Winner The Crystal Awards 2016, Best Multimedia Story (3d Place).
A spinster doctor rents her spare room to a brain-damaged patient who doesn't know he is a former undercover agent targeted for execution by a powerful criminal.
~o~ ~o~ ~o~
...
"You can put it on my tab, right? I mean, it's not like you don't know where I live!" Jean chuckled at his own joke and winked at Dive Shirt. "Oh, and here's my new cellphone number," Jean continued, quickly jotting a phone number on his scrap of doodling paper. He lifted it so that Iglesias could see that it was only a phone number, no messages or cries for help, nothing about being kidnapped or held hostage.
Iglesias nodded. Jean took his maps, bade a cheery goodbye to Dive Shirt, and the two customers left the shop together.
Dive Shirt watched them get into a rental car, with Jean driving. As soon as the car was out of sight of the shop windows, Dive Shirt picked up a phone and dialed the number Jean had written.
"Stone," a man's voice answered.
"Frank Stone?"
"How'd you get this number? Do I know you?" Stone looked at the police officers standing near him in the Barnacle Gallery, with a nod alerting them and Mitchell that the call was relevant to the crime they were investigating.
"I'm an old dive buddy of Duby's. He gave me your number just a minute ago. He said you're going to be his partner at the spearfishing rodeo this year?"
"That's not just a no, that's a hell no," said Stone. "If he said that, he's in real trouble. What else did he say?"
Dive Shirt repeated every word that had been spoken, to the best of his recollection, as well as describing the man who accompanied Jean and what Jean had purchased. "And he told me to put it on his tab. Then he gave me this number, said it was his new cellphone."
"Let me guess," Stone said. "He doesn't run a tab at your place."
"No."
"And from the charts, it sounds like he's headed for Cuba."
"Yep."
"Anything else he said that might be some kind of message?"
"Well, ... um, ... oh! He said something about how I know where he lives."
"Confirming he'll be using his own boat. That's good." Stone was scribbling notes in a pocket notebook while holding his cellphone between his ear and shoulder. "Okay. This is great. Thanks for the call. I'll get right on it." He disconnected the call.
Stone looked up from his notebook into the faces of Mitchell and several police officers, all of them with questions in their eyes. "An international fugitive named Iturralde Iglesias is holding Duby. Sounds like he's forcing Duby to take him to Cuba on Duby's boat, since he'd be intercepted if he tried to leave the country any other way. Duby's dragging his feet as much as he can, giving us time to get to the marina ahead of them, but we've got to be quick."
"We'll call it in and have a team staging inside the seafood restaurant at Dinner Key in fifteen minutes," one of the officers said, and all the uniformed officers headed for the gallery door.
"What can I do?" Mitchell asked.
"Go home and stay safe. I'll call you when it's over," said Stone.
"Not gonna happen," she said.
"Look, Doctor, if this thing goes south—"
"You mean, if that man kills Jean."
"I mean that anything could happen, and you wouldn't want to be there to see it, if it's bad."
"Mister Stone, I've been a surgeon for several years now, and I've worked hundreds of night shifts in a trauma center emergency room. If it's bad, I've already seen it, believe me."
Stone looked at her without emotion. Finally, he stepped around her toward the gallery door saying, "I don't have time to argue. I told you what to do, now I need to meet that team at Dinner Key to get briefed on the plan." And he was out the door and into his car before Mitchell had taken two steps.
When she reached the sidewalk and saw Stone's old sedan make a U turn and speed away, she spun and raced toward where she had parked her car. He thinks they've got a plan? More cops, more guns, more drama—that's their plan!
She was about to open her car door when she looked up at the boutique across the street, and she froze for a second. I'll show you a plan, Mister Stone! She sprinted toward the shop with the designer swimsuits in the window.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Duby's errands continued, and everywhere they went, Iglesias stood a few feet away with a pistol in his pocket, ready to fire.
They stopped at the Whole Foods grocery to stock up on galley necessities, because Jean said they could meet with bad weather or contrary winds that would force them to stay on the boat one or two nights longer than they anticipated.
They stopped for bags of ice.
They stopped for bottled water.
They stopped at the ATM, because Jean needed cash to pay for fuel.
"Fuel!" Iglesias shouted across the front seat of the car at Jean. "What the devil does a sailboat need with fuel? Don't mess with me, Painter!" He spat the word "painter" and waggled his gun, out of sight, below dashboard level.
"If you kill me, who will sail the boat for you, monsieur?"
"You can still sail it for me if you're only bleeding a little. Don't tempt me."
"Even sailboats have engines, monsieur. If the wind stops or we need to maneuver in a tight place, you will be glad to have an engine with fuel in it."
"Okay. But, that is all. No more stops. Drive straight to the marina from here. No detours, no more stalling."
~o~ ~o~ ~o~ ~o~ ~o~
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
So, Duby has no choice but to take Iglesias to his boat. Are Stone and the policemen already in place to intercept them? What sort of plan is Mitchell hatching to deal with all those guns and all that testosterone?
Watch for Chapter 27, "Intervention," part 1, coming Monday in DUBY'S DOCTOR.
Thank you for your reads, votes, and comments. There are only three episodes remaining in DUBY'S DOCTOR, so don't miss even one!
