Residence Evil (Dr. Beckett Campbell, Medical Examiner Book 6) by Patrick Logan

Author:Patrick Logan [Logan, Patrick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pathological Ink
Published: 2022-04-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

“Well, that was fun,” Beckett said as he and Drake left the restroom.

“I needed that,” Drake replied, mostly to himself. “Oh, you still have…”

He pulled a tissue out of his pocket and Beckett leaned forward while the man dabbed his forehead. There was something oddly romantic about this gesture.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Beckett laughed. He was thinking about it—thinking about sealing this new friendship with a kiss.

But it wasn’t necessary. A good way to start a great friendship was to fight side-by-side with someone.

“I’ll go talk to the bouncer, smooth things over,” Drake offered.

“Show him your big shiny badge.”

Drake hmphed.

“I’ll find Swansea.”

It wasn’t a difficult task—the doctor was exactly where they had been before heading to the shitter. Beckett sidled up next to his friend, grabbed the glass of beer in front of him, and chugged half of it. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You alright?” he asked Swansea, who still had his back to him.

When the man didn’t turn right away, Beckett reached out and grabbed his shoulder. Swansea jumped as he whipped his head around.

“Beckett what—your forehead!”

Beckett touched his forehead. Feeling dampness, he grabbed the wet napkin from beneath Swansea’s beer and wiped it away. Apparently, Drake had done a poor job at cleaning him up.

I’m going to have to teach that boy how to clean.

Then Beckett laughed.

He was perhaps the messiest human on earth.

“This fucking period, I tell you,” he said. “Heaviest flow I’ve ever had.”

“No, seriously, what happened?” Swansea pressed.

“Nothing.” Beckett observed his friend’s face. “You seem alright?”

There was some dried blood in both of Swansea’s nostrils and a small bruise forming on the bridge of his nose, but he was otherwise no worse for wear.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Fucking fantastic. Did you… did you see those guys?”

“Naw, they… uh…” Beckett’s eyes darted back and forth, “…they were already gone.”

Swansea didn’t believe him but that didn’t matter. What the man didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. They both reached for the beer at the same time.

“That’s mine,” Swansea said.

“Trade you.”

When the man saw the bag of coke, he grinned.

“Deal.”

“Ian?”

Beckett realized that they were no longer alone, or, more likely, they never had been. A dark-haired woman leaned against Swansea. She wasn’t a ten like Beckett’s date had been, but for Ian, she wasn’t a bad catch.

“Oh, shit, this is…” Swansea hesitated, clearly not remembering the maiden’s name, “…my friend.”

The woman frowned.

“Claire.”

“Claire,” Beckett repeated before downing the beer. “Nice to meet you, Claire, short-lived as it was because I’m getting the fuck out of here. Be good.”

He clapped his friend on the back and started to make his way around the bar. There was some commotion near the bathroom, and he spotted Drake talking to a bouncer who was a spitting image of Ronnie Coleman. The kindred spirits that they were, Drake looked up and he gave Beckett a nod.

Beckett saluted him.

He left the club and jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans to keep them warm. The night had cooled significantly since they’d entered.

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