Page 37 of A Handsome Devil

CHAPTER 15

Truman

After the ill-fated basketball game, we all gathered inside an unused warehouse a hundred miles east. Erin and Gunning brought everyone hamburgers, and we sat around a big flashlight as though it were a campfire.

Erin flourished her messy burger and declared, “I found these pill bottles in Les’ hotel room. Looks like Les was going to fill them up with capsules.”

“Why capsules?” asked Alessio. “Most people want to snort it.”

“Well!” she announced. With her other hand she removed something from her pocket, a plastic bottle she rattled. “Some bottles had actual ‘legitimate’ pills with the TE inscription for fentanyl. The biggest revelation was . . . “ She paused for dramatic effect, then took another sloppy bite of her burger.

“What?” I cried. “What? Stop making us wait, girl!”

All we could hear through her muffled mouth was “Moofa Foofa.” Alessio became so impatient he crawled over and whisked the container from her hand.

He read the label. “Dr. Pleasant Bridgewater in Needles prescribed this. Someone, map this address. Three four one Cow Hollow Lane.”

We all whipped out phones, but I was quickest. “Pine Valley Skilled Nursing Facility.”

Erin even stopped chomping. Her swallowing was the only sound for a few seconds as we all stared at each other like we’d seen Medusa’s head.

Finally, I uttered, “Skilled nursing. He’s giving patients fentanyl and tranq.”

Alessio leaped to his feet, about to orate as he’d done on my roof. Pointing to the ceiling, he proclaimed, “We gotta get over there! Find this asswipe, so-called ‘doctor’ Bridgewater. Take him out.”

“Crosshair him!” announced Denmark. “This makes my piss boil!”

Gunning said, “I thought we’re not taking anyone out anymore.”

I spoke for Alessio. “Well. Make it so he can’t practice anymore, at the least. Bust him.”

Alessio said, “Maybe get Jack Hoffman to expose him.”

That was a genius idea, and everyone crowed and cooed. “Bro!” “Bro!” “Brilliant!”

Squinting at the bottle, Alessio said, “He prescribed it to a resident named Pickett Yarborough. The first thing should be to go visit this guy.”

Now I was googling. “This Pine Valley is a memory care facility. I doubt these drugs are making anyone’s memory sharper.”

Denmark said, “Well, maybe we can get somewhat of a story from Pickett Yarborough. Pretend to be his kids. I guess Erin’s up for that role.”

I said, “Me and Erin. As usual, we look the squarest. I’ll call you ‘sis.’ We can use one of these IDs we’ve stolen from drug dealers.”

“Oo, that reminds me.” Erin stood too, reaching into her inner jacket pocket. Looked like a wad of cash she withdrew. “I snarked this from Les Moore’s room. Here you go.” Professionally, she counted off bills with her thumb, handing each of us a new wad.

Busy scrolling through Les’ phone, I took the money distractedly. “Look here. He’s texting this Bridgewater dirtbag. “Bridge. Got all the stuff for Yarborough. Have they cleaned out Mrs. White’s room? You need to keep cycling new ones in.”

“Big ol’ scumbag!” cried Denmark, openmouthed. “Are they wiping out old folks?”

Alessio said, “Well, if the drugs don’t do it, maybe they assist.”

“Assisted living,” spat Erin.

“Here’s another one from Bridgewater. ‘Can you turn the stuff into gummies?’ Erin, did you find any gummies?”

None of this had deterred her from finishing her burger. Eyebrows raised, she again reached into her inner pocket, shaking a few more bottles. “Yeff. Here.”

Sure as shit, this bottle of gummies was prescribed to another patient.