a mystery to Yates, but one he did not lose time stewing over. Five minutes after making the discovery, he was out the door never to return. Hopefully. The droning and the rhythmic bouncing of the bus lulled Yates into what he thought was a light sleep. Therefore, he was surprised to open his eyes to discover that the bus had come to a halt and the bus driver bending over him.

"Hey, mister, you're buddy's here to get you," the driver said shaking Yates shoulder causing him incredible pain.

"What buddy?" Yates asked while failing in his attempt to brush away the driver's grasp.

"This here one!" came the response from behind the driver. A face peered around offering an exuberant smile.

It was Clive.

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Copyright 2009 Stephen Mitchell

Hinky (17)

"Are you wearing a wire?" Yates knew they'd send in somebody to see if he would talk. He hadn't thought it would be his ex-wife.

"When did you get a sense of humor?," she replied. "The last thing a blackmailer wants is for the blackmailee to be sent up the river."

"At least you were always honest." Yates could actually talk now without inducing painful spasms.

"God, is that what you think?"

"What exactly are you doing here?" Yates was losing patience. He had a limited tolerance for her at the best of times.

"A payment's coming due and I want to know how you're going to handle it."

"Don't know that I can. Might be awhile before I get out of here."

"Swear to God, Yates, if I don't get what's coming to me the pain you're feeling now won't begin to compare to what I inflict on you."

"You been reading the Bible?" She used to be a devout church-goer before she turned to sex and money.

"As a matter of fact, I have. Got a problem with that?"

"Not me," he told her.

"I got to the hotel room before he did and there was nothing else to read."

"Whatever gets you hot," Yates muttered.

"I want my money. You'd better give it to me."

"I'm guessing we're all gonna get what's coming to us, so why not you?"

On that note, she left without saying goodbye.

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Copyright 2009 Stephen Mitchell

Hinky (16)

If cops are easy to spot, that special breed of individual who matriculates into I.A.D. is even easier to recognize. That was Yates' opinion and it was confirmed, yet again, when he opened his eyes to see two guys in cheap sport coats standing at the foot of his hospital bed.

"Sacco and Vanzetti, I presume?" His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper.

"You know who we are," said the one on the left with a buzz cut and an American flag lapel pin.

"Got a name?" Yates asked reaching for a water glass, which required a great deal of effort and caused him a considerable amount of pain. The I.A.D. cops made no effort to help.

"Didn't Horvath brief you?" asked the other one. He was older but seemed to defer to the younger military specimen.

"Haven't spoken to him," Yates answered while making sucking noises through his straw.

..

"You mean since he went to your apartment?"

"It all seems so long ago," Yates said distractedly as he tried to replace the water glass on the roll-away tray table. He couldn't quite manage it and the glass fell to the floor smashing into pieces. The two cops took no notice.

"I'm Michaels" said buzz cut. "He's Marlowe."

"My condolences to the both of you."

"They said you got a mouth," said Michaels. Marlowe nodded in confirmation.

"Who's they?" Yates wanted to know.

..

"We're not here to answer your questions," Michaels said with a smirk.

"And I'm not here to answer yours." Yates felt as though he might lose consciousness but tried to focus.

"Buddy, you don't have a choice," Marlowe chimed in. "Either you got answers or you got more trouble than you know."

"Oh, he knows. He's known for a long time, haven't you, Sergeant Yates?"
..
"If you think Horvath is something, you don't really need me. Right, fellas?" Yates could feel himself slipping away into unconsciousness or death or whatever comes next. He fought to hold on.
..
He saw the two cops exchange glances, obviously caught off guard. Michaels started to say something but all Yates could hear was Ray Charles singing "Georgia on my Mind".

..

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Copyright 2009 Stephen Mitchell

Hinky (15)

Yates kept pondering the question as though everything depended upon his conclusion. He continued to turn the possibilities over in his mind, reluctant to make a decision that might adversely affect his existence. It really came down to two choices and, usually, by the time all other possibilities had been eliminated it was no great task to pick heads or tails. In the Marines, he had been accustomed to making split-second decisions that resulted in loss of life for somebody--hopefully for the enemy and not his comrades. That had never been a problem. This time was different. He simply could not ascertain whether Ray Charles was singing about a woman or the state. It was driving Yates crazy and with each passing moment, he felt the pressure to answer the question mounting. He dreaded the untold consequences of a wrong answer. Could he really have been singing about a woman when a state by the same name was surely of greater import?

As if in response to this torment, Yates' abdomen began to spasm sending shock waves of pain throughout his upper body and rendering him unconscious.

..

More to follow...

(c)2009 Stephen Mitchell