Diversion 1 - Diversion (17 page)

His automatic figuring of Bo into his adventures brought Lucky up short.
I get off on my job? And Bo gets off on my getting off on my job? Man, we are two sick puppies.

He satisfied his inner felon by reasoning that were he to go out and hijack a truck full of narcotics hed get that same thrill.
Okay, nothing personal about the job. The fun lies in not getting caught.

The box from the office yielded a generic, dark-blue uniform in some fabric not found in nature, the newness scratching Luckys skin when he put it on. The name tag read, “Kenny.” He waited, pacing the tiny room. A knock at the door made him jump.
Damn! I better get a grip.

“Kenny?” A thin man stood at the door, who would be a couple inches taller than Lucky if hed straighten up. A sudden wind gust caught his thinning strands of light brown hair, revealing a balding pate. If not for the beginnings of a belly bulge, thered be nothing to the man. In short, he was the kind of guy who worked quietly in the background, avoiding notice, and was probably privy to every dirty little secret of whatever company he entered.

“Yeah, thats me.” Lucky offered his hand, deciding hed better play nice with his ticket into Rx Dispose.
The man shook both his head and Luckys hand. “Ill give you fair warning: Im nervous about this whole thing, fraid Ill mess up. I dont mean to rush you or nothing, but Id kinda like to get this over with.”
The man, whose nametag dubbed him, “Fred,” spoke softly, with a pure South Georgia twang, quite similar to Ryersons. Lucky nodded and followed him out to a panel van, an old-timey balance scale emblazoned on the side.
Once buckled in, Fred filled the van with nervous chatter. “Theres two electronic scales back at the loading dock. I usually start there with the simpler units and work my way to the front, where they keep more sophisticated equipment in the labs.
“Well be escorted, but they usually pick whoevers not busy, and since Im a regular, they dont pay too much attention.” Fred stopped at a red light, turning a pair of piercing green eyes on Lucky. “Whatever youre hunting for, I dont want you to tell me about it, okay? This is my job, theyre my customer, and I dont want to lose them. Itll be hell going in there every month if I know more than I should. Understand? Im not a good actor. Theyll know somethings up. Whatever youre here for, dont tell me.” He turned his eyes back to the road. “Besides, I have it on good authority that I cant keep a secret.”
After that he babbled on, explaining, in far too much detail, how to calibrate the different scales and measurement devices theyd be working with, not that Lucky planned to be of much help.
They pulled up into the parking lot of a tin building a few miles from the nearest town, designed to hold far more vehicles than the dozen parked here and there. A chain-link fence surrounded the back half of the property. “Loading docks are back there,” Fred told him, pointing a finger toward the fence. Elledges SUV sat parked outside the main entry, and Lucky hoped like hell he wouldnt meet the man face to face, although given the circumstances of their previous encounter, he doubted hed be remembered. No sense taking chances, though.
They stepped into the lobby to sign in and were told, “Wait right here,” by a receptionist who asked Fred about his family as though they were old friends. Yeah, Lucky remembered how things worked in small towns—everyone knew your business.
A kid hardly old enough to be out of high school soon joined them. “Hey, Fred. Hows it going?” Hands rammed down in the pockets of blue jeans that threatened to fall off his hips at any moment, the kid wasnt the type of guard Lucky had envisioned.
“Hey, Lee.” Fred stepped back, flipping his gaze from the kid to Lucky. “I got a new guy with me today. Kenny, this is Lee. Lee, Kenny.”
“Hi.” Lee pulled a hand from his pocket to shake Luckys. “Yall bout ready?” He turned and exited through a door marked, “Employees Only.” True to Freds briefing, they took a series of halls and traipsed across a warehouse on the way to the loading docks.
Head on a swivel, Lucky checked the racks they passed, committing to memory relevant information and trying not to be too obvious. Mainly, boxes upon boxes labeled “Regency Pharma.” Lee and Fred both shared an affinity for talking, leaving Lucky free to be bold andspy to his hearts content. They passed a few glassed-in offices where employees in white coats, hairnets, and gloves performed some task on an assortment of bottles. When no one was watching, Lucky snapped a picture with the handydandy little camera Walter had provided.
He nodded whenever Fred spoke to him, pretending to pay attention to the mans droning instructions, and tried not to sound like an idiot when Lee engaged him in a conversation about local events, things Lucky should probably know if he lived in the area.
“Im new in town,” he said, which only encouraged the kid to fill him in on places he should go.
On their way back to the lobby, Lee said, “Hold up a minute, I need to tell my uncle something.” He opened an office door, and Lucky barely had time to jump back out of sight. Thankfully, Lee delivered his message and shut the door before his uncle noticed who stood in the hall, but not before Luckyd spotted a picture of Beverly Ryerson sitting on the mans desk. The theme music of
South Bend Springs
provided a mental “Da da da dum,” of clues falling into place. Lucky recalled Ryersons comment about, “The man Im seeing.”
The entire adventure lasted roughly two hours, way over the time Lucky would have managed alone. After being dropped off at his hotel, he thanked the nearly-hyperventilating Fred, changed out of the polyester uniform and doubled back to Rx Dispose, watching the suspect company from the outside, wishing he had Bos iPad to take notes. Three cars remained in the parking lot after quitting time, one the now-familiar SUV. A bag of chicken nuggets and two large cups of coffee kept him company. Lucky settled in for the night.
About ten oclock he hit pay dirt. An unmarked tandem rig pulled up outside the chain-link fence—the automated gate swung open to let it pass. For the next half hour Lucky listened to the bumps and clunks of a truck being loaded. Once the truck departed, the cars followed suit.
Rather than go back to the hotel for a futile attempt at a little shut eye, he followed the truck…straight to Ryersons Clinic, and on to a few other facilities that hadnt yet pinged any radars.
He called Walter from the road, his call going straight to voice mail. “Guess what?” He avoided Walter-baiting to get down to business. “Ive found some links to Regency at Rx Dispose. Now, I have a question for you. Why would a destruction facility need a relabeling operation?”
Possibilities buzzed through his head, and his stomach swam with grease and coffee. Hed swallowed a half roll of Tums to no avail. Finally realizing hed left his gear back in the hotel room, he texted Walter to have someone retrieve his things, though he wouldnt cry over losing the damned uniform.
Creeping into the house at five A.M., he hoped to find Bo lying in bed. Instead his partner lay half-on, half-off the couch, a throw and a pillow discarded on the floor. Hmmm.
Somebody didnt sleep well.
Lucky retrieved the fallen items and tugged Bo into a more comfortable position before tiptoeing into the bathroom for a shower.

