Best Laid Plans Page 22

  “Is he all right?”

  “These head wounds can get iffy, but I’d say right now things are looking good.”

  “Thank God.” He could see the doctor was about to leave. “Do you happen to know where Mopp’s phone is? I want to contact his parents.”

  “Would you? One of my nurses was going to do that, but it’s always better coming from another family member.” He pulled out the drawer of the bedside table and took out Mopp’s phone. “Oh, here. You might want to take this too.”

  It was a heart-shaped river rock. Josh had seen Mopp wear it and knew the braided chain had been made from his sister’s hair.

  “Thank you, Dr. Monroe. This means a lot to Mopp.” He put it in his pocket. “I’ll go outside and make that call, but when I’m done, will it be all right if I stay here?”

  “Sure. You might want to talk to him, just to let him know he isn’t alone. Oh, and if you need anything, you can ask a nurse at the front desk.”

  “Thank you.” Josh looked at Mopp one more time. He looked so pale and young. “I’ll be right back…” Sweet boy.

  Josh went out into the parking lot again, dodging paramedics and gurneys, and opened Mopp’s phone. It took him a while to realize there was no contact number for his parents.

  “Well, shoot,” he muttered to himself. Didn’t the family have a phone?

  There had to be some contact number. Then he remembered Mopp mentioning their preacher, someone named Sales.

  Josh didn’t find anyone under Sales, but he did under Reverend. He hit the number and waited.

  This time the voice that answered was plummy. “Good evening. How may I help you?”

  “Reverend Sales?”

  “Yes, this is Reverend Sales.”

  “My name is Joshua Cooper. I’m a friend of Billy Bob Bolt.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know any young man by that name.”

  For a second Josh was taken aback. “Excuse me?”

  “Until he comes to his senses and returns home, neither his family nor this congregation recognizes him.”

  “I see.”

  “Now, if there’s nothing else—”

  “As a matter of fact, there is one thing, and perhaps you’d be so kind as to pass it on to his so-called family. Billy Bob was shot this evening.” Josh was mean enough to find satisfaction in the shocked gasp that came over the line. “He was attempting to resuscitate the man he works for. Unfortunately, Mr. Jackson didn’t survive. Mopp—Billy Bob is in St. Mark’s Hospital. Maybe you’ll say a prayer to that God you’re so fond of speaking for.”

  Reverend Sales began to sputter, but Josh had nothing more to say. He shut the phone, disconnecting the call, and headed back to bay two.

  Maybe Mopp would be awake.

  ***

  NO SUCH LUCK. Mopp lay there pale and still.

  Josh found the chair he’d used before and sat beside Mopp’s comatose body. And he talked about whatever he could think of—becoming friends with Tom Weber; his sense of loss when he realized Tom would never love him because he’d fallen in love with a straight boy; Tom’s own devastation when he discovered Jack Jackson was engaged to be married. And since Mopp was unconscious, Josh confessed his own feelings for him.

  He talked until his mouth was dry and his voice had grown hoarse. Fortunately, an aide came by with a pitcher of ice water and a couple of plastic cups.

  Josh filled a cup and took few sips, then settled down to continue waiting.

  ***

  JOSH LOOKED UP when the curtain was pulled aside. Tom and the kids, along with Miss Abby and Miss Lizzie, Tom’s momma and sister, came in.

  “How’s Mopp doing?”

  Josh rose—there were ladies in the room—and shrugged. “It’s a matter of waiting and seeing.” He gave Miss Becca her phone back. “I spoke to your grandfather. I…” How could he tell this grieving girl her grandfather didn’t seem to care two shits that his son was dead?

  “We know what he probably said.” Tad put his arms around his sister and hugged her. “That’s Grandpa. I really thought…” He shook his head, and Rush went to the siblings and took them in an all-encompassing embrace.

  “You’ve got all the family you need right here in this room, Tadder-my-Tad.” It was funny. Rush was shorter than the brother and the sister, but at this point he supported both of them.

