Chapter 37 #2
“No, I’m talking about the other asshole who lives here and desperately needs to go to a meeting,” Hobbit shot back—clearly he’d put their phone on speaker so Jules could hear them both.
“I’m fine,” the deeper voice, presumably Rodney, growled. “I’ve been sober for three months.”
“You’ve been a dry drunk for three months,” Hobbit corrected him tartly. “You need to go to meetings and—”
“Fuck you and fuck those fucking meetings,” Rodney said.
“See what I mean?” Hobbit said. “We’re a little hostile over here tonight.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake...”
“Hmm,” Jules said. “You guys are getting along as well as always.”
“Who the fuck are we talking to, anyway?” Rodney asked.
“Hey, Rod, it’s Jules.”
“Cassidy! Ah, I thought that was your voice. I’ve been thinking about you, man. You still at the Bureau, holding the line?”
“No,” Jules said. “I am not. I quit before they could fire me.”
“I’m so sorry,” Rodney said quietly. “The fuck is wrong with these people?” He made a disgusted noise. “I didn’t have to make that hard choice, since I was already out.”
“Yeah, but they want you back,” Hobbit said.
“Well fuck them and the fascist horse they rode in on,” Rodney said, but his voice immediately softened as he was back to telling Jules, “I was sorry, too, to hear about the pregnancy loss. That’s... brutal.”
Said the man who’d lost both his child and his wife in the span of a few short years.
“I always thought you’d make a great dad,” Rodney continued. “You gonna try again?”
“Mmmm,” Jules made a noncommittal sound. “I... don’t know. I don’t... think so.”
“What?!” Hobbit came back loudly. “That would be a crime against humanity! You and the movie star need a baby right! Now! What is wrong with you, Jules?”
“I’m... human...?” Jules asked.
“Kevin, give him some fucking space,” Rod grumbled. “This shit is still fresh. I love you, man, but you need to back the fuck off.”
“He loves me,” Hobbit said. “That’s why I stick around. That and every time I make noises about going back to New York he says please don’t go. Not so much in words but in his behavior.” He lowered his voice in a clearly meant to be overheard stage whisper. “I think we’re the new odd couple.”
Jules was laughing now, but he was wiping his eyes, too.
So Sam cleared his throat. “Hey, guys, my name’s Sam, and I’m here in the car with Cassidy.
He didn’t mean to call you on speaker like this, but shit happened, and.
.. Anyhoo, I thought I’d take a moment to introduce myself.
We’re driving to Palm Springs from Los Angeles, ETA some time between twenty-two and twenty-three hundred, depending on traffic—”
“Military time!” Hobbit gasped. “Sam! Oh, my God, are you one of Jules’s hot Navy SEALs?”
“I... was a SEAL, yes,” Sam responded. “I’m currently helping him set up an LA branch of Troubleshooters, Incorporated.”
“What? That is so great!” Hobbit enthused as Jules cleared his throat and shot Sam a small smile of thanks. “Troubleshooters are the best! I was hoping they’d give you a parachute, JC! How perfect is this? For you to work in LA...?”
“Yeah,” Jules said, clearly trying to sound more enthusiastic than he felt.
“And you’re coming to Palm Springs!” Hobbit continued. “Tonight? Rod and I will prepare the guest room, although you’ll need two, won’t you? You can have my room, I’ll take the sofa.”
“Yeah, thanks, no,” Jules said. “But I did call to ask, well, a favor. A pretty big one.”
“Yes!” Hobbit said. “Whatever it is, yes. Right, Oscar?”
“How can I help?” Rodney said.
“Sam and I are working on a case that’s... well, complicated and the client is currently in Palm Springs with his girlfriend, although she’s probably not his girlfriend anymore,” Jules started.
“Bottom line,” Sam cut in, “we’ve got two civilians, one male, one female, neither with any law enforcement training or military skills, who we believe are being targeted by some very nasty people.
We need help getting them to safety—someplace they can hide until we arrive and figure out what-the-fuck. ”
“That’s easy enough,” Rod said. “I can pick ’em up, make sure we’re not followed, bring ’em back here. I’m in a gated community—we inherited this house from Connie’s parents. It’s... cloyingly safe.”
“That would be so great,” Jules said. “But I need to be very clear, the people who are looking for them are armed and dangerous. They unloaded assault rifles in Sam’s and my direction just this morning.”
“Well, shit,” Rod said. “Won’t take much for me to be armed and dangerous, too.”
“I love this guy,” Sam said.
“It works a tad better for me,” Jules said, “if you can get them to safety covertly.”
“Less fun, but can do,” Rod said.