“Ive seen livelier roadkill.” Bo leaned against the kitchen sink, sipping a cup of horrid-smelling tea. A plate of cut fruit sat on the table.

Even exhausted, Lucky managed a half-hearted comeback. “Well, if you happen upon a Mack truck with my face print in the grill, call the cops.” Though his stomach still wasnt happy with him, he snagged a piece of kiwi, something hed never eaten before meeting Bo. “I have a question for you. Dr. Ryerson is a widow, but is she involved withanyone that you know of?”

Bo shrugged. “The pharmacists dont talk about her much, other than how shes a great boss, doesnt make them work nights or weekends, and that they pull in more money now than they ever have before.” He paused for a moment, lips pursed together. “I did some searching on my iPad, and it seems Ryerson believes in second chances, too. Every pharmacist in the place has had a ding on their license. I dont blame them for being loyal.”

Not much impressed Lucky, but Bo researching on his own proved an exception. “Oh really?” Despite the interesting subject matter, Lucky lost the battle not to yawn.

Setting his cup down, Bo stepped forward, brushing his fingers against Luckys jaw. “You didnt sleep much last night, did you? Want me to fixyou some breakfast?”

One lingering glance, one half-second of eye meets eye, released a dam of welled-up need. They stood close enough for Lucky to feel the heat radiating from Bos body, and he closed his eyes, breathing in the scent hed missed the night before. He should walk away while fatigue clouded his mind, but instead wrapped his arms around his partner, holding tight, face buried in a warm neck.

After a moment arms encircled Luckys back, and for a few brief moments, all seemed right in the world. Bo kissed him, mouth tasting faintly of green tea, and slowly stepped away, returning them to reality with, “I gotta get ready for work. You get some sleep. And dont forget your appointment this afternoon.”