  “Were you able to get in touch with Jan, Mr. Josh?” Miss Becca looked across at him, her eyes wet and red.

  “I was, and she should have been here by now.”

  Miss Becca bit her lip and turned her face into her brother’s shoulder. She was obviously upset by more than her father’s loss. Lately Miss January had become more and more volatile. “I’ll keep trying,” she said.

  “Joshua.” Miss Abby hugged him and rubbed his back. She’d always been more a momma to him than his own momma.

  “Here, Josh.” Miss Lizzie offered him a cup of coffee. “We stopped at the cafeteria for a little caffeinated pick-me-up.”

  “Thank you.” They were being so kind, as if he was the one who’d lost the love of his life. Of course Mopp was still alive, and of course they couldn’t possibly know how Josh felt about him, but he appreciated their concern.

  “We couldn’t stay long at the morgue, buddy,” Tom said. “They’re doing an autopsy. Tad and Becca…” His voice cracked, and he squeezed the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat. “They gave their permission for the procedure.”

  Josh hated that Tom was being shut out like that. Not that Tad or Miss Becca would shunt him aside, but too many people felt a body could be as gay as they wanted, as long as they didn’t act on it.

  Tad reached out an arm and pulled Tom into their embrace. “But we’re all gonna talk about what arrangements we have to make.” Tad’s eyes were as red and as wet as his sister’s. He crowded close to Tom. Tad towered over the shorter man, but all Josh saw was a young boy who’d lost his daddy and who needed comforting. “When we went to identify him, they had a sheet up to his neck… Daddy looked like he was sleeping,”

  Tom hugged him and murmured something into his ear. Then he stepped away, caught Josh’s arm, and led him to the other side of the bay. “The medical examiner told us to step out,” he said. “They have to do a lot more tests… toxicology for drugs and alcohol, examining Jack’s organs to make sure there was no underlying disease—”

  “But he was shot.”

  “Yeah. They want to be sure, though. One of the techs came out to tell us straight off that Jack’s…” Tom had to stop for a breath, and Josh hugged him. When he began to speak again, it was against Josh’s chest. “Jack’s aortic artery was severed. Nothing could have saved him. There was no exit wound, so they’re hoping they can recover the bullet and determine what caliber it is.” Tom straightened and scrubbed his face. “I called Canis and Sons on Abercorn Street—they’ll come pick up Jack when he’s ready...” He tried to smile, but Josh knew him well enough and long enough to see the pain in his eyes. “Auggie Canis used to teach a mortuary course at Pulaski and Jasper when I still taught chemistry there. I know he and his brothers will do a good job on Jack.”

  Tom wasn’t a choirboy, and maybe that was one of the reasons Jackson had been so intrigued by him. According to the way Jack Jackson had been brought up, gay men were hairdressers or interior decorators or… or florists. They lisped and swished and couldn’t defend themselves if their souls depended on it—if they even had a soul. Tom was none of those things, and he had no problem beating the shit out of anyone who threatened him or those he loved.

  Sometimes, Josh wondered if that was what drew—had drawn—Jackson to Tom. Despite the difference in their size, Tom could take Jackson down without breaking a sweat. Well, he could take Josh down as well. Not that Tom would. Josh would never give him cause to do something like that, and maybe that was why Tom
never saw him as anything more than a good friend or a younger brother. While Jack Jackson pushed and pushed until Tom pushed back.

  Josh never questioned Tom’s relationship with Jackson—well, okay, he did, but only to himself and never to Tom’s face—but could Jackson have been somewhat submissive? Josh knew he himself was to a degree, and that might have been why he’d stayed in an abusive relationship for as long as he had. When things were good, the sex was amazing. And when they were bad? The sex was still good, but he’d hated himself afterward.

  Not to say Tom was abusive. Sure, guys could get rough with each other—sometimes that was part of the fun—but Tom never talked to Jackson as if he was mentally challenged, the way—

  “Buddy?”

  A hand on his shoulder brought him back to the hospital room.

  “Are you okay?”

