“That’s why S.W.A.T. teams carry two rifles and enough firepower on them at all times to use for a potential situation. They might need to add their vests and shit, but they’re not going to have to run to get weapons, which would take a lot longer and cut into their response times.”
Clicking his fingers, Carter nodded. “Just like filing out of the back of that truck would.”
“Exactly.”
As we drove toward Bates’, we got the news that there was a hostage situation in Palmerstown, which explained the S.W.A.T. team’s journey through Piersville.
“Weren’t we supposed to help clear the way for them?” Carter sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Goddamn it. I totally forgot.”
I hadn’t.
“The road was clear, and there were a couple of our vehicles at the end of it blocking off. They were fine. Us jumping in the car and trying to get involved in it might have cost them some seconds.”
Taking the turning onto the road that led to the retirement home, I added, “Now, if there was traffic, then, yes, we should have been in with lights on to clear the road for them.”
“So we need to use our best judgment for situations like this?”
As I parked up in front of the building and cut the engine, I looked across at the younger man. “Like we do with everything, yes. Plus, they’ll radio through to us if we’re needed.”
He was just about to reply when something caught his attention in front of the vehicle.
“Fuck’s sake, they make me feel like a creepy stripper or something,” he mumbled, sinking down in his seat. “Every time we get called out here, I have to bathe myself like Ace Ventura did with The Crying Game song playing.”
He wasn’t wrong there.
Happy to delay the inevitable for thirty seconds, I made a show of gathering up what I needed to take in with me. Slowly. Oh, so fucking slowly.
“You know, that scene was based on a movie about a British soldier and the IRA. He gets kidnapped by them, and one of the IRA members becomes an ally of his. Anyway, the IRA guy escapes to London and falls in love with a woman who turns out to be a man.
“When he finds out, the scene in the shower with that song playing happens. It’s got Forest Whitaker in it.”
Turning to stare at me, he asked, “No shit?”
“No shit.”
“I’ve never heard of it. What’s it called?”
I felt my lips twitch with the pull of the smile that wanted to break out, but with the old biddy’s watching on, I wouldn’t let it happen. It seemed to encourage them whenever we smiled, so it was best not to.
“It’s called The Crying Game.”
Hitting his head off the headrest, Carter swore and squeezed his eyes together. “Of course it is. Now I’m going to have to watch it when I get home.”
Pushing the door open, I swung a leg out and then stood up. As far as retirement homes went, Bates’ was a good one. The building was impressive—an old mansion that’d been renovated and extended, so it looked striking from the outside. It was surrounded by lush grass, trees, and flowers, with three large ornamental ponds dotted around the grounds.
On the inside, they had elevators for the residents, and it was more like an assisted living home for those who wanted to use the small kitchens in their studio apartments. For those who didn’t, they had a chef who catered to every taste and religion.
Yeah, the name was unfortunate, but seeing as how the home had been opened in the fifties and way before the movie Psycho had been released, it was what it was.
As we walked toward the entrance of the building, I mused, “I wonder if DB will put me in here when I get old.”
“Nah, Evie doesn’t look like the kind of woman who’d do that. Then again, by that point, she might be sick of you and want a younger model, so who knows.”
This time it was me who walked into the door, which meant I was surrounded by five well-meaning older women who fussed over me like I’d been shot.
Shooting a glare over the top of their heads, I caught Carter mouthing, “Maybe one of these is your future Evie rebound?”
Seeing as how Lydia Jenks had already taken her teeth out, shooting me a dramatic wink as she slipped them into her pocket, I was unable to hold back the full body shudder from the mental image his words had given me.
I was currently seated in the dining room of Bates Retirement Home, listening as Mrs. Bane went over her husband's disappearance and answered my questions.
Even though the manager and staff had done their best to stop them from joining us, other residents were dotted around the room, listening to the conversation.