Chapter 24: Various Interviews in a Hospital Room

Tabitha started swimming toward consciousness around five-thirty. It was slow going, at first because of the sedative, and after because her mind shrank away from the wall of agony that being fully awake brought with it. Dumbjohn had kept her clothing; he'd tied her wrists behind her with a plastic cable tie, but left her legs unfettered. Also present was her wooden brassiere -- her breasts were still nailed to the plywood and her nipples were still pierced and stretched by the rubber bands. Between the dull agony of the nails and the sharper pain of the stressed piercings, Tabitha would have welcomed a double mastectomy. The alleyway road surface was cold; it was in the mid-fifties, which is just a bit too cool to be good for someone stretched out naked on the ground. This added exposure to blood loss from various wounds and debilitating pain. On top of everything else, the nail tips had bored shallow flesh-wounds in her ribs...

Any movement made things worse. The loss of the use of her hands made attempting to sit up an agonizing, iffy process. The gag was gone, but pain robbed her of any ability to project her voice. It was six forty-five before anyone heard her plaintive cries for help; then came the obligatory interminable delay for the police and the paramedics...

The team in the ER had frankly never seen anything like it. The initial plan was to cut off the nail heads, but the roofing washers protected them too well. Besides, any grinding or sawing transmitted itself to Tabitha. The paramedics had removed the rubber bands, which brought things down quite a bit as far as the pain went, but Tabitha was still shocky. Finally, they used a two by four and a couple of C-clamps to press the tips of the nails back to something resembling flush with the plywood, and pulled them with a claw hammer as Dumbjohn had. They bandaged various wounds, gave her a tetanus shot, and moved her up to the ward. Tabitha raised a ruckus over the needles, declaiming, "The fuckin' things are pierced -- might as well leave 'em that way. Git me somethin' to stick in the holes before you pull the goddamn needles out!" The nurse shrugged, irrigated the piercings, and left the needles in place.

After that came a short, useless interview with a police detective. Both of them knew who was behind the attack, but both of them ALSO knew that there was no way they'd be able to pin it on him -- and Tabitha said as much, "Even if we get the bastard did this, we won't pin it on the asshole who ordered it. This muthafuckah was good, too -- you ain't catchin' HIM, either!" The cop nodded and shrugged, took her statement, and left.

Nate got the word at school; when he left home that morning, he was unconcerned, since his Mama had been known to stay out for days when she felt like it. So when Principal Hollenbeck's voice over the intercom interrupted Industrial Arts class with, "Please send Nate Adams to my office," Nate looked up, frowned, and muttered, "I ain't done nothin'..." Coach Johnson scribbled him a hall pass and nodded toward the door; for him, the jury was still out over whether Nate had done anything or not.

This wasn't Nate's first visit with the Principal by any means, but the secretary was missing her usual look of irritation when she noted his presence. She buzzed the Principal on the intercom, "Nate Adams is here."

"Send him in."

'What? No stewin' in the hall first?' Nate wondered, as he strode to the door. He opened it and Mr. Hollenbeck, on the phone, waved him into a seat. Nate settled warily.

In a moment, Mr. Hollenbeck pinched of the call and looked up. "Son, I have bad news."

"I ain't done nothing."

"Anything."

"I ain't done anything."

Hollenbeck rolled his eyes. "That's not at issue, here." He sighed. "I called you in because the police called me, looking for you; your mother was attacked last night."

"Shit." Nate studied the floor. So, it had finally gone down. Mama'd been lucky for quite a while... "She dead?"

"No, but she's hospitalized. She was rather thoroughly raped, and pretty fiendishly tortured, I'm told. The police said that she's going to recover, but she had exposure, some wounds, blood loss... You should go on up to the hospital and see her. I told them that you were here as usual, and their interest in you as a suspect dropped off." Hollenbeck eyed Nate. "I take it that she didn't come home last night."

Nate shrugged. "Night before, either. She runs with a rough bunch. Lotsa times, I see her when I see her."

"I see." Hollenbeck sighed. Having had to chase her on occasion when Nate was in trouble for something, he was aware that she 'worked nights', and had a pretty good idea what Ms. Adams did for a living... "I'm going to excuse you so that you can go to the hospital. Call me if you need to be out tomorrow."

"Uh, thank you, Sir." Nate got up and handled Hollenbeck his hall pass to receive the proper signoffs.

"Good luck, Son."