Lucky put down a back issue of
Field and Stream,
taking a moment to realize the nurse meant him. The pretty young woman beckoned…a pretty young woman most likely an accessory to drug diversion, Lucky reminded himself.

With one month and a handful of days left to his sentence, Lucky should have been damned happy, but he wasnt. And his rotten mood was only partially inspired by the needles and questions he soon expected to dig into him. Besides, he hadnt slept but two hours after Bo left that morning.

He entered a generic examining room, similar to hundreds of others, he supposed, expecting to be asked to remove his pants. At least thatd been the drill from the time when he actually
had
injured his knee. “Wait right here,” the nurse said, “Dr. Ryerson will be with you shortly.”

Expecting to have an extended wait, he passed the time imagining Bo, somewhere in the building, shoveling pills into industrial sized bottles. He yawned, exhausted. Maybe the regular sex wore him out even more than his sleepless night. Regular sex. He scowled. Hed be gone at years end. The smartest thing to do would be to banish Bo back to the couch, regardless of how well they both slept together. Hed soon be starring in The Lucky Show, into which no sidekick had been written, and couldnt be, no matter how damned sexy and appealing.

An area dead center of Luckys chest quivered. He conjured up images of opening a door and tossing Bo out on his mind-blowing ass. The not-quite-pain twanged again. Fuck it all to hell. An image came to mind of Bo standing before racks and racks of meds, desperately texting, “I want tofu surprise for dinner!” and no one around to answer him, or share the burden of his little secret.

The door clicked open, startling Lucky, and Dr. Ryerson stepped in with a broad smile suitable for framing and an open manila folder in her hand. “Hi, Larry! How wonderful to see you again. Will has told me so much about you.”

Lucky mumbled a baldfaced lie, “Nice seeing you again, too.” He fully understood how the womans employees got swept up into her game; she came across as open and honest. But Victor had, too, when hed wanted to.

An impossibly wide grin grew farther, threatening to split the womans face in half. “Ah, yes. And it keeps you up at night.” Grin dropping to a coy smile, she shocked him with a little unprofessional innuendo. “And you cant be losing sleep for old soccer injuries, can you, with a hunky partner like Will?” She winked.

Lucky felt outraged on Bos behalf thatd she talk about her employees in such a way, especially while flirting with the mans partner. Hed taken an instant dislike to this woman in the restaurant, and close contact did absolutely nothing to revise his first impression for the better.

“Are you allergic to any medications?”
“No, maam.”
“On a scale of one to ten, how severe would you say your pain

is?” She jotted inside the folder while she talked, her southern accent lending her words a conversational air, rather than a business aspect.

“Depends,” he improvised. These questions were not the ones Walter had briefed him on, nor did she ask about previous doctors or any records he might have. “Normally, between two and three. IfIve been standing on my feet all day, it ups to seven, and sometimes at night, it throbs, hitting about a nine.” He didnt want to push too far and lose credibility.

The doctor didnt even seem to be listening, dropping her friendly persona to finally immerse herself in her profession. “Okay, Im writing you a prescription for a moderate pain reliever. Take only as needed, not to exceed three per day, and report back to me when you need more.”

Her overly-friendliness came back in force as she handed him a slip of paper. Thank God it was a prescription and not her phone number. Hed been afraid, very, very afraid. “Why, Larry, are you telling me you
want
to drop your pants?” The hand she place on his arm sported two nails broken down to the quick, and a few scrapes across embarrassment. kickboxing? Chopping firewood? Those abused hands didnt match the prim and proper image of the genteel southern belle she tried to be.

