Chapter Four
City Lady Country Killer
The rig didn’t fit into the hospital drive through, so I had to drag Rita out of the cab, through the rushing creek of a street, and up onto the concrete sidewalk.
The automatic doors opened.
I pulled Rita through and laid her on the floor mat. The woman at the desk stood up and yelled. I was back into the dark rain.
I got in the truck as a scream came from the hospital. The semi rumbled as it left.
“Why are you helping me, Dennis?”
“Can’t a man be good?”
“Not like this.”
“Balance.”
“Balance?”
“I’ve done bad things. I’ve hit a lot of things on the highway. At first birds and bugs. Then squirrels and rabbits and foxes and things like that. It was unpleasant. Then you grow numb to it. I started to dream of hitting people, of feeling the truck bounce. I hit deer when I could. I hit a bear in Alberta. One night, in Minnesota, I hit a man. He was walking on the interstate at four in the morning. Jumped out from the trees. Couldn’t stop in time. Then I couldn’t stop finding people to nail. I- I went crazy for a while. I can still feel the need in my hands, in my legs and in my head. Your brain swirls in a certain way, when you hit something like that. I guess I figured if I helped you and the girl it would… offset that.”
He looked up at the iron cross. His knuckles were white on the large wheel.
“I hope it does,”
The Mack hissed when it stopped on a tight city street, in front of a dripping gothic façade.
Dennis held out a wrinkled piece of cardstock . “Call me and I’ll let you when I’m around, for the bill.” He stroked his mustache.
I left the cab and walked to the door. An old black man with white gloves stood inside. He pulled the door open a crack as I approached. His name tag said Perry.
“Delivery?” he asked.
“No. Guest of Rita York.”
“The Yorks are not expecting.”
“Call up. Rita’s gunna go nuts if I don’t show.”
Perry told me to wait. He whispered to the lady behind the desk. She picked up the phone.
“A guest for Rita York,” she said. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Steelson.”
She repeated it, then nodded to the doorman. Perry apologized and led me to the elevators.
“Thirty-two,” the man in the elevator said. He could have been the doorman’s twin. He grinned. His tag read Reggie.
“How long you work here for, Reggie?” I asked.
He pressed the button.
“Thirty years. Steady work.”
“So, you know York?”
“I know everyone in the building. The Yorks? Sure. They make themselves known.”
“What are they like, the Mr. and Mrs.?”
“I don’t like to talk bad about folks,” Reggie said. We were passing from floor six to seven.
“I know how they act at the club. I’m just wondering if it’s the same out of sight.”
“What the yelling and the screaming? Sure. I’ve seen her hit him more times than I care to recall.”
“Is the Mr. up to anything?”
“How do you mean? He’s always got business.”
“Does he have frequent female guests?”
“I can’t rightly answer that,” Reggie said. “But what I can say is that they deserve each other.”
The doors opened, and I put a ten in Reggie’s hand.
There were only two doors on the floor, 3201, and 3202. I knocked on 02 and stepped back. The lock turned.