"Uh, thanks." Neither of the pair was used to dealing with the other amicably, so both were oddly uncomfortable at the parting. As the door closed, Hollenbeck picked up the phone to call the police detective, wondering if relating the contents of the interview with him was entrapment. Apparently, it wasn't in Nate's case; while the boy seemed unsurprised that his mother might be attacked in general, it was also pretty clear that he hadn't expected anything last night in particular...

Nate went back to IA and gathered up his things. Coach eyed him warily, so he displayed the Principal's note. "Goin' home. Family problem." He cleared out and went to his locker, dumping his stuff and collecting his coat. Second period was about over, anyway, so he headed over to the English Department to catch Nora as she popped out of class. His timing was just about perfect; the bell rang as he arrived at the door.

Nora sensed trouble as soon as she looked at him. "Honey, what's up?"

"Gotta go to the hospital. Somebody beat the shit out of Mama." Nate looked seriously off his feed. Things were settling in. The shock was over and he was off automatic, actually thinking about it.

"Want me to go, too?"

"Nah. This was always somethin' that could happen. It just never has, before. I'll go get a look and call you."

"Okay. If you need anything, let me know. Maybe I can come up at lunch." Nora was worried for Nate; he was starting to look kind of pasty grey.

"Okay. I'll call you when I know more." Nora bussed him on the cheek and he returned it, then turned away, distracted.

Nora watched him go, troubled, then got a move on, headed for her next class. At her locker, it suddenly occurred to her that this might be related to the attack on her mother, so Nora snatched her phone out of her purse and called the newest number programmed into it.

"Wilson."

"Daddy?"

"Nora?"

"Daddy, somebody beat up Nate's mother last night. She's in the hospital. You don't think..."

Armand blinked. The obvious answer was 'No', but he couldn't afford to BE that obvious. Besides, this was going to be an issue with Nora and her boyfriend. "I doubt it -- Nate's mother is in a somewhat dangerous profession, so it is probably unrelated. But I'll have an investigation started."

"Thanks, Daddy."

"Thank YOU, Daughter. Good thinking." Armand hung up. It gave him an odd glow that she should come to him for support... "Get me Witherspoon," he directed his secretary, Charlene.

It took forty-five minutes for Nate to get to the hospital and run down his mother's room. He blew off the gift shop, figuring seeing her sooner was better than coming later with something stupid in his hands. Women were weird, but maybe not THAT weird... "Mama?"

"Nate?" Tabitha sat up. " 'Bout time..."

"I was in school..." She didn't LOOK that bad... "You okay? I figured..."

"Most of it don't show," his mother replied. "He fucked up my ass and my pussy on the insides, and he did this..." She flipped down the covers to expose her bandaged breasts.

Nate looked -- and couldn't see much. They were all bandaged... "What'd he do?"

"Nailed 'em to a board," his mother replied flatly. "An' he pierced the nipples, too. Oh, an' this..." She stuck out her tongue. "Forgot to mention that to the docs."

"Shit!" Nate shook his head. "Who was it?"

"Dunno," Tabitha grunted. "Professional. This guy's fucked up women before."

There was a tap on the door. "Can I listen in?" There was a muscular white guy, forty or so, with a mustache, there.

"You a cop?" Tabitha asked suspiciously.

"Nope, P I. But looks to me like you were on the right side of the law for this one..."

"I cain't hire no private investigators. Run along..."

"I work for Armand Wilson."

That got the man two amazed looks. "Say what?" Tabitha blurted.

"Mr. Wilson keeps the firm I work for on retainer. Given the relationship between your son and his daughter, he would like us to see if we can't discover who did this and get you a little payback, if not 'justice'." The man put quote marks around the term with his fingers. "There is the possibility that this was meant as an attack on him, as his ex-wife was also attacked yesterday -- but even if the attacks are unrelated we're prepared to bring resources to bear to discover the perpetrators that aren't too closely fettered by the law..."

Tabitha shook her head. "I will be dipped in shit..."

Nate scratched his head. "Yeah, I see that." Turning to his mother, he amplified, "Three guys pretending to be plumbers showed up at Nora's Mama's place and stuck dicks in her about everywhere. They moved back in with her Daddy last night."

"They fuck her up?" Tabitha asked.

"Nope, jus' fucked her. Three at a time was kinda new, though."

Tabitha cackled, winced, and turned to the investigator. "So, what do I call ya?"

"Paul. Paul Matheson." The PI came forward and extended a hand.

Tabitha took it, but she watched his eyes. "Okay, what d'ya wanta hear?"

