THE THOUSAND DOLLAR PATIENT: A Colt Ryder Thriller by J.T. Brannan

Author:J.T. Brannan [Brannan, J.T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grey Arrow Publishing
Published: 2021-06-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

My head was a mess. A real mess.

I’d been right about what had happened, a bullet had actually grazed my skull, seared through the skin and ricocheted off the bone itself, without penetrating. But it had left a huge gouge in the side of my head, and I could actually see the bone when I examined it in the bathroom mirror. It was no wonder the bad guys had thought I was dead.

I needed medical attention, but seeing as I had no idea who I could trust in this city – my best guess at the moment was nobody – I had to deal with patching up the damage by myself. It hadn’t been the first time I’d acted as my own doctor, but that didn’t make it any easier.

I’d undergone a lot of medical training during my time in the military, including trauma work, and I knew what I was doing. But sewing up wounds on other people was one hell of a lot easier than doing it on yourself, especially when the injury was at the side of the head, which was incredibly difficult to see.

I’d switched vehicles in the long-term lot at the airport, stealing a nondescript Kia sedan, before driving back through the city on the lookout for a pharmacy. Rather than stagger in to a late-night store covered in blood, instead I found one that was closed up for the night, disabled the alarm, and broke inside. My head had been on fire by that time, so bad that I nearly passed out with every step, and so the first thing I’d done had been to hit the painkillers.

Turned out I’d gone a little overboard though, because the next thing I knew, I was waking up, clearly having passed out on the dispensary floor.

It had still been dark though, and I figured I’d only been out for an hour or so; luckily, nobody had noticed the pharmacy had been broken into during that time, or else I’d have woken up inside a jail cell, or at least a prison infirmary. Actually, that wouldn’t have been such a bad idea, except for the likelihood that I’d be murdered there within a few hours.

I’d dragged myself back up, the pain in my head a little more manageable now, gathered the supplies I needed, and made it back to the car without being seen.

I’d then headed for the residential compound where Masters lived, but instead of entering it, I drove into an adjacent compound that I’d seen when I’d visited him earlier instead. This one wasn’t fully open yet, I’d noticed, the houses and apartments all unfinished. But there was a show home that was all ready to go, used to entice wealthy members of the public to invest in the new-builds, and I parked my car up around the back where it couldn’t be seen and broke inside. It was early on Sunday morning now, maybe four o’clock, and it was getting light. But I knew

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