Hunting the VA Slayer by C.M. Wendelboe

Author:C.M. Wendelboe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: homicide detective, Native American Literature, Thriller and Suspense, Police Procedurals, Westerns, Murder Thrillers, Murder, Mystery
Publisher: Encircle Publications
Published: 2019-12-07T20:12:09+00:00

27

ARN DRIED HIMSELF ON THE towel Evans Plunge had rented him and snapped Danny’s bony butt. It twanged and Danny howled. “That hurt.”

“Figured I’d urge you along. I’m late for my appointment with Ethan Ames at the VA,” Arn said and tucked his shirt into his jeans. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

Arn walked to the car parked in front of the mineral hot springs, the breeze finishing what the terry cloth towel missed. He put his Stetson on while he walked towards the Olds, a group of kids gawking at it.

“That’s some ride you got there,” pone boy of about sixteen said. His arm encircled a girl’s waist as they peered inside. “But what’s that thing sticking out of the floor?”

“In my day,” Arn said, “we called it a gear shift lever.”

“Cool, dude,” he said and backed away to allow another boy to look inside. “I’ll bet pink slips I could beat you in the quarter with my car,” he said and pointed to some foreign outfit—Honda, maybe Toyota or Nissan, Arn never could tell the Japanese cars apart—parked at the far end of the lot. “No thanks,” Arn said as he tapped his chest. “Not sure this old ticker could stand one more race.” But Arn knew that most tuners the kids fine-synched today could beat any of the old muscle machines. And that’s with half the motor size.

Danny emerged from Evans Plunge, his stringy, wet ponytail blowing across his face. The kids looked oddly at him as he climbed into the passenger side of the car. “Fans?”

“Kid wanted to race me in that tuner car of his.”

“You’d have lost.”

“I know,” Arn said, and drove out of the parking lot.

By the time they drove the few blocks to the VA facility, Danny’s hair was dry, and he tucked it under his ball cap. “Been here many times to pick up meds and for my yearly checkup.”

“Your want this to be your last time here?” Arn asked.

“How’s that?”

Arn tapped the brim of Danny’s hat, the outline of Vietnam on the front, scrambled eggs on the brim. “No reason to advertise you’re a retired officer—.”

“I wasn’t an officer,” Danny said. “I just bought this ’cause it looks cool.” He set it on the seat. “But I see your point. I’ll go down to the cafeteria and grab us coffee. Unless you want tea.”

“I’ll pass.”

They entered the enormous sandstone building, Danny peeling off toward the cafeteria, Arn standing staring at the legend hanging on the wall. Dr. Ames’ office was situated at the far end of the hallway, and Arn stepped around a Korean War vet slowly making his way down the hall with the aid of a walker as a younger man wearing an Occupation Iraqi Freedom t-shirt walked beside him, ready to help if necessary.

When Arn entered the outer room of the mental health wing, a patient consultation in progress sign hung on the door by a suction cup. “Doctor Ames will be finished shortly,”

a woman said from somewhere under the counter.

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