"Everything." Matheson took out a tape recorder. "Whatever you told the cops, and whatever else is relevant. I don't care what you were doing, for instance. Well, I want to know, but I'm not going to be judgmental." He grinned.

Tabitha nodded warily. "Okay. You know what I do, right?"

Matheson was up-front. "Prostitute, right?"

"Yeh. I got a strip of sidewalk off the corner of Fourteenth and Womack. Mebbe nine o'clock, the john wheels around the corner. Nice car..."

"Make?"

"Ummmm, Beemer, I think. German. Anyway, I wave the merchandise and he pulls up an' rolls down the window, an' we start negotiating."

"What did he look like?"

"Average. Wasn't nothin' special 'bout him, anywhere. Nice suit. Thinning hair. Forty, maybe. Acted like he knew basically what the plan was, but he'd never actually done it, so I got ready to whip my higher price list on him. Then, no warning, he sucker-punches me." She shook her head. "When I woke up later, I had a needle mark; dunno how long I was out. This guy was a pro. He had everything laid out, everything planned. I was in some basement, somewhere -- I think."

"What could you see?"

"Dark room, cement walls, wood floor. Well, there was wood everywhere I could see. There was tile behind me -- a big, open shower, I guess. I never saw it, but he said sumpthin' 'bout tile an' a drain durin' the enema."

"Enema?" Nate echoed.

"Yeah. Lemme get through this in one pass, Boy, an' we can go back for loose shit after!" She leaned back. "Ummm. I was bent over a sawhorse, an' my arms an' legs was tied to it. Couldn't see behind me under the sawhorse 'cause there was a hunk of plywood tacked to it. He said sumpthin' 'bout my luck runnin' out -- like I didn't know THAT -- an' mumbled sumpthin' 'bout I shoulda had a pimp. I got feisty with him an' he slapped the shit outta me, 'bout a half-dozen times. While my head was spinnin', he stuck this dentist's gadget between my jaws, an' jacked 'em wide open." Tabitha paused. "Boy, would you get me some water outta that pitcher, there?" She nodded at the tray table against the wall.

"Sure." Nate collected a paper cup, poured, and handed it to his mother.

Tabitha thanked him with her eyes while she gulped down several swallows. As Nate took the cup to refill it, she continued her tale, "Anyway, I was fucked -- couldn't hardly talk. Bastard announced that he liked blowjobs from women wit' their tongues pierced. He got a hold of my tongue with some tongs and stuck a big fucking needle through it, then replaced it with this..." She stuck out her tongue. "Hurt like Hell, an' you could tell he was milkin' it for that. He squirted some shit in my mouth -- said it was Listerine, alcohol, an' salt -- an' got a big kick outta me yellin' at the pain."

"Big needle?" Matheson asked his first question since the start. "How big?"

"Say, this long?" Tabitha measured out about four and a half inches. Paul looked dubious, and Tabitha grunted. "Awright, you two help me wit' this wrap..."

Paul stepped forward, not knowing why, and Nate got the clips from the Ace bandage wrapped around Tabitha's saggy bust. The two of them took up positions on either side of the bed and handed the roll to each other for the six passes it took to get down to gauze padding. Tabitha lifted packing from her nipples, revealing the needles still piercing them. " 'Bout THAT long."

Nate's eyes bugged. Tabitha glared at him challengingly and said, "Since the bastard did 'em, I might as well keep 'em. Get me somethin' proper to replace these fuckin' things, willya? Damned ER docs wouldn't put in anything -- I had to piss an' moan to get 'em to leave these for now."

Matheson was non-plussed. "Sorry I disbelieved you. Some people's perceptions get distorted at times like this..."

" 'S'okay." Tabitha waved it off. "While we're here..." She peeled the surgical tape off the wound on the upper side of her left breast, grimacing. "He did THAT with a big fuckin' nail -- nailed 'em both to the plywood! Cops got pictures..." Nate was weaving a little. "Siddown, boy, before ya fall down. It's over, an' I guess I'm gonna make it. Let's get this shit put back together before a fuckin' nurse shows up..."

The rewrap wasn't as professional-looking as the original, but it did the job. Tabitha resumed, "Anyway, then he like to drowned me, rinsing my mouth wit' a garden hose. Fucker was enjoyin' hisself. Then he put a ring gag on me. You know what a ring gag is, don'tcha?" Matheson, somewhat embarrassed, nodded. "Well, this 'un was special. He had a buncha rings, an' he custom fitted it, like. Then he stuck a rubber stopper in it, an' he snapped this strap over that to keep me from pushin' it out wit' my tongue. Like THAT was gonna happen... Anyway, the thing also had a flat ring of thin rubber on it, bigger than my mouth. Sonofabitch pinched my nose, an' I couldn't breathe through the mess! Thought I was gonna die! Fucker waited til I wasn't hardly there before he let up..."

