Private Conversations

Private Conversations
By Sheldon Doyle
Lulu.com ID# 1319048
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Copyright 2007 by Sheldon Doyle

Private Conversations

Prologue

July 29th, Parker’s Ranch

Mind spinning, body failing, loving and hating ‘the fury’ that pushed him onward, he staggered through the smoke and flames towards the unseen embankment, ignoring the railing voice urging him to hurry.
“Keep going, McMillan! Faster! It’s still coming!”
Speed wasn’t important. He needed to take his time. The voice could babble all it wanted, but he wasn’t listening to its advice. Not now. In the darkness it was impossible to tell where the gentle slope stopped and the ground fell away to the river below. A misstep now could be disastrous. After all he had been through, all the wounds he had suffered, killing himself trying to escape seemed foolish.
Hurry up, McMillan! It’s getting closer!
He wiped the blood collecting on his eyebrow and winced, his hand coming away warm and sticky as he searched ahead into the smoky night. Merely touching the wound ignited pain and any second he expected his head to explode off his shoulders.
All around him tall pines crackled, swaying fitfully in the cyclonic winds as the surreal inferno roared through the forest above him. One splintered and toppled, showering sparks on its way down through the blazing canopy. Instinctively he cut and leaped forward into the darkness and felt the ground give way beneath him.
He landed on his back, the jarring thud all but knocking the breath out of him as he slid down the steep incline. Instinctively he grabbed for anything to stop his descent and finally latched onto a small shrub that was strong enough to support his weight. Pulling himself upright he straightened in time to feel the first tongues of fire as they swarmed over the ledge towards him.
He braced for the impact, but the rush of wind and fire was stronger than he anticipated and overwhelmed him. It knocked him over, cartwheeling him down the mountainside like a child’s rag doll thrown in a fit of anger.
Killing debris hurtled past him, appearing out the darkness like flaming missiles shot into the darkness below. A smoldering branch the size of a hefty staff knocked him senseless, driving him headfirst into the ground again.
Damn you! Get up! Get up and run!
Obediently McMillan rolled to his knees and staggered upright, convinced that death had found him. His skin was blistered and acrid smoke filled his lungs, but he did not fear dying. His revenge had been exacted and there was nothing left to do but succumb to the inevitable.
Yet in that fleeting moment between life and death, amid a fiery world of exploding trees and burning brush, he once again opened himself to the river of sensations and searched for Murin one last time.
You idiot! He’s still alive!
Although the voice spoke the obvious he knew that was impossible. He had seen him fall, felt the connection wink out the instant the bullet had struck. Yet he could not deny the possibility the maligning voice was right. There was a familiar essence within the flow that still hummed with life. Murin’s life.
He cursed his luck and in one fluid motion, turned and dove headlong into the darkness below.

