said Jeanette. “I don’t know what the charge is for threatening an FBI agent, but it can’t be good.”
“Ya think?” replied Scrubs in exasperation. “Have you heard any more about the investigation? How it’s going?”
“Not really. The FBI lady stayed holed up in Goins’ office all afternoon. She looked pretty happy when she left. I hope that doesn’t mean she found something.”
“I hope so, too. Leroy’s still busting my chops to get more product. It doesn’t look like we’ll be able to get some anytime soon, though.”
“You got that right,” exclaimed Jeanette. “I’m not going near anybody’s meds while that FBI chick is there—maybe not even after she leaves. This shit is stressing me out.”
“I hear you,” commiserated Scrubs. “And on top of the investigation, you’ve been working a lot more overtime the last few months, too. That ain’t exactly good for calming your nerves.”
“Huh?” said Jeanette. “Oh, yeah. Right, that’s one more thing.”
Scrubs didn’t know what else to say, so he remained silent. He understood—even agreed with—his wife’s concerns. He didn’t want her to be caught. Yet he also knew their life was just as likely to come crashing down if they discontinued their lucrative drug trade. If they stopped selling the painkillers, they’d lose everything: house, cars, the whole enchilada. He felt trapped, as if he were in a darkened room with a net closing around him, one he could sense but not see.
He wondered if the new course of action he had recently initiated would help pull he and Jeanette out of their financial predicament, but it was too early to say if this new approach would be successful.
CHAPTER 27
That same evening, Nancy Goins turned to her husband. “Are you going out?”
“Yeah,” replied Ken. “Gonna shoot a few rounds with Johnny and the guys until it gets dark.”
“Okay. When—”
“I’ll be home when I damn well feel like it—that’s when,” snapped Ken. “Don’t wait up.”
“All right—fine,” retorted Nancy. She turned on her heel and began to leave the room. Ken donned his Callaway cap and stepped into the garage, humming.
Nancy watched him pull away from the house and immediately placed a call. “Hey—it’s me.”
“Hey, Babe,” said Dennis. “Where are you?”
“At home. Ken just left. Do you want to get together?”
“Sure. Just tell me where and when.”
“How about Dante’s in an hour?”
“Works for me. I’ll see you there.”
Sixty minutes later, Nancy stepped into the dimly-lit bar and grill. She scanned the tables and eventually spotted Dennis seated in a plush booth on the opposite side of the restaurant, far away from curious eyes. She wound her way through a maze of booths and chairs, arriving at his table just as he finished a whistled rendition of “Every Breath You Take.” After stooping to greet him with a lingering kiss, she took a seat facing him.
“So how was work?” she asked.
“Huh?” said Dennis with a grin. “Sorry—some beautiful lady just planted one on me, and it totally broke my concentration.”
Nancy laughed as she smacked him with her napkin. “Flatterer. I asked how your day was.”
“Busy and good—the usual, in other words. How was yours?”
“Good, sort of. The FBI agent thinks she’s figured out who’s stealing narcotics from our patients.”
“And…?”
“She hasn’t told me who it is, but she seems pretty sure of her facts. She’s very thorough.”
“Cool—that should help put Serenity back in the black, right?”
“It’ll certainly help. We’ll probably need more than that to be profitable, but frankly that’s William Cline’s problem, not mine.
“And since I had an FBI agent in my office, I told her about another issue that’s been worrying me,” she continued. “Over the last few months, I’ve noticed an unusually-high incidence of idiosyncratic patient deaths, at both Serenity and Stokely
“Ya think?” replied Scrubs in exasperation. “Have you heard any more about the investigation? How it’s going?”
“Not really. The FBI lady stayed holed up in Goins’ office all afternoon. She looked pretty happy when she left. I hope that doesn’t mean she found something.”
“I hope so, too. Leroy’s still busting my chops to get more product. It doesn’t look like we’ll be able to get some anytime soon, though.”
“You got that right,” exclaimed Jeanette. “I’m not going near anybody’s meds while that FBI chick is there—maybe not even after she leaves. This shit is stressing me out.”
“I hear you,” commiserated Scrubs. “And on top of the investigation, you’ve been working a lot more overtime the last few months, too. That ain’t exactly good for calming your nerves.”
“Huh?” said Jeanette. “Oh, yeah. Right, that’s one more thing.”
Scrubs didn’t know what else to say, so he remained silent. He understood—even agreed with—his wife’s concerns. He didn’t want her to be caught. Yet he also knew their life was just as likely to come crashing down if they discontinued their lucrative drug trade. If they stopped selling the painkillers, they’d lose everything: house, cars, the whole enchilada. He felt trapped, as if he were in a darkened room with a net closing around him, one he could sense but not see.
He wondered if the new course of action he had recently initiated would help pull he and Jeanette out of their financial predicament, but it was too early to say if this new approach would be successful.
CHAPTER 27
That same evening, Nancy Goins turned to her husband. “Are you going out?”
“Yeah,” replied Ken. “Gonna shoot a few rounds with Johnny and the guys until it gets dark.”
“Okay. When—”
“I’ll be home when I damn well feel like it—that’s when,” snapped Ken. “Don’t wait up.”
“All right—fine,” retorted Nancy. She turned on her heel and began to leave the room. Ken donned his Callaway cap and stepped into the garage, humming.
Nancy watched him pull away from the house and immediately placed a call. “Hey—it’s me.”
“Hey, Babe,” said Dennis. “Where are you?”
“At home. Ken just left. Do you want to get together?”
“Sure. Just tell me where and when.”
“How about Dante’s in an hour?”
“Works for me. I’ll see you there.”
Sixty minutes later, Nancy stepped into the dimly-lit bar and grill. She scanned the tables and eventually spotted Dennis seated in a plush booth on the opposite side of the restaurant, far away from curious eyes. She wound her way through a maze of booths and chairs, arriving at his table just as he finished a whistled rendition of “Every Breath You Take.” After stooping to greet him with a lingering kiss, she took a seat facing him.
“So how was work?” she asked.
“Huh?” said Dennis with a grin. “Sorry—some beautiful lady just planted one on me, and it totally broke my concentration.”
Nancy laughed as she smacked him with her napkin. “Flatterer. I asked how your day was.”
“Busy and good—the usual, in other words. How was yours?”
“Good, sort of. The FBI agent thinks she’s figured out who’s stealing narcotics from our patients.”
“And…?”
“She hasn’t told me who it is, but she seems pretty sure of her facts. She’s very thorough.”
“Cool—that should help put Serenity back in the black, right?”
“It’ll certainly help. We’ll probably need more than that to be profitable, but frankly that’s William Cline’s problem, not mine.
“And since I had an FBI agent in my office, I told her about another issue that’s been worrying me,” she continued. “Over the last few months, I’ve noticed an unusually-high incidence of idiosyncratic patient deaths, at both Serenity and Stokely
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