Tabitha nodded toward the water, and Nate handed her the cup. After a sip, she continued, "Then he went 'round back. Oh, he pulled the stopper out so he could listen to me makin' noise -- he said as much." She grunted. "Big joke was he was cleanin' me up -- that was his excuse for a bunch of shit... He sucked up some stuff in a big bulb, like an ear bulb -- soap, I think. I hope to fuck it was soap! And he shot it in my ass. THEN, he took this cone tip, screwed it on a garden hose, an' poured I don't fucking know HOW much cold goddamned water in my ass!" She shivered, remembering. "It was soooo cold... My stomach felt like it swelled up to where it was when I was eight months out with Nate..." She shivered again. "He pulled it out an' I probly shot shit forty feet -- but I was out of it. The cold..." She shook herself. "Oh, yeah. Bastard was makin' a video! He had a camera on my ass while he pumped that shit in, an' he pulled a TV over in front of me so I could watch!" She hung her head. "An' I couldn't look away..." She shook herself. "Cramps was awful. I fuckin' passed out watchin' shit squirt everywhere..." She shook her head. "I THINK he did me again, with warmer water, but I ain't sure. All I know is when I woke up when he threw some water in my face, an' I was warm again an' it felt like some time had gone by..."

Matheson was shaking his head. "Pretty wild..."

"Gets worse," Tabitha asserted. "Sumbitch shoved a bottle brush up my twat an' went to town with the fuckin' thing! I think he scraped all the lining outta my pussy! And THEN, the fucker took a turkey baster and shot alcohol up there! Jeezus fuckin' Christ! I passed out again, sometime in there, but came to pretty quick." She sipped from the cup. "Fucker decided I was clean, so he came around an' stuck his cock in my mouth through the gag, wantin' head. But I couldn't work -- God knows I didn't feel like screwing around with the muthafuckah! -- the goddamned ring gag and the tongue stud got in the fuckin' way. He got all pissed off, an' said I was fuckin' around on him; next thing I know, he's standin' there with a hammer and a bunch of big fuckin' nails..." She gathered herself, took a breath. "He nailed the left one, an' it hurt like fuck -- then he starts talkin' 'bout what'd happen if things didn't get better. I dunno how I did it, but I managed to get across the idea that I'd do better without the fuckin' gag. He pulled it an' mumbled sumpthin' 'bout next I'd want my hands, an' I got stupid an' agreed with him. He decided that if he nailed BOTH my tits down, an' put big fuckin' washers under the heads so I couldn't pull free, he could let go my arms. At that point, I was tryin' like Hell to back pedal, but..." She shook her head. "He did the right one, then he pulled the left one back OUT to put a washer on it. Felt AWFUL -- I puked my guts out! Goin' back in wasn't no picnic, neither..."

Matheson shook his head. This was the damnedest thing he'd ever heard, in twenty-plus years of detective work. "Jesus."

"Funny, he let up an' wandered off for a while, an' I managed to get sorta used to it. When he came back, he wanted that blowjob -- an' I made DAMNED sure he got what he wanted, I can tell you! He didn't shoot in me, tho -- kinda squeezed hisself off -- instead he went 'round back an' shot some more alcohol in my pussy, and started humpin' away. Felt like he was pushin' around ground glass in there, but he tol' me if I didn't get him off, he'd find sumpthin' else to do... I got humpin' -- I jus' couldn't take nuthin' else!" She sipped from the cup. "I got him off, so he came 'round and shoved it in my mouth to get it goin' again, which took some work, but I managed it. So he goes around to do my ass an' he picks up some lube -- but the muthafuckah was usin' Ben-Gay! Then he put on another rubber an' pounds away -- I fuckin' lost it, totally; it was jus' too fuckin' much!"

"Shit, I guess!" This recitation was frankly unbelievable -- except for the fact that Matheson was absolutely certain the woman wasn't lying!