Chapter One

October 1st, Fifty miles west of Hermosillo, Mexico

Do you hear that? They’re talking about us again.
It was hot and sticky and he felt like crap. Lying in the pitiable excuse they called a bed, his face completely encased in gauze and only holes for his eyes, nose and mouth, McMillan listened to the Mexican gibberish in the hallway and decided that yes indeed they were plotting again. And their snickering chortles only deepened his suspicions. He rolled over and studied the landscape for the umpteenth time.
Where the hell is that doctor?
Beyond his tiny window, the desert was still dry and barren, an unchanging terra firma of burnt brush, blistering sand and swirling dust devils. It hadn’t changed one iota in the three months since he stumbled into Hermosillo and the hope of rain had long been replaced by the village’s apathetic struggle to survive.
Nestled within the confining space of the adobe-walls surrounding the Clinic’s courtyard, their homes were small and non-descript, a drab collection of low-slung cottages huddled around a community fountain that occasionally sputtered to life, filling its basin with a murky brew that didn’t look refreshingly healthy.
And like the day before and the day before that, the inhabitants move with measured steps under an unrelenting sun while the same two boys kicked their tattered ball back and forth, rising plumes of dust as they played soccer.
Seeing their enjoyment did little to bolster his vile disposition, and as much as he tried to ignore their laughter, he silently wished they’d dry up and blow away like everything else.
Why are you waiting? It’s foolish staying here any longer. You can take the bandages off yourself.
He ignored the voice and popped two more painkillers and washed them down with the suspect water as more plotting laughter filtered through the paper-thin walls. His patience was wearing thin and he had to forcibly bit back the anger that bubbled on the brink of explosion. There was only so much he could tolerate. He had been here too long. If the doctor didn’t show up soon, he knew they’re laughter would quickly turn to screams of terror. Of that he was certain. Especially if ‘the fury’ escaped his control and got its way.
The crunching of baked sand and dirt outside drew him back to the moment at hand. The battered squad car was returning and had stopped out front.
Shit! He’s back again. Be careful.
For once McMillan agreed with the voice. He didn’t trust the fat policeman at all and watched him closely as he sauntered so smug pass the window, innocent in his efforts to see inside the room. He had been visiting a lot lately, returning at different times of the day, but always watching his window, squinting into the sunlight to catch a glimpse of the stranger beyond. When he disappeared through the doors, McMillan slipped out of bed and pressed his ear to the wall.
The laughing stopped abruptly and he could hear the cop’s rapid-fire questions, the hesitant answers, and the nervousness in the others when they spoke. Maybe he and the doctor were working together? Maybe they all were?
When ‘Gringo’ and ‘California’ seeped through the walls, his hands curled into tight fists. Maybe it was time to blow this joint once and for all. Find Murin and finish the job.
Where the hell is that damn doctor?

Chapter Two

An hour later McMillan watched Fat Miguel drive away, trailing behind a plume of Mexican dust. By the time his battered squad was reduced to a shimmering mirage, the headache was back and raging out of control again. It was all he could do to stumbled over to the nightstand and down more painkillers before his eyeballs exploded out of their sockets.
“Senor, McMillan?”
It was Vicki the cute little nurse. The only saving grace of this shit hole they called a hospital. He had grown accustomed to the sound of her voice and found himself yearning to see her whenever she was near. It was fragile like crystal, seductively low with heat and the source of countless fantasies he had envisioned since first meeting her. But when he turned and faced her, she was frowning and that bothered him. She looked worried.
“Miguel was asking about you again. So many questions for which I have no answers,” she innocently quipped. She carried his neatly folded clothes draped across her arm and held them firmly against her chest.
