Chapter 15

While Marilyn drove us to the hospital, Sal regrouped and attacked. "You mean you've been talking to a ghost since you got shot, and you didn't trust me enough to say anything?"

"Sal," I replied. "What part of 'fear of a padded room' do I have to explain? I've seen this before. What would you have thought if someone had told you they were talking to Pinkie?"

"I would have trusted..."

"Sal, just think for a minute and be honest."

"Okay, I would have thought it was the result of you losing all that blood. You still could have tried to tell me. You didn't trust me enough to even try."

"That's not it at all. I didn't want to put you in a position of having to decide whether or not to have me committed. One of two things happens to people who talk to ghosts. They either write books or they get acquainted with the inside of a nut-house, and I can't write worth a shit."

Pinkie spoke to me then, "JD can Marilyn translate for me..." suddenly his voice came through the rig's sound system. " ... so that Sal can hear me directly?"

"Sounds to me like that's a happening thing, Pinkie."

"Good. Sal, don't hold it against the boy. You don't know him well enough not to have doubts about his sanity if he had told you. We actually talked about telling you eventually, but we wanted to wait for a better time and way to tell you. We're almost at the hospital now, and you have to get your mind back on the job at hand. We can go over this later. Is that acceptable?"

Sal sighed. "I guess it'll have to be. I want control of the vehicle now." There was a slight jog as Sal took back control of the SHIT. "I guess we can't call our rig the SHIT any more. Marilyn is as good a name as any."

Marilyn replied, "Thank you Deputy Jackson."

"Since we're not calling you Artificial Intelligence Marilyn, maybe you should call us Sal and JD. Oh yeah, don't forget Pinkie is Pinkie."

"Thank you Sal. It is kind of you to allow this familiarity."

We didn't have any more time to go over our situation before we parked in the road outside the main entrance. People were running from the building in panic. This didn't look like good things were happening on the local medical scene.

I rushed through the door with Sal behind me. One of the SCI guards, a tall Middle Eastern looking gentleman, was standing with an M4 pointed at the Forester Brothers while Katrina Bailey knelt beside a woman dressed in medical scrubs. I remembered her as the bantam weight charge nurse from my stay in the hospital. In front of them, Herman and Willard Forester faced off the guard with knives in their hands.

Herman shouted, "I want my wife! You can't keep her locked up here. I'll sue you all for false arrest!"

I asked, "Doc, what's going on here?"

Katrina looked up from the woman on the floor. "Margery came to the front to explain to Mr. Forester that his wife was still under protective care and could not be released without Sheriff Office permission. Apparently Mr. Foster didn't like what he heard. He certainly couldn't have objected to her sweet, caring attitude and mannerisms. Anyway, he almost broke her jaw when he hit her with his fist. When I came out of the back and saw him standing over her, I called for help. Mr. Forester then pulled his knife. That's when you came in."

Sal stepped to my left and looked the situation over. "Herman, you and Willard are the only people I know stupid enough to bring knives to a gun fight. Get rid of those damn things before you hurt yourselves. What in the hell do you think you're doing? Just drop those weapons and step away from them."

Herman turned towards Sal and while still shouting replied, "Let my wife go. She didn't do nothing wrong!"

"Herman, you need to calm down and take a deep breath. No harm will come to Rachel while she's here, and she's not under arrest. You, however, are under arrest for assaulting Margery. Drop the knife and step back ... God Damn it, do it NOW! Keep your mouth shut while JD reads you your rights. Deputy Barton, you're on."

Before I could move to secure Herman's knife and start reciting the 'You have the right' song and dance as required by the Supreme Court, Herman decided he didn't like Sal's attitude, he rushed Sal with his knife. Without thinking, I stepped in front of Sal, grabbed his knife hand with my left, pulled him into an elbow lock, took him down, introduced his face to the terrazzo flooring, and kicked his knife toward Sal for her to secure.

Just for a second I flashed back to one of my academy instructors back in Texas. "Boy, y'all gotta practice the moves until the muscles remember it all by themselves. When the moment arrives, and you have to stop and think 'bout what to do, someone, most likely you, is gonna die. Y'all ain't got the time to waste on thinking. That's the jury's job."

