Page 41 of A Handsome Devil

“No problem!” whispered Ozzie. “A lot of us are underground too. So don’t talk about us!”

“Wow,” breathed Erin once the guy trundled out of our trailer. “Has me worried he might broadcast us on one of his podcasts.”

I said, “Yeah. Now I know why all those people were waving at us when we drove in.”

But the deal was done, and we set about placing our meager belongings into our respective mobile homes. The most exciting aspect of having our own roof was the washer and dryer. We practically came to blows over who’d use them first. I won, being the Dom, most of the time. To make up for it, I let Truman shower first. He’d have to be the squarest-looking male going into the Pine Valley lobby.

On our way to Pine Valley, we went into a nearby dispensary for some pain gummies. When I went to pay, the guy told me it was free. He’d recognized me, and was on my side. “It’s on the house!” he cried gleefully. It stoked my ego, but also my fear.

I parked the Charger about two blocks from the assisted living facility. Truman smoothed his hair with spit, although he needed a haircut too. Exhaling heavily, he looked at me, almost forlorn.

“Okay. I’m going in. We’ll be Pickett Yarborough’s nephew and niece. We’ll ask to speak to Dr. Bridgewater with our concerns about his bowel habits.”

I added, “Or whatever you discover when you talk to Pickett. Somehow convince him you’re his nephew.”

Truman put his hand on his chest. “Should I show Bridgewater this bottle of tranq?”

“Maybe hold off on that. Let’s play it close to the vest for now.”

Truman said, “See what our buddy Jack Hoffman thinks.”

“Good idea.”

We kissed, innocent and gentle. I even brushed his face with the backs of my fingers. Things felt different.

We were really going to take down the evilest asswipe in Needles.

CHAPTER 17

Truman

“Ignatz, eh? I remember you from our house in Vegas. You used to come visit and take us gambling.”

“Right,” I said happily. “We used to gamble at Paris and Fountainebleu.” I didn’t realize until much later that Fountainebleu had only been around for a couple of years.

That was probably why Erin stepped on my foot underneath the patio table. “Paris and Bellagio. You used to love playing the slots. And the roulette wheel.”

“Ah!” Pickett interlaced his fingers over his stomach and grinned lazily at the sky. His fluffy white moustache rivaled Alessio’s, and his eyes still had the twinkle of a man with half a brain. Completely bald on top, clown hair ringed his skull. My heart stabbed with compassion, although I’d only known Pickett for half an hour. This was my entire life’s training come to fruition—helping those who couldn’t help themselves. “Roulette! The wheel goes round and round…” Sighing, he then looked with confusion at a passing wheelchair.

We were in the food court of Pine Valley. We’d gotten in easy enough through the receptionist. There was nothing to differentiate this facility from others except the taller walls to prevent people from wandering off. Signs of confusion surrounded us—inmates insisting they didn’t order something, or couldn’t swallow something, or wondering why a squirrel was wearing a tutu.

“Hey, uncle,” I said confidentially, hands knitted between my knees, “you must know this guy Dr. Pleasant Bridgewater.”

“Yes!” chirped Pickett. “He runs this place. Mighty fine young man. Mighty fine.” He rubbed his head. “Even balder than me.”

“Does he, ah, order your medications for you?”

“Oh, yes! And these fine nurses administer them.” Leaning in, he looked suspiciously from side to side. “Mostly Filipino gals. They come to my apartment three times a day to make sure I don’t forget my meds. One of them smells like ammonia.”

I nodded at Erin to tell her it was time for the big reveal. Taking my cue, she held out the bottle we’d ripped off from Les Moore. “This bottle has your name on it. Does it look familiar?”

Pickett took it gingerly, frowning. But I guess he saw his name on the label and he brightened up. “Why, yes! Have you come to administer it to me?”

Erin and I shared looks. I said, “Well, sis and I think we should go ask Dr. Bridgewater about this. We don’t like this drug. We’d like to take you to a new facility where they administer better drugs.”

Pickett didn’t like this at all. Flailing his arms, he cried, “But I love it here! We have little plays every night, and games where we toss balls to each other. They even let Shelby Hecox keep his mummy in his bag.”

That really threw us for a loop. Erin mouthed “mummy?” I guess we both came to the same conclusion he meant “mother,” and since we weren’t nearly prepared to move Pickett to another facility, I said,