“That’s good,” McMillan casually said. “Why don’t we keep it that way? The less he knows, the better.”
“I would hate to see my favorite patient running into the desert dressed in only a hospital gown. Not after I’ve spent so much time nursing him back to health. Perhaps you should keep these in your room. Just in case.”
McMillan tensed and glanced out the window. He expected to find fat Miguel watching, the big gun he carried low on his hip pointed at his chest and a toothy smile anticipating a foolish move.
But he found nothing suspicious. Only the two boys kicking their ball and a parade of dust devils twirling across the courtyard.
“What do you mean?” he said, taking the clothes from her. He tossed them on the bed and settled on the corner to wait her out as she refolded her arms across her breasts and moved closer to the window biting nervously at her lower in lip.
“Miguel knows why you are here, what you did in the United States. He says there are many people looking for you, maybe even the Mexican Army.” She nervously wrung her hands together she crossed the room towards him and continued. “Before you leave, I would ask a favor?”
McMillan didn’t answer. He kept his face bland and unreadable. Even if she did know the truth, which he doubted, Miguel would never stop him. None of them would.
Undaunted by his silence, she continued across the floor until she stood before him. He could smell the light scent of her perfume, its delicate fragrance stirring his desire. But still he didn’t react. He needed to know what she was up to. “My husband took my family to Arizona and was coming back for me when the Army caught him. They thought he was smuggling drugs and killed him. Now, I have no one.”
Reaching for the bottle of painkillers, McMillan popped two more tablets into his mouth. “And?” he prompted throwing back his head. He didn’t like where this conversation was headed. She was hinting at more than money. Swallowing the pills, he chased them with water that tasted hot and heavy with the unpleasant flavor of mud. “You want what?”
“I would make a bargain,” she said following him up as he stood. “I can help you crossover the border safely. Please Senor, I do not want to stay here any longer. I know the way. Please, take me with you!”
She sounded desperate, yet he suspected she wanted more than just his help. She was so near, his senses were reeling. He fought the urge to throw her on the bed and tear her clothes off. “What else? What aren’t you telling me?”
Her saucer black eyes glistened with tears, yet she wiped them away before they began to trickle down her cheeks. She surprised him when she stepped in closer, sweeping her long black hair behind her ear as she laid a hand upon his chest. “Miguel is a pig. No one will stop him and no one dares complain. That would only bring the more police and then everyone would suffer.” She stopped and stood straighter, her voice dropping to almost a whisper, “I know you are leaving soon. Please, I’ll do anything. Take me with you.”
McMillan’s mind was already imagining what it would be like crossing the desert with this woman in tow. And it didn’t look promising. He doubted she was capable of hiking in the desert heat, much less surviving on scant amounts of food and water.
But now, she presented another problem. One misspoken word uttered in anger could turn this quiet little village into a blood bath if she decided to help the cop or those searching for him. Cautiously, he nodded, “Come back tonight when it’s safer and we’ll talk. I’m not going anywhere until these bandages come off, so we’ve got some time before deciding anything.”
When she stepped back and eyed him suspiciously he lied. “We’ll talk, I said.”
After she left, he mulled her offer, picking it apart for inconsistencies. At the moment he had two options; the least troublesome was to cross the border alone, homing in on Murin as he had planned. A difficult task now that he was aware the Mexican Army was prowling the border. The alternative was to let her tag along and as she said, help him safely across the border.
But he was still suspicious. There was something more she wasn’t telling him.

