An Eye For Danger (book 1)

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

George finished counseling a couple with a screaming baby as I paced the aisle. “Come on, come on,” I muttered, not bothering to straighten my hair or brush the street grime from my torn jacket. I looked exactly the way I felt: scraped off the pavement.

The child’s father heard me and crossed his arms. I shrank. The baby was in so much pain, wailing and crying. When the couple turned to exit, George glared molten fire over his glasses. I bowed my head.

“I need to speak to your wife.” I shifted heel to toe. “I can’t reach her at the hospital, and nobody will give me her cell number.”

“She’s busy. With real patients, who have real appointments. Explain the problem to me.”

“Woman stuff. I’d rather ask her.” Breathe, Jules, or you’ll blow it.

He angled his head for a better look at my coat. “I’ve known you since you were ten years old. And I’ve only seen you this riled twice: after your parent’s accident, and then after Luke’s.”

I winced at the reminders. “It’s my friend. I can’t get his fever down.”

“Name.” George crossed his arms. “I know everyone in this neighborhood, young lady.”

“He’s new here. He’s embarrassed because he got mugged.”

“Then you need to take him to the hospital.”

“My truck’s dead.” I bit my lip. The Land Cruiser sat in a garage a block from my house, but I’d not driven it since the accident.

“Then call a cab,” said George. “Or an ambulance.”

Raul’s cab idled in the side alley, its rear to the road to hide the blown-out windshield. If Sam was right, an ambulance could be a ride to the coroner’s table. But I couldn’t tell George the situation without endangering his life as well. “He won’t go,” I said. “No health insurance.”

“Money or not, he’s in trouble if that fever’s caused from a beating. Could be something ruptured. Like an organ.”

Glancing to the shelves of bottles, I said, “Don’t you have something he can take?”

“Absolutely not. He needs to be examined. By a doctor. Not a pharmacist, or a photographer.” George leaned over the counter, his caterpillar eyebrows shifting. “This got anything to do with that prescription you filled, or that detective asking questions about you?”

I gulped, thumbing the recording device in my pocket. I didn’t have time to explain the scratches on my face and hands or Stone’s inquiries or Sam’s injuries or the failed drop or Petosa’s murder. George would read the headlines soon enough.

Hands splayed, I said, “Please, George, please trust me.”