  The smile he gave Tom had to be a poor excuse at best. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am. Don’t worry about me, Tommy. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is. I’m sorry—”

  Tom gripped his shoulder. “You’ll come to me if you need a shoulder?”

  “You know I will.” He had, plenty of times over the years. “And the same goes for you.”

  “Okay. The kids and I have a lot to discuss, so we’re going to the cafeteria again. You can meet us there when you’re ready, okay, buddy?”

  “That’ll work fine, Tom.” Josh enveloped his friend in a hug.

  There was a flurry of hugs and kisses, and then he was left alone. The coffee Miss Lizzie had given him had grown cold and had a scorched taste, but he drank it anyway, then tossed the cup into the trash and sat beside Mopp again.

  ***

  JOSH CHECKED HIS watch. Should he go looking for Dr. Monroe? It sounded like things had quieted down on the other side of the curtain. The doctor had promised Mopp would regain consciousness soon, but it had been more than an hour now, and Josh had reached the point where at any minute he would start bargaining with a God he’d never had much reason to believe in.

  And then Mopp opened his beautiful blue eyes, and Josh had to turn away so he didn’t see the tears in Josh’s eyes.

  Chapter 13

  MOPP BLINKED GROGGILY. His head ached, his mouth tasted like something had died in it, and his eyelashes felt like they were stuck together.

  He finally got his eyes opened, and he looked up into deep blue eyes. “Josh? M-Mr. Cooper?”

  “Yes. I wanted to be here when you came to, but—”

  “What happened?” Mr. Cooper’s comforting scent wrapped itself around him, and he felt a little better. “Where am I? How long was I out?”

  “You were shot.” He gestured toward Mopp’s head.

  Mopp’s jaw dropped, and he raised cautious fingers to his temple. Now he knew why it felt so strange—a gauze bandage was taped to the spot. Before he could ask how the heck that had happened, Mr. Cooper continued.

  “You’re in St. Mark’s.”

  That made sense. If he’d been shot, the hospital was the best place for him to recover. If he was going to recover. He had cousins who were dumb enough to play with their daddies’ guns and pay the price for it, and a head wound wasn’t good.

  “You’ve been unconscious for a few hours. It’s almost eleven p.m.”

  “Huh?”

  Mr. Cooper must have seen how confused he was. He brushed back the hair that had fallen into Mopp’s eyes so gently Mopp could have cried.

  “I’m answering your questions in the order you asked them.”

  Mopp nodded, then winced as that action started what felt like marbles rolling around in his skull. He closed his eyes, drew a breath, opened his eyes again, and asked another question. “When? I mean, what day is this?”

  “It’s still Friday.”

  Everything suddenly came back to him: the barbecue, the fun time they’d had shopping in Home Depot, coming out of the store to hear shots, and then what felt like a branding iron on his forehead….

  “How’s Mr. Jackson?”

  Mr. Cooper looked sad. “He didn’t make it.”

  “Oh God. How is JT holding up?”

  “He’s hanging in there. Tad and Rush and Miss Becca are with him, and Miss Abby and Miss Lizzie are taking care of them all.”

  Mr. Tom’s momma and sister were good people.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Like crap. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Why not? It’s true, isn’t it?”

  “Well, yeah, but…”

  Once again, the big man’s touch on Mopp’s hair was hardly noticeable, but it was soothing just the same. Before Mopp could lean into it, Mr. Cooper dropped his hand. “I’m sorry. Your head must feel like a drummer’s banging out something by Black Sabbath or Metallica.”

  “No, that’s okay. Honest. But how do you know about heavy metal bands?”

  “I know I’m older than you, Mopp, but I’m not that old. I’ve listened to all kinds of music.”

  “I’m sorry.” Why had he done something as stupid as remind Mr. Cooper of the age difference between them?

  “Don’t be silly. You’re entitled. You’ve been shot, and the doctor said you have a bit of a concussion.”

  “Just a bit?” He couldn’t have smiled, even if his head hadn’t hurt so much.