Chapter Three

She returned later that evening and they talked and planned until late into the night. Sometime after midnight, McMillan sealed their deal and in frenzied passion satisfied all the fantasies he had imagined with her.
She was ferocious when she came to him and unafraid to explore his body with gentle hands. At first he thought she was selling herself, but in the darkened room he soon realized she was seducing him with delicious intent.
Her breath was hot, her upraised breast teasing as she moved him from the chair to the bed and mounted him, letting him settle deep within her. She methodically moved back and forth with every move of his loins, riding his hardness until she arched her back and collapsed against his chest, her lusty appetite satisfied.
He slid out from beneath her and moved back to the chair, watching the moonlight play across her bronze body, her nakedness still inviting as she dressed. When she finished, she found his face in the darkness and gave him a departing kiss. He did not rise to follow her to the door. He was engrossed in visions of fat Miguel and her cavorting through the desert, laughing as he withered and died under a burning sun.

Chapter Four

October 2nd, Racine, Wisconsin

Vertigo was churning my stomach as I rose up through the delirious fog and opened my eyes to a pair of familiar horn-rimmed glasses hovering close to my face.
“He’s coming around.”
I groped at my chest, searching for the zipper I hoped hadn’t been installed from throat to navel. Although I enjoyed an occasional horror flick, I didn’t want to look like Frankenstein’s brother.
“Feeling better?” Max asked.
I nodded and closed my eyes. Max Donaldson’s face was a welcomed sight. The discovery of no zipper felt even better. I croaked a ‘yeah,’ and tried to smile, then surrendered to the fog again.
“They’re taking you to recovery,” Max said, leaning in closer. “Claire will see you there.”
A noise jostled me awake. The glaring lights of the operating room were gone, replaced by overhead panels of large fluorescents. Around me a pale green curtain surrounded the bed. Claire stood at one side, Chaffey the other. To Claire, I murmured, “What did he say?”
“Who, sweetheart?”
“Max.” My voice was hoarse and dry, though it no longer sounded as though someone had stuffed a sock in my mouth. I cleared his throat and tried again.
“What did Donaldson say?”
“You did just fine,” she answered.
The recovery nurse entered and smiled as she efficiently recorded the monitor readings. “Looks like your headed to your own room Mr. Murin, won’t that be nice?”
Again I croaked, “What did Dr. Donaldson say?”
She ignored my question and continued to flip through my chart. “Dr. Donaldson will see you when they get you settled.” She then turned and left, leaving the curtains pulled back.
I looked pleadingly at Claire, hoping she’d answer the only question that really mattered to me. I had suffered another bout of chest pains and by the grace of God had been in Max’s office when it happened. Now no one wanted to answer my question or give me a clue as to what had happened. It was as though everyone knew, but nobody was willing to talk.
An orderly hustled in and after transferring me to another gurney, briskly wheeled me into the elevator. When it shuddered to a stop and the doors slid open, we were on the move again. Down a hallway full of windows, past people waiting in chairs along the wall.
Outside the sun shone, which I took as a good omen. If I were dying, I wouldn’t be seeing blue skies, fluffy white clouds or trees speckled with dying fall colors. And Claire and Chaffey wouldn’t be walking beside me either, chatting merrily, ignoring my plaintive stare.
A new set of nurses settled me into bed. One filled a water pitcher with ice chips and I nodded graciously when she offered a cup full.
“Suck, Mr. Murin.”
Yes, this certainly did suck!
I fumbled one out and dropped it in my mouth, smothering the flames that were burning a hole through my throat. Two more put the fire out completely. I was digging out a fourth when Max joined us.
Big and rumpled, wearing blue jeans, a Notre Dame T-shirt and running shoes with the laces untied as usual, he didn’t look the part of a cardio-pulmonary surgeon. Pooh bear seemed more appropriate.
“I’ve got some good news. It was angina.”
Of all the malignant possibilities, angina was the least likely; in fact, it didn’t even make my list of possibilities. I had expected more. Now, the word rang like a stayed execution.
“I’ve installed a stint.” Max said. A big smile creased his face as he waited expectantly for the good news to sink in.
“Angina, huh?” That’s all it was? No heart attack?”
“Nope. You’ll be out of here in a day or so.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. Just take it easy for a few days.” Max turned to Claire and Chaffey. “And I expect you two to give him the time.”
Chaffey coughed sheepishly, aware Max had singled him out.
“He never said a word, Max, honest!” Yet the crimson glow from under his collar suggested I had.
Max raised a suspicious eyebrow, turned to Claire and said in softening tones, “I can’t force you, but still, you should take him home to Oregon. He needs to get out of Racine and forget about the job for a while. He’s exhausted and the Department will get along fine without him.”
After she nodded, he turned back to me, “And, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Chaffey waited until Max was out of earshot before he tapped the side of his head, “And what about this?”
Claire frowned at the insinuation. There was nothing wrong with Dell’s mental faculties. The problem had been his heart. But it obvious he knew something she didn’t. In fact, they both did.
“Nothing,” I answered. “It’s still the same. It’s there…but it’s like…dormant.”
“Good. Keep it that way. I’ve had enough of that hocus pocus crap for awhile. As far as I’m concerned I hope it never comes back. Makes you goofy as hell.” He kissed Claire lightly on the cheek. “I gotta go.”
“Thanks for sticking around,” she said.
“No problem. I’ll stop in when I can, otherwise I’ll see him before you leave.”
After he disappeared out the door, she eased onto the bed and brushed back a lock of hair from my forehead. “What did he mean by this,” and tapped her head mimicking Chaffey. “What’s so goofy that’s he’s glad it’s dormant?”
I grimaced. Her concern was palpable. Her stare incisive. And I knew it would be impossible to hide what had happened any longer. “You’re probably not going to believe this,” I said.
“Try me,” she coaxed.