Free The Conch Shell of Doom by Ryan Hill Page B

Bailey’s head reeled. He was at Alexis’s house? What kind of insanity had he gotten into? Did they fool around? A darkness fell over Bailey. It would be a stain upon his soul if that happened. Girls weren’t exactly knocking down his door, begging to hook up. The rare instances when he did mess around with a girl made him pay extra attention to every little detail, because it was anybody’s guess as to when he’d get another chance.
    He checked the rest of his text messages. There was the typical snark from Marshall, but nothing that shed any light.
    I don't know what you’re talking about. I never went to your house.
    Bailey rubbed his eyes, hoping to kick-start his memory. He got a flash of Marshall and Tim, and another of hiding behind the bushes at the end of the driveway. Still, they felt like pieces of a dream he couldn’t remember. His phone beeped.
    Yes you did. Called me too.
    Bailey checked his phone log. Huh. He’d called Alexis not once, but twice. The day had barely begun and was already shaping up to be an all-time weird one.
    Why can’t I remember?
    “Bailey?” his mom shouted from downstairs.
    He hopped out of bed and peeked out the door. “I’m on the phone.”
    She played with the keys in her hand, staring up at Bailey from the bottom of the stairs. “Your father and I have some errands to run. You feeling okay? You seemed a bit under the weather last night.”
    He did? “I’m fine.”
    “Want us to pick up some lunch?”
    “No, Mom! I have to go. I’m on the phone.” Bailey closed the door. So . He’d been sick. Maybe he ate a bad corndog or something and then went home? Wouldn’t be the first time. Corndogs were the bane of his existence. Much as he loved them, they almost always upset his stomach. But corndogs wouldn’t explain why the previous night was a giant question mark. What in the wide, wide world of sports was going on?
    Alexis texted him again.
    Get cleaned up. Coming over in an hour.

    Franklin sat by the window of some cheap motel room a block away from the beach. He kicked himself for not killing Percy when given the chance, but after the bartender came outside, Franklin couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not in front of a civilian, let alone a woman. He still had a little tact.  
    By then, Mr. Lovell knew about Percy and Trenton’s body parts. The man from Dallas said the rest of the body parts were due to arrive that night, but he’d also set a trap for Franklin. Nothing the man from Dallas said could be trusted. The only way Franklin would get the rest of Trenton’s body parts would be with some good, old-fashioned investigative work.
    Franklin flipped through the phonebook on the nightstand, looking for the address to Mooresville Memorial Hospital. Percy had to be there to get his eye looked at. Hopefully, they kept the little shit overnight for observation. If Franklin got his hands on Percy, took him somewhere no bartenders, or anybody else, could interrupt them, Franklin would be able to bypass the hard work and beat the location of Trenton’s remaining body parts out of Percy in no time. Not many could hold up under Franklin’s interrogation. The man in Dallas could attest to that, if he were still alive. Percy would fold in no time. Hell, Percy might even give up the location of Mr. Lovell, and the whole mess could be over by sundown.
    Franklin parked near Mooresville Memorial Hospital. It was early, but the sun had already started making everything miserably hot. Franklin jogged across the street to the hospital, which seemed no bigger than an office building. He assumed most of the people admitted were either tourists that drank too much the night before or had some kind of fishing accident. There probably weren’t enough locals to merit the hospital being any larger, especially in the off-season. He walked through the automatic doors and up to the only person, the receptionist, a heavy-set woman with spiked hair. She didn’t bother to look