Lucky clamped his jaws tight, fighting the questions he wanted to ask.
Thankfully, the doctor glanced at her watch and cut the meeting short. “Oops, I have to go. Patients are waiting. Before I do, Id like to ask you something.”
Bracing for any number of things he didnt want to hear, Lucky held his breath.
“Im having my annual Thanksgiving dinner for the gang and their families tonight and well…” She chewed daintily at her lower lip, smearing red lipstick onto her teeth. “It seems Will turned down my invitation.”
He what?
“He did? Funny, he never mentioned it at home.” Funny indeed, as hanging out at the doctors house offered a priceless opportunity for snooping. Especially if Elledge showed up as her date. Lucky would have to keep his distance, however, and if Elledge remembered seeing him outside the clinic, hed make up an excuse.
“Im afraid he thinks…I dont want him thinking hes not a part of our team because of, well…”
her knuckles. The sight quickly dispelled his Did the good doctor spend her free time “Because hes with me?”
More lips chewing. Heavy makeup made her eyes appear enormous, like the bigeyed girl in the picture Luckys mom had bought at a yard sale and hung over his sisters bed when they were kids. Something about those enormous, sad eyes inspired the willies, even years later. Dr. Ryerson reminded him of a small vulnerable child, and he tried to recall the advice hed given Bo about not being sucked in by appearances. This woman was quite possibly the mastermind behind a wellorchestrated “money will buy whatever you want” scheme. By this time next year, she might have traded her white-smock-covered power suit for a prison jumpsuit.
And Luckyd be the one to put her there. Why the hell did she have to be nice? Why did she care about someone whod worked for her for a few days? Between his and Bos confusion where the doctor was concerned, perhaps they should avoid her little gettogether. But past experience had taught him while working the edges of Victors parties, what great sources of info they were, whenever hed worked up the nerve to stop hiding out in the den and do a little mingling.
“Please. Itd mean a lot to me if youd come.” More lip nibbling rendered her lips fairly naked.
“Ill talk to Will; tell him how important this is to you.” Lucky gave her a halfsmile. “And thanks for inviting us.”
A full smile bloomed on her tortured lips. “Youre welcome. Wonderful to see you again, Larry.”
A sigh of relief escaped him with her departure. He stuck his head out of the door, checking right and left to ensure shed truly gone. Returning to the examination room, he slipped on a pair of latex gloves from a box on the counter. Muffling the sound of doors opening and closing, he checked out the cabinets and drawers, finding sparse contents for what was supposed to be a doctors office. Hed explored similarly at his old family doctors and had found a veritable treasure trove of fun gadgets to play with. Except for a stack of prescription pads—that by law should have been kept under lock and key—he didnt find anything of note. He removed the gloves and started to drop them into the trash before noticing the metal can was empty—his addition might be noticed. Oh well, time to release his inner kid.
Checking the hallway again, he stepped out, following the directions Bo had given him for the pharmacy while blowing up one of the gloves. A line waited, and Bos dinnertime stories hit home, about the sheer number of prescriptions filled in a day. Behind the counter Lucky noticed two white smocks that denoted pharmacists, and four colorful smocks that Bo had said the techs wore. With a sallow complexion, rheumy eyes, and red nose, Lucky suspected Bos fellow pharmacist of a drinking problem. Second chances, indeed.
When Luckys turn came he handed his slip of paper to one of the techs. The last time hed had a prescription filled, the tech had asked him a lot of questions and pulled up his file on a computer system before entering his script. This tech glanced at the paper and turned without a word, ignoring his blown-up-glove wave to march over to a where a white clad back bent over a counter. The man straightened, and Luckys heart clenched to see Bos smile and wave. Bo even spared a laugh and disbelieving headshake for the glove. The smile fell when he raised the paper into viewing range. He scowled, but nodded at the tech and set to work measuring pills into bottles while the tech created labels and then shoved the bottles into a white bag.
Bo brought the bag to the counter personally. Pale blue writing stood out against the white paper, and Lucky unfolded the top to read, “And what do
you
want for dinner?”
Concern shone in his partners eyes. Locking a cocky grin in place, Lucky mouthedthe word, “You.” He toted his bag to the front desk and handed over his twenty-five dollar co-pay, reciting the group and policy number Walterd emailed. The clerk didnt even demand to see or copy an insurance card, like Luckys regular doctors office would. Thirtyseven minutes. Start to finish, hed spent thirty-seven minutes inside the clinic.
Only when safely outside in the car did he dare to peek at the candy Ryersons clinic freely dispensed. As suspected, he held in his hand a three-month supply of oxycodone, the most abused prescription pain reliever in the US, and the drug responsible for numerous overdoses. Two bottles were name brand, the third, generic, with two months dating left. Bo must have slipped him some of the questionable pills for analysis. Good man. With a little more training, he might make a passable field agent after all. Stopping by the post office, Lucky priority mailed the lot to the Atlanta office.
Only upon arriving home did he remember that hed intended to ask Ryerson about his lack of energy. On second thought, though, shed probably have simply written him another script.