  “You had a close… a really close call, Mopp. A couple of centimeters, and—”

  “And I wouldn’t be waking up?” His stomach heaved. “Uh… Mr. Cooper, is there a basin around here?”

  There wasn’t, but Mr. Cooper was a smart man. He grabbed a small waste can from the floor and got it under Mopp’s mouth in the nick of time.

  It was mostly dry heaves; Mopp didn’t have much to sick up, since he’d hardly eaten anything at the barbecue earlier that day—with Jan still mad at him, he’d lost his appetite. When he was done, his face was damp with sweat, his eyes were wet with tears, and his nose was running.

  Mr. Cooper grabbed some tissues out of the box on the bedside table and blotted Mopp’s face.

  “I’m sorry. I’m such a mess.”

  “Stop apologizing. It was a scary situation.”

  “Mr. Cooper… why was I shot?”

  “We don’t know.” He looked away, and Mopp got a bad feeling.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “You don’t remember Jack getting shot also?”

  “No… Oh my God, yes!”

  “Yes. You tried to stop the bleeding.”

  “He was shot in the center of his chest. I was certain if I just used more pressure…” Mopp raised his hands so he could look at them, but they were free of all the blood that had covered them earlier. He closed his eyes, but that made it worse. Behind his eyelids he could see the fountain of blood that gushed from Mr. Jackson’s chest.

  “Mopp, listen to me. His aortic artery was badly damaged. Nothing you did would have stopped the bleeding.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “The medical examiner told Tom.”

  Mopp shivered again. “Did the sheriff’s deputies get the men?”

  “There was more than one?”

  “I think… I’m pretty sure…”

  “I’ll take over here.” The voice was deep and gravelly, and Mopp cautiously angled himself up on an elbow to get a look at the man who’d spoken. He was dressed in the uniform of a sheriff’s deputy and was shorter than Mr. Cooper, although to be truthful, pretty much everyone was shorter than JT’s friend—and had a beer gut—the stereotypical southern deputy. “You can go.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Deputy Kilroy.”

  “Well, Deputy Kilroy… I’m not leaving,” Mr. Cooper said in a flat voice, and truthfully, Mopp was relieved.

  “Look—
”

  “Please. Please let Mr. Cooper stay.”

  The deputy glared at Mopp, a flat expression in his eyes for a minute. Then he shrugged. “Okay.” He turned to Mr. Cooper. “Just don’t interfere.”

  “Just don’t intimidate the boy. He’s got a concussion due to that bullet wound to his head.”

  Mopp frowned. He thought Mr. Cooper understood he didn’t like being referred to as a boy. He’d have to talk to him about this again. Just because Josh… Mr. Cooper… was twice his age didn’t mean he could get away with treating Mopp like a kid.

  Deputy Kilroy glared at Mr. Cooper this time, then turned his attention back to Mopp. “Your name?”

  “Billy Bob Bolt.” He didn’t think the deputy wanted his nickname, which he’d had ever since he was fifteen and the men on Mr. Jackson’s construction crew had dubbed him Ragg Mopp because of the wild straw-colored curls that covered his head.

  The deputy took out a notebook and pencil, licked the tip of the pencil, and jotted it down.

  “Address?”

  Mopp gave it to him, and he wrote that down as well.

  “All right, Billy Bob Bolt. You said you saw more than one man?” Deputy Kilroy demanded.

  “Yes. I think there were three. Two men—one with a gun and one who didn’t seem to have one—ran back into a brown Hummer, and there must have been a third man to drive.”

  “Jesus. That’s pretty much useless. Everyone drives a brown Hummer.”

  “I don’t,” Mr. Cooper said.

  Deputy Kilroy scowled at him and wrote down what Mopp had said. “What did they look like?”

  Mopp furrowed his brow. “I… I don’t know. It all happened so fast. Mr. Jackson went down with a hole in his chest, and I…” Mopp stopped himself just in time. Babe had pleaded with the family not to ever mention her or Denny to outsiders. She seemed like a really nice lady who was most likely on the run from some abusive asshole, so Mopp had no problem with keeping his mouth shut.