Tabitha nodded. "When I woke up, he'd put that fuckin' gag in again, an' he re-tied my hands. Then he started talkin' 'bout makin' improvements on me, an' next thing I know, here he come with the fuckin' needle again! He did my left nipple, then he started fuckin' with me, enjoyin' it while he scared me with the fuckin' needle. Finally, he does the right, an' I kinda figure, okay, what's next, fer chrissakes? An' he takes a coupla rubber bands an' loops 'em over the needles, then stretches 'em under the board an' over the nail tips! It was fuckin' gawdawful -- I couldn't hardly handle it! I wasn't even payin' any attention when he shut off my nose again... I remember him sayin' sumpthin' 'bout it bein' time to say goodbye, now, but it didn't even register, then... Woke up in an alley, buck naked, with my hands tied behind my back an' my tits still nailed to the plywood an' the goddamned rubber bands still on... Somebody had to call the paramedics, 'cause I was all cold an' couldn't move..."

Nate was beyond words. Matheson shook his head. "Any idea who did this?"

Tabitha shook her head. "The guy wore a mask in the basement, so I don' even know if it was the same guy that clocked me -- but I think it was. He was fuckin' perfect -- there was nothin' 'bout him that stuck out, no warning I was in the shit. As for who ordered it, I'm pretty sure of that, but there ain't never gonna be no evidence."

"Yeah? Who?"

"Rodday," Tabitha grunted. "Rodney Pinkham. Pimp tryin' to sew up downtown. This got his mark all over it -- 'sides, he came by to fuck with me the other day..." She ruminated a moment. "Maybe I AM lucky -- somebody else mighta jus' fuckin' killed me or cut off a tit or sumpthin'."

"I'm going to get right on this," Matheson assured her. "I'll be getting back to you. Ummm, if you'd sign this form, I can get stuff from the cops..."

Tabitha eyed him suspiciously. "This ain't gonna cost me, is it? I don' know how I'm gonna pay for THIS place..."

"Mr. Wilson has already ordered this and agreed to pay. After hearing your tale, I'd have been tempted to look for this animal for free! Some things go beyond money..." He shook his head.

"You catch him, I wanna hold his fuckin' balls in my hand again..." She squeezed her fist together. She took the paper, glanced at it briefly, and inked her signature to it.

"What about Rodday? What if he ordered it?"

"Fucker's worse -- I'd rather do HIM than the guy he hired to do the work! But of course, the fucker is untouchable... An' if I can get my shit to workin' again, I'll probly end up workin' for the fuckin' bastard."

"Well, you never know," Matheson replied. "Any number of things could happen to Mr. Pinkham if we can tie the job to him. And some of them might not be strictly legal..."

"You do sumpthin' 'bout Rodday, an' I might have to move in wit' ya -- be the easiest way to give ya free pussy fer life..." Tabitha grinned, and Matheson chuckled.

"We'll see," he replied, and picked up Nate with his eyes. "I'll be in touch when I have something." Outside in the hall, he told Nate, "Your Mama's pretty fucking impressive. I'm going to pass this to Mr. Wilson, right away, and I have no doubt that there will be a team on this. This is absolute bullshit."

"Not to be a fuckin' asshole, but why would he care?" Nate asked. "It's just the kind of shit goes down downtown..."

Matheson's eyes twinkled. "Well, you're family, kind of, aren't you? Mr. Wilson doesn't take kindly to that kind of thing."

"Huh. Really?"

"Really." Matheson turned, then looked back. "I meant what I said about doing it for free, too. Some things just go too far."

Nate shrugged. "Mama was right -- some folk would've just killed her."

Matheson nodded. "True. In some ways that might have been better. Does your mother ever fuck for fun?"

"Dunno. We don't talk about it." Nate shrugged.

"After this, she probably won't. Even worse, she might not be able to in order to make a living, either. She's tough, but she could probably use a few sessions with a shrink -- which you can't afford... Rodday may have sentenced her to a slow death."

Nate sighed. "That ain't really no different. I been waitin' for the drugs to kill her since I was knee high..."

"And it hasn't happened. Know why? She's tough, that's why. But if she can't use her money-maker..."

"Yeh." Nate got it.

"You'd be in trouble, too -- but you aren't, the way things are right now."

"Maybe, maybe not. Me an' Nora -- that's love, not money."

Matheson grinned tightly. "Sometimes, you hit the lottery. You've got the right attitude. Don't ride it, and try to pay back where you can. But take what you have to -- Mr. Wilson can spare it. Gotta go -- I want those pictures. Call Nora -- she'll be worried." He strode off down the hall.

Nate went back into his mother's hospital room. "What'd he say?" Tabitha wanted to know.

Nate grinned. "Said you was tough as old boot leather. Talked big shit about puttin' a bunch of people on this. Said this thing might fuck with your head -- screw you up so you can't work."

