Paying The Piper - 14. Chapter 14

Quent took the rest of the day off. He went to bed at noon and slept, without the magical intervention of alcohol, for twelve hours. He decided waking at midnight feeling rested was disconcerting and vowed never to do it again. He spent the rest of the night actually making notes in his notebook.

The next morning, he was at the Farther's Run Urgent Care Center at seven a.m. Little of much urgency happened at the Urgent Care Center at seven a.m. on a Sunday morning. As a result, Quent was able to track down Dr. Cobb in less than five minutes.

“Quent!” Stuart exclaimed with a grin. He snapped his book shut. “What brings you out here this early on a Sunday?”

Quent distrusted happy people in the morning. “What are you doing here at seven in the morning on a Sunday?” he fired back.

“I work here.” Stuart laughed at his so-called witticism. Quent forced a smile.

“Don’t you have a life?” he asked.

Stuart didn’t take offense. “Always cut to the chase, don’t you, Quent? No, I suppose not. Medicine is my life. I have no other mistress.”

“You had Cynthia.”

Quent reveled in the short, heavy silence that followed. He watched Stuart struggle through a string of emotions before settling on detached sadness. “I did. For a short time. I’m afraid my life was a bit too boring for her.”

Quent inclined his head. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Stuart waved him off. “Don’t be. I got over it quickly. All she wanted was a fuck anyway.”

Quent blinked and struggled to match the work ‘fuck’ to Stuart’s round, friendly face. The remark was so out of character that he had difficulty recovering. He opted for, “Really?”

Stuart nodded sadly. “I’m afraid I’m not into casual sex, Quent.”

Quent just barely restrained himself from jumping up and shouting, “Liar!” at the top of his lungs. He chose instead, “That’s very noble.”

Stuart laughed. “Well, I don’t know if it’s noble, but it sure as hell is a lot safer these days. Don’t you agree?”

Quent abruptly realized he'd been sidetracked. That slimy, white-coated bastard, he thought. His estimation of Dr. Cobb went up a notch. Quent pulled out his notebook. He turned to the first blank page.

“When did you and Cynthia break up?”

Stuart squinted while he thought. “A couple of weeks ago?”

Quent scribbled the word evades in his notebook. “Was it?”

“Was it what?”

Quent grinned. He was beginning to enjoy the game. “A couple of weeks ago.”

Stuart bobbed his head. “It was.”

Quent tapped his pencil on his knee. “Amicable?”

Stuart made a ‘who knows?’ motion with his shoulders. “Not amicable, then,” Quent guessed and scribbled furiously in his book. Stuart quickly back-pedaled.

“No. No. I wouldn’t say that. I’d say we parted just short of friends. I know we could have interacted on a professional level without any problems whatsoever.”

Since you’ve had so much practice, Quent thought evilly. “Was it because of White?” he asked.

Stuart burst out laughing. “Hardly.”

“Hardly?”

“Come on, Quent.” Stuart winked at him. “Did he ever really stand a chance?”

Quent scribbled Did you? in his notebook. He snapped it shut and Stuart relaxed. “How long have you worked here?” he asked Stuart.

Stuart rocked back in his chair and raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Oh, gosh.” All she wanted was a fuck anyway. “I guess about four years now. Since my last year of internship.”

Quent pasted a smile on his face. “Everybody always comes back to Farther's Run,” he quipped.

Stuart nodded in agreement. “Sooner or later.”

**********

Quent was pleased to see that Rob hadn’t destroyed the station in his absence. True – he'd been gone less than a day. But like any child in a man’s body, all Rob really needed to get into trouble was five minutes and a book of matches.

“Rob,” he said as he walked in.

Rob jumped from his seat. “Hey, Chief! How are you?”

“I’ve been up since midnight.”

“Christ! Why?” Rob plunked back into his seat, false concern etched on his face.

“Because I was reviewing in my head all of the horrible things I was going to do to you for sleeping with Elizabeth McCoy.”

Rob turned white. “Aw, shit!”

Quent passed through to his office and shut the door. He paused and put his ear against the frosted glass pane. “Shit. Shit. Shit,” he heard. Rob was pacing the small office. Screw it, Quent thought. He already had a seat reserved in hell. He waited until Rob was striding by, then threw the door open. Rob screamed and jumped a foot into the air.

“Rob,” Quent barked.

“Y-yes, Chief?”

“Do not, under any circumstances, call Mrs. McCoy. I think, at the very least, you owe Cale the element of surprise, don’t you?” Rob nodded dumbly, and Quent ducked back into his office and shut the door. His mood was improving by the second. He sat down and dialed Peggy’s office.

“Good Morning, Quent,” Peggy answered jovially. Quent scowled. He was surrounded by morning people. “I take it you’re calling about Ms. Patterson.”

Quent bit back a nasty reply. He had no desire to make an enemy of Peggy. “Yes."

“Well, even less to tell you about this one. COD is a single gunshot wound to the head. Rifle. Extremely common in these parts. My nephew uses the same type to hunt rabbit.”

Quent groaned. He detested useless information.

“Are you all right, Quent?”

“Fine. Fine. Go ahead.”

“That’s it. If I get anything back on the bullet, I’ll let you know.”

Quent pictured a glass of scotch in his hand, and his mouth flooded with saliva. He wondered if such a reaction pointed to a problem with alcohol. “Nothing else? At what range was she shot?”

“Hard to say exactly. Maybe fifty yards.”

Quent thanked her and hung up. Fifty yards. Not a hard shot – during the day. At night? Considerably more difficult.

He picked up the phone and dialed the line Cale kept in his home office. After the fourth ring, he hung up. He tried the cell phone with similar results. He cursed under his breath and hauled himself to his feet. Apparently, he was on his own.