“Danger,” Hobbit said dramatically, “is my middle name. Well, actually it’s John, but—”
“Kevin, whoa,” Jules said. “I’m having a conversation here with the former highly skilled DEA agent.”
“Yeah, but I’m currently his pithy sidekick,” Hobbit said. “So, I’m in, too.”
“Rod, I’ll let you handle that,” Jules said as Sam’s phone rang.
“It’s Mick,” Sam announced.
“Whoops, the client’s on the phone, I’ll call you right back,” Jules said. And as he hung up his phone, they could hear Hobbit, indignant, in the background: “Excuse me, I am not a that to be handled!”
“Meeting your high school friends explains... a lot,” Sam told Jules as he handed over his phone.
Jules laughed as he answered it and put it on speaker so Sam could hear that conversation, too. “Hello, Mick?”
Palm Springs, California
Emily was pushed by Milt into the back of a car being driven by a large, grim-faced stranger with a man-bun.
He was clearly on high alert, his gaze sweeping the deserted area around them, but there was no movement, no people, not even any other cars.
His stern silence was in direct contrast with the smaller man with the first aid kit who greeted them from the back seat. “Good, Emily, skooch over me so that I’m the middle, Mick close the door, Rod—we’re good, go.”
Rod started driving, but he met Emily’s eyes in the rearview mirror, giving her a quiet but absolute order—“Fasten that”—to use her seatbelt.
Meanwhile, the smiling man in the backseat with them was still talking as he used the flashlight on his phone to look at Milt’s arm.
“My name is Kevin and I’ll be your paramedic this evening.
I’m currently an ER nurse at Desert Hospital, and wow, Mick, you sure got lucky, as far as gunshot wounds go, that could’ve been much worse.
Let’s just apply a bit more pressure to stop the bleeding—are you on blood thinners, by any chance? ”
“Yeah, I am.”
Emily leaned forward to look over Kevin, who was now applying pressure to Milt’s wound. He was on a blood thinner?
He met her gaze. “A-fib,” he said. “That plus heart disease runs in the family. My mother’s side.”
Because, yes, his father had lived to be a million years old. “Just another thing you failed to tell me?” she said.
He actually looked surprised. “You... knew I took pills in the morning and at dinner, too.”
“I thought it was vitamins,” she said, and burst into tears.
“Oh, shit,” Milt said.
Oh, shit was right. She’d held it together as they’d run from downtown, as far and as fast as they could, while Milt bled all over his shirt and his jeans.
And then finally when they were hidden behind the world’s most disgusting dumpster, Milt had called the two men that he claimed were private investigators, who’d calmly taken his news that he’d been shot protecting Emily, and told him they’d found an associate nearby who would come, soon, to pick them up.
Then the focus had been on where they were, and figuring out the best rendezvous point.
The associate—Rod, the driver—was more familiar with the city, and they’d conferenced him in to their conversation.
He immediately knew the best place nearby for them to stay hidden, and had shown up, as promised, within fifteen harrowing minutes.
During all of which, Emily had managed to keep it together. But not anymore.
“Yeah, hold that tightly... There you go,” Kevin told Milt before turning to Emily. “You probably hit the sidewalk pretty hard,” he said to her, his eyes kind as he reached beneath her hair to gently feel the back of her head. “Tell me if it hurts.”
She shook her head as she tried to catch her breath. “No, I’m all right. I’m just... He just saved my life but that doesn’t make any of this okay. He lied to me for months and God, I don’t know what to believe.”
Kevin used his flashlight to check her eyes.
“Well, I don’t have a whole lot of experience with people jumping between me and the barrel of a gun, but I know for a fact that’s not something you do casually.
It seems pretty clear it’s an act of love.
So you kinda start there, you know? It’s good to be loved.
So just, you know, believe that for right now.
You don’t have to figure anything else out tonight.
You just need to come with us, maybe take a shower when we get back to the house.
Put on something warm, curl up on the couch.
Rod’s got a great couch. Very comfy. Have a little ice cream and just.. . be safe. Okay?”
Emily nodded, but she just could not stop her tears, so Kevin put his arms around her. “It’s okay, sweetie,” he said. “You’re okay.”
Up in the driver’s seat, the man named Rod said, “Call Jules Cassidy.”
The car responded “Calling Jules Cassidy,” and a loud ringing sound filled the car.
“Hit us with some good news, Rod,” the investigator with the Texas accent—Sam—said as the call was connected. He and Cassidy were en route from Los Angeles, and were still some distance away.
“Got ’em,” Rod said. “Heading back, not being followed, but I’m gonna take the long way home.”
“Music to my ears,” Sam said. “Cassidy’s on my phone, talking to some team members driving up from San Diego, but I know he’s gonna want a sit-rep on that gunshot wound.”