As I knelt on Herman's neck cuffing him, I heard a deep southern drawl behind me. "Boy, that's not a good idea! Kick the knife away and back off." I turned to see Willard wide eyed and shaking in fear while gasping for breath after taking the butt end of an M4 in his gut. His knife was on the floor at his feet. Apparently Willard moved to follow Herman's attack, or hell, he could have just twitched funny. Anyway, the guard covered the ten feet between them faster than anyone I'd ever seen and without making a sound whacked him a good one. Willard dropped the knife and started focusing on breathing.

Sal shook her head and looked at Willard in disgust. "Willard, I don't know which one of you is dumber. You're just lucky he didn't just cap your ass!"

The guard just grinned and said, "Couldn't rightly do that ma'am. He's standing in front of one of the Emergency Room oxygen tanks. That could have been a little more excitement than they need around here."

After we put Herman and Willard into adjourning cells at the local hoosegow, we left the Sheriff's Office and headed back to the hospital to try again to talk to Rachel. Sal let me drive Marilyn for some reason.

"Did you see who they made their phone call to?" I asked.

Sal replied, "Wasn't paying any attention."

"They called Robert Pinkston. I didn't think they ran in the same circles."

Sal rubbed her chin. "Neither did I. This adds a whole new light on our little visit to Las Vegas. I'm thinking we may need to stop in at one of the local watering holes and have ourselves a nice little chat with the owner. Marilyn, do you have a map buried in your innards for JD to navigate by?"

"Yes, Sal, I have a complete world wide GPS database. I can find almost any place in the world. Let me guess. You want me to go to the Goose Bar, correct?"

"Yes I do."

I interrupted the conversation. "Wait, wait, let me say it!" In my best Patrick Stewart imitation I commanded, "Make it so, Number One!"

Marilyn answered in a perfect imitation of Jonathan Frakes. "Aye, aye Captain."

The Goose Bar is definitely on the wrong side of the tracks in the seedy section of town. When we arrived, we saw that the building was even less impressive than the neighborhood it was in. Several individuals with obvious gang wannabe colors were hanging around the entrance to the club.

The thing about the SHIT's pink active armor was nothing would stick to it, so we had no police or sheriff identification on the outside of the rig. One bald headed specimen approached us when we pulled to a parking place next to the front door.

Before I got out, Marilyn warned me, "Every one of these people has a weapon of some type."

"Thank you Marilyn, I'll be careful."

As I opened the door, the gang ... or should I say wannabe ... gangbanger, saw my badge, stopped, did an about-face and shouted, "Pigs!"

The assorted good for nothings looked like someone had turned a bright light on a nest of cock roaches. By the time Sal had followed me out and exited the rig on the passenger side, the place was abandoned.

Sal asked, "Marilyn, anyone hiding in a position to cause harm?"

"No Sal, but I recommend you look in my map compartment. There are two devices that resemble expensive hearing aids. They are personal communicators that allow you to keep in touch with me or, through me, with each other.

"Through them, I can warn you of danger, or you can call for backup, request wants and warrant information on a suspect, medical response or whatever else you may need."

Sal pulled the communicators from the glove box and handed me one. I put it in my ear and said, "Does this work?"

A disgruntled AI replied in my ear, "Of course they work, JD. You don't think I would give you faulty equipment do you?"

"Okay, okay, don't be so touchy. With that attitude, no wonder your creator called you a COSMO girl."

Sal interrupted, "JD, now is not the time to get into an argument with our partner. We may have tripped over a fire-ant hill here. No one had any idea anything other than gays and some liberated locals used this place. This reminds me of gangs in Watts."

The dark blue adobe covering the walls was in desperate need of repair, but was mostly hidden by a huge sign of a blue goose squatting on a pile of golden eggs. Unlit neon lights outlined the image and provided highlights of the art (?) work. Above the goose was another neon sign, this one was lit up and proudly proclaimed, "The Goose Bar and Grill."

"Well," I commented, "I don't think Marilyn got us lost."

There was he sound of a huff and then Marilyn said, "I resent the implication of that statement. I do not get lost."

Sal tried to be a peace maker. "Now, Marilyn, I believe this is one of those times when JD is trying to be cleaver and witty." She then slowly turned to me and continued in a slow menacing voice, "Aren't you dear?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you." I guess there is something I'm missing here. How does a computer cop an attitude? Until I figure that one out, I'll just go along to get along. Sal was right. There was something around here that could get someone hurt if they didn't focus.