Free Spark by John Lutz Page A

are any complications. And I mean any. ” A meaningful glance at Beth, conspiracy between the sexes. “Make sure that he does call.”
    “You can see he’s easy to influence,” Beth said.
    “I picked up on that. But I don’t want to treat him in the future for something more serious, if whoever beat him up with a throw rug, stairs, and Popsicle decides to get meaner.”
    “Now I feel like a real patient,” Carver said, “being talked about as if I’m not here.”
    “Or as if you hadn’t followed doctor’s orders and you died,” Dr. Loa told him. She parted pale-green curtains and was gone before Carver could say anything.
    “Woman knows how to make a point,” Beth said.
    On the way out of the hospital, they stopped at the prescription counter at the end of the hall and picked up the antibiotic and Percodan pain pills. Carver also bought a replacement cane. There was a spare cane in the trunk of the Olds, back at the motel, but the way things were going, it wasn’t a bad idea to keep his supply at two.
    “What now?” Beth asked, as they walked across the hot parking lot to where she’d moved the car. There were dark clouds stacked on the horizon, and the humidity was trying hard to keep up with the temperature.
    “We’re going to police headquarters.”
    She broke stride, surprised. “You gonna report this? File a complaint?”
    “Not exactly. I need to talk to Desoto.”
    Beth snorted. “Oughta let him know he’s the one got you into this.” She liked Desoto, but despite his attraction to and for women, he’d never fully accepted her as a positive aspect of Carver’s life. He was a cop, and he couldn’t quite get around her background. Beth claimed not to be bothered by Desoto’s polite coolness, but Carver didn’t believe her. She said, “You’d be better off if you rested awhile back at the motel, then drove in to talk to Desoto later.”
    “I don’t wanna waste time.”
    “Such an obsessive bastard,” Beth said, unlocking the car door, then climbing in to reach across and unlock the opposite door for Carver.
    “Can’t you think of me as determined?” he asked, after he’d lowered himself into the passenger seat. His arms and shoulders were still plenty sore, but the cold compresses had made the pain tolerable.
    “The difference between determined and obsessive is a fine line,” she told him. “You’re way across it and on the other side, lover.”
    He was irritated. She was merciless, to pick on him when he was sitting here aching everywhere from the waist up. “You think I’m obsessive, why do you stay with me?”
    “It’s why I love you, Fred. Let’s stop someplace and get some ice cream ’fore we go see Desoto. It’ll be my lunch, and it’ll make that sore throat of yours feel better.”
    Carver thought that was a sound idea. Numb his throat and get rid of the taste of iodine. Not that he was hungry.
    She started the car, switched the air conditioner on high, and shifted to reverse. Both hands on the steering wheel, ready to drive, she looked over at him. “Ice cream?”
    He nodded.
    She grinned. “You glad I came, Fred?”
    He wasn’t sure. Didn’t answer.
    After double scoops at a frozen yogurt place on Orange Avenue, Beth drove the few blocks to police headquarters and parked on a side street off Hughey. Carver had ordered low-fat strawberry, while Beth of the fashion-model figure had spooned down extra-rich French vanilla laced with crumbled Oreo cookies. The chubby teenage girl behind the counter had given her looks colder than the yogurt.
    Beth didn’t like police stations, she told Carver, any more than she liked dietary frozen yogurt. She’d take a walk while he was inside seeing Desoto, then meet him in about half an hour at the car.
    “Might take more’n half an hour,” Carver said.
    “Then I’ll take another walk. Maybe get another couple scoops of cookies and yogurt. Ruin my shape.”
    He had to smile. “Don’t roam too far away,” he said.