Tabitha's eyes narrowed. "I'll be a lot more cautious -- THAT's for sure!"

Nate raised an eyebrow. "Too cautious?"

Tabitha glared. If you were too cautious, you lost customers. And income. And... "Bastard might be right."

"He ain't expecting no free pussy, either," Nate added, "although I bet he wouldn't turn it down..."

"Well, THAT's out for a while, the Doc says, an' blowjobs don' pay too well... I kinda hope to fuck this thing in my tongue is a drawing card." Tabitha sighed. "Gotta try to get outta here tomorrow -- there goes the grocery money, for about six months..."

Nate sighed. "I'm gonna call Nora and see what they got in the gift shop for them holes. Awright?"

"Yeh. I wanna nap a bit, while the pain meds allow it. Git outta here."

Nate kissed her cheek, anyway. The pair of them weren't any too demonstrative, but she WAS his mother... The hospital had all of those stupid rules about cell phones, despite the fact that the nurses were all using wireless laptops to record vitals in patient records (morons!) so Nate had to step outside to call. Nora's cell wasn't on, since the school was bitchy about such things, too, so he left a message, "Mama's fine, basically, but she was fucked with pretty bad. Some dude came in claiming your Daddy sent him an' Mama poured it all out. It like to made my hair all stand out straight -- you gotta hear it! Mebbe you can come by after school... Love ya!" Nate hated leaving messages -- seemed like he always sounded like a dork... He headed off to the gift shop.

Matheson went downstairs and tried to get the ER team on duty; fortunately, the seven to three shift had seen the action. They didn't have the plywood or nails -- the police took them for evidence -- but someone had taken digital pictures and Matheson talked an orderly out of one. It was pretty spectacular; everyone in the ER was buzzing about it. There was a newspaper reporter snooping around, but he was having a hard time finding a way to portray the whole thing properly in print; since Tabitha was a hooker, she couldn't get too much sympathy from a policy point of view, and they couldn't print the pictures -- which MADE the story -- because little old ladies and various moral windbag types would be squicked.

Next, Matheson went to talk to his police contact, who came up with the file pretty quickly. "This thing already in the dead file?" Matheson asked.

"We gave it to a young sucker this morning, but he's already put it in the bottom of his in box -- aside from circulating the pics, which are pretty wild," the cop admitted, shrugging. "We know who ordered it -- Rodday Pinkham has been making hay with it with other holdout whores all day, and there's a tale out there that there is a video -- but the guy who actually did it is a pro. There have been a couple of other, sort of similar cases, here and in a couple of towns to the north and west, but no one has ever gotten a grip on the guy. Besides, the bitch is alive, and aside from some puncture wounds, okay. Viewed that way, she's damned lucky, and it's not worth a homicide-level investigation. Given what she does..." He shrugged again.

"Well, the external stuff is superficial, but she might never want to fuck again," Matheson hazarded.

The cop's eyebrows went up. "And that makes her different from my wife -- how?" The pair chuckled.

Matheson went to the office and prepared his initial report, complete with Tabitha's audio description, a transcript, and the pictures, and got it to the day supervisor, who took one look at the pics, listened to thirty second's worth of audio, and kicked it up to Witherspoon.

The whole mess was on Armand Wilson's desk by two p.m. "You will make every effort to confirm Pinkham's involvement," he directed. "And you will identify who he reports to and what his alliances are with the local organizations. I will want to know who I am dealing with when I discuss this with him. I am also interested in discovering the identity of his agent -- but Pinkham may provide me with that directly, given the proper incentives." Jason, hovering nearby, grinned his shark's grin while Witherspoon acknowledged his instructions; the words were innocuous, but Rodday was in for some time in the playroom, quite probably. "Oh, and if there IS a video -- and the evidence says there is -- I want it."

"Yes, Sir."

Armand hung up and turned to Jason. "Inform our medical insurer that both Tabitha Adams and her son are employees with full benefits, effective day before yesterday. The current hospitalization is to be covered."

"Yes, Sir." Jason scribbled notes.

"Jorge is to pick up my daughter after school and come here to collect me, whereupon we will depart for the hospital."

"Yes, Sir." Jorge was picking up and delivering, anyway, until the busing issues involved in the change of address were ironed out with the school.

"And find a work crew for Nate -- delivery -- he needs income." Dismissed, Jason left.

"Omigod!" Nora exclaimed. The picture of Nate's mom taken in the alley by the police was incredibly graphic. "It's awful!"