“I might be forced into some time off after the email I send tonight. Is that all you called to say?” Mitch asked, a smile spreading across his face. His father had retired ten years ago from practicing medicine. His retirement had consisted of taking a head physician’s assignment for the New York Panthers. His pop worked harder at seventy-five years old than most people worked their entire lives.
But his father never called to chat. No, definitely not a chatter, so Mitch waited for him to get to the point.
“Forced time off, is something wrong?” he asked.
“You know I can’t talk about it,” Mitch said.
“Son, I need a favor.” His dad went straight to the point, not wasting another second beating around the bush. Mitch’s smile faded. His dad didn’t chat and never asked for favors.
“Anything, Pop. What’s goin’ on?” Mitch asked.
“One of my player’s has had a mishap. He’s in Hawaii, the island of Kauai. From what I’ve gathered, it wasn’t an accident.”
“All right, want me to make some calls?” Mitch asked.
“This one’s more important to me, Mitch. Can you get someone over there to help them?” Dr. Knox asked.
“All right. I guess I can,” Mitch said, trying to remember who was onsite in their Hawaiian field office and what favor he’d have to give back for getting them involved.
“Son, it’s Colt Michaels. He needs us.”
“Whoa. What happened?” Michaels was a big one. Mitch had instant visions of drug problems and prostitutes. Something he’d need to get swept under the rug before the press could do too much damage to the team.
“I’ll fill you in, but it’s sensitive. And I’m afraid neither of those boys are safe at this point.” Okay the prostitutes weren’t girls, but boys. Mitch got that. Even saluted it.
To a gay professional man that said enough.
“I can head out tonight. I’m not too far from there. Send over the details. Are they in a position to have security?” Mitch asked. He was standing again, shutting down his laptop, already in the process of packing.
“Only the local police as best as I can tell. They’re at Island Memorial Hospital in Kapa’a. Do you know about the place?”
“It’s small, but certainly not the worst,” Mitch said, thinking of where to land closest to the hospital. “I’ll change security forces when we hang up. I’ll call you when I arrive.”
“Thank you, son. I’m flying to Hawaii in the morning. It’s the earliest I can get out,” his father said.
“The team isn’t flying you there?” Mitch pushed his toiletries in his bag and zipped with the phone perched to his ear.
“They don’t know yet. No one knows, Mitchell. Colt’s been hurt bad and the list of reasons as to why runs pretty deep.”
“So he’s your special case Mom kept talking about last year?” Mitch asked, pausing as he tossed the travel bag in his suitcase.
“What you might not see in the background information you’ll pull, but what I’ve made clear to the hospital was those two were married in New York last week, honeymooning on the island. It’s not common knowledge, and whatever you can do to make that paperwork happen will be appreciated. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.” It was all his dad had to say on the subject.
“All right…” Did that mean he wasn’t with a prostitute? Wait, more importantly, his father never lied. He sounded believable. Were they married last week? “I’ll have someone pick you up at the airport.”
“Thank you, son,” Dr. Knox said. Mitch had his bags packed. He dropped his phone in his pocket, checked his weapon again, this time paying closer attention to the chamber. The benefit of being a US Marshal meant he could hitch a ride on any jet, anytime. It made everyone feel safer with him on board.
Funny how his father turned out to be a perfect diversion!
***
The island hospital didn’t look so bad from the outside, but still could have been in every horror flick Mitch had ever seen. He hated hospitals, always had. There was just something creepy about them. He walked through the front doors of the quiet, dark hospital in the early morning hours, way before the sun came up. The pungent smell of the hospital hit him like a ton of bricks. Hospitals always reeked of something. Just exactly what, he couldn’t put his finger on, but they all had that same smell, every last one of them, and he would never get used to it as long as he lived. For the purpose of this moment, he put the smell off to formaldehyde and death and chuckled at the thought.
His adrenaline junkie side had him secretly begging a decomposed zombie to jump out of a darkened corner, thereby forcing the start of the ever anticipated Zombie Apocalypse. In Mitch’s mind, he’d be Marcus from State of Decay, battling those zombies, saving the world, keeping his people safe. Seriously, wouldn’t that be completely badass?
Mitch trained every single day for that life-altering event, knowing in his heart it would never truly come, because, after all, video games weren’t real, but whatever. If he found his motivation through Xbox and he kept everything all inside his own head, never breathing a single word out loud, who really cared?
The Justice Department shrinks would probably care, but that fell strongly in the category to never breathe that thought out loud, period. A senior Deputy US Marshal shouldn’t be having flights of fantasy while on duty—well, actually, never, but definitely not while on duty! He hid the grin and rolled his shoulders, flexing his neck and back muscles, preparing for the attack as he ate up the distance from the front doors to ICU.
His long legs and booted feet resonated with each step. His beloved ball cap was in his back pocket, since as an afterthought, he’d decided not to leave the hat in the rental parked out front. The island was known for petty thievery. Funny how he hadn’t had that same thought about his laptop.
With a pop of his wrist, he flashed his badge at the nurse’s station, never stopping as he went to the back rooms. He knew which room John Doe aka Colt Michaels was listed in and he also knew which room Colt was actually in. He didn’t need his agents stationed out front to clue him in.