Page 4 of Towles

“Uncuff him,” Manning said. Manning stayed beside the bed because moving away showed weakness. Being new and all, he needed to work on respect from his deputies.

The deputy, a scrawny recruit, stepped forward. I recognized him. He was twenty-one, with two kids and a wife who worked at the biker bar on the town’s edge.

“It’s okay, Barney. I won’t hurt you,” I told the deputy and winked. He didn’t get the Barney joke.

The deputy licked his dry lips and ran his fingers through his hair. He nodded at Manning.

“Quit being a pussy,” Manning said. He grabbed his own set of keys and released the cuffs. “Towles, I will shoot you if you fuck this up, and I won’t allow the hospital to save your ass.” He reached into his breast pocket and handed over a business card. “April Summers.”

“You’re sending me to a shrink? Fuck that.” I tossed the card on the hospital bed, and Manning retrieved it. He stuck the card in my vest pocket. “I like you, Towles. Unlike those other assholes, I think you can be rehabbed. You came from a good family with an education and can do something with it. Why’d you come out here and fuck it all up?”

“I don’t need your fucking compliments or fatherly advice, Manning.” I considered punching Barney. “Put me in a cell with Beast and Diesel.”

“I’m not going to do that, Towles. Because that’s what you want to happen.” Manning nodded at the door. “Summers works part-time. She specializes in anger management.” He opened the door, and we stepped into the hallway. “Your first appointment is tomorrow at two. If you don’t show up, I’ll charge you with so many things that you’ll need a team of lawyers to set you free. I don’t care if the hospital doesn’t want to press charges.”

“There’s not a fucking thing wrong with me,” I said. It wasn’t true. I had shit that couldn’t be fixed. I didn’t give a damn who Manning sent me to.

Manning pointed down the hall. “Take the elevator to the basement. The morgue is down the hall on the right. I need verification, Towles. Don’t tear anything up.” He grabbed my arm. “I am sorry about your parents. I’ll do everything I can to bring in the two assholes who did it.”

“I suggest you find them before I do, Manning.”

The deputies passed by, looking relieved. Manning stood there as if waiting for a thank-you. None came. I walked away toward the elevator with the intent of killing every member of the club involved in my parents' death. It’s what we did, how we rectified fucked up situations.

I’d seen dead people plenty of times. The body count due to my actions was four or five, though I never killed a man without a reason. Seeing my dead parents was going to be a different story. Mom reassured me long ago that her love would guide me long after she left this place. She was still by my side, even if I couldn’t see her. Dad hated the club life. He expected his Stanford-educated son to sit in an office in Manhattan, New York, excelling in a white-collar job. Fuck, I didn’t want that kind of life. I was raised to work in an office but was born to be free.

I stepped onto the elevator, and a young nurse joined me. I noticed her looking at the ink on my arm. “It’s Celtic,” I said. “Means strength.”

The nurse turned away and raised her shirt. A skull and two old-style pistols took up space on her lower back.

“Got it on a trip to Sturgis last year.” She smiled and hit the elevator stop button. She lowered her scrubs, and just above her panty-covered pussy, she pointed at the two snakes. “Rally in Galveston two years ago.”

“Impressive ink.” I'd be a rich man if I had a dollar for every time a woman bragged about her ink. She kept her pants down, waiting to see what I would do. “You somebody’s old lady?”

“Not anymore. He told me it was the job or him. I have a kid to raise.”

“Not a fair choice,” I said. “He fucked up.”

“Hitting me didn’t help matters.” She pulled up her scrubs to hide the ink but couldn’t hide the hurt in her eyes.

“It’s fucked up how many men find the right woman and then don’t know how to keep them.” I pushed the button, and the elevator descended. “You have a name, or do people just call you nurse?”

“Sarah with an h.”

“Well, Sarah, with an h, I’d really like to take this further, but I have dead parents to speak with.” The elevator door opened, and I left Sarah behind. She never got off. The door closed, and she was gone. Probably a good thing for her.

I found the morgue entrance and stopped. I had no idea how to proceed. They weren’t dead because of something they did. They were dead because of my association with a biker club. They’d been used to send a message. They were dead because of me. Because I never listened to Dad. It should have been me on the table, not them. The morgue wouldn’t be big enough for the carnage coming its way.

The door opened, and a man in a white coat walked out. He said nothing, though his scowl said a lot. A woman in a white coat sat at a desk across from the two covered bodies on tables in the middle of the room. The woman ate an apple. I did some fucked up things, but eating with two bodies only a few feet away? Fucked up. She looked up and froze.

“You’re safe,” I said. “Sheriff Manning asked that I come down and ID my parents?”

Her eyes narrowed as if a question hung on the tip of her tongue. She tossed the apple in the trash and crossed the room. “Ethan Towles? You’re the guy who tore up the lobby.”

I ignored the lobby comment. “Towles.” I walked between the two tables. “Dr. Hurley,” I said, reading the embroidery on her coat.

Hurley nodded. “I have pictures of both your parents when they were brought in. There’s no need to pull back the sheets.”

I pulled back both sheets. I’ve never had a situation freeze me in place. My feet and knees were cinder blocks. Hurley said something. Something profound. I stared at the bullet hole in Mom’s head. It matched the bullet hole in Dad’s head. Motherfuckers would all die. None would make it to the morgue. The river was more likely.

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