"You the manager?" Elias asked.
"I'm the owner. Name's Fred; what can I do for you?"
"My name is Elias, Elias Neal. You have a young woman in your hotel, came in on a Harley Sportster."
"Mind telling me what this is about?" Fred asked.
"She's very sick. Do you know what PTSD is?"
"I was in 'Nam, son, you don't need to lecture me about post-trauma."
"Good, because she has it in spades, and she's melting down in your hotel right now. I need you to keep an eye on her, and make sure she doesn't try to leave. It's worth twenty-grand to you if you can make that happen."
"What's your number?" Fred asked.
"Why?"
"Because she wouldn't be the first woman trying to get away from a sicko that has shown up in my hotel, son. I'm going to go see her. If what you say pans true, well then, we'll take it from there," Fred told him plainly.
Elias gave him his number, and Fred hung up on him without further comment.
Fred was ex-airborne, and plenty of good men in his history had fallen to the terrors of post-war. Most of them ate bullets for a dinner in some lonely place and were gone now. He wasn't sure how a woman might be afflicted like that, but they were on the lines now, so it was possible.
He picked up his keys, locked up his office, and casually strolled down the length of his building until he came to number seven, with the bike parked outside. He knocked. Nothing happened, so he knocked again, and called out.
No answer came.
Putting his key into the lock he opened the door a little, and called inside. He could hear someone in there, a voice, but she wasn't answering him. He opened the door further and stepped inside warily. If she was shell-shocked, there was no telling what she might do, and he didn't want to get shot. Not at this stage of the game. Shit hurt like hell.
He found her in the bathroom, and his heart broke looking at her. Cleaned up, she was probably pretty, and would look a little like his granddaughter.
He didn't try to touch her, or comfort her. She was gone. Completely gone. Her eyes looked through him, not even knowing he was there. Her body shook like she was freezing to death.
Taking his cell phone out, and the paper with Elias' number on it, he made the call.
"Hello?" Elias said.
"I found her. She's alive, and breathing, but gone," Fred told him.
"I have her doctor ready to call you," Elias to him.
"Hope he's a psych, and a good one," Fred said.
"She is. Both."
"Then take down my cell number. Can't call the rooms directly, and I don't think I should leave her like this," Fred said, and gave him his number.
"I also have a man a few hours out. I'm saddling to ride there right now with four others."
"Why all the men?" Fred asked.
"The man that did this to her is looking for her, and he means to finish what he started. He wants her dead," Elias to him.
"How do I know you aren't this man?" Fred asked.
Elias paused, and then said, "You don't. What do you suggest?"
"Why don't you have her doctor call me, and I'll do what she suggests, if it sounds reasonable," Fred told him.
"What about my man? Will you let him guard her? She's in some serious danger."
"He can guard, but he can't take her—how's that?"
"That's fine. That will be just fine. His name is Dave, and he rides a Heritage. Red. He's about three hours from you."
"Alright. Dave it is then—and son, I really think this girl needs to be in a hospital soon after this Dave fella gets here. Local Sheriff is a good man, and honest as they come. I play poker with him."
Elias took in a deep breath. "The man after her is a cop, a detective. Houston."
"What's she to you?"
"I love her," Elias told him.
"Then why aren't you here with her?"
"She got scared, didn't want me hurt, and took off. She called me from the room. You can check your logs. She asked me to come get her, and sir, I appreciate your caution, but I intend to do exactly that."
"Well, come on then. Houston is a long way off, and it will give me time to think this through. You have my cell. Call as you like to check up on things. I'm guessing, though, you'll be meeting her at the hospital, not here. Just wouldn't be right to keep her here like this," Fred told him.
"I'll keep in touch then. Doc will be driving out as well, so she can help with treatment and with getting her back home," Elias told him.
"Alright. Have her doctor call me, and we'll take it from there. My gut tells me you are on the up and up, but, like I said, I was in 'Nam and I didn't get through that just relying on my gut. Got to use brains as well."
"Agreed," Elias told him. "I'm on my way."
A few minutes later a woman who claimed to be Dr. Mary Maynard called his phone and asked if he knew how to take vitals.
"Yep, sure do. She's at fifty beats a minute, eyes unresponsive, and her skin is clammy. She's pulling at her hair, and talking about the smell, and that's all she's doing. I don't even think she knows I'm in the bathroom with her."
"Alright," Doc said. "Is there a hospital nearby? Some place that knows something besides horses?"
"Not close, but I can get her there, to the one in Yuma," Fred said. "Should I wait for this Dave fella to show up first?"
"Definitely. She's in serious danger, and so are you right now."
"How serious?" he asked.
"You sound like a medic," she said.
"Airborne, cross-trained," he said.
"Then you'll understand when I tell you: very serious trouble."
"Ah, alright. I'll get my gun then. What color is this Dave fella's bike, again?"
"Red; it's a Heritage Harley. Do you know what that is?"
"Yes ma'am I do," Fred assured her. "Is he licensed to carry? Is he legal?"
"Yes he is," Doc told him. "I'll be trying to get a hold of him, and give him your number."
"That's a good idea. Why don't you give me his as well?"
"Why?" she asked.
"So I can call him when he's in front of me and see if he picks up before I shoot him."
Doc gave her Dave's phone number. "I like your kind of caution Fred," she told him. "I'll be seeing you soon."
It was less than two hours later when a large Harley pulled into the lot right up to Chelsea's Sporty. The man that got off Fred would describe as professional, and serious. Fred leveled his gun on the man, and dialed the number Doc gave him from his cell phone.
Dave noticed the gun just as his phone rang loudly in his jacket pocket.
"You must be Fred," Dave said.
"You are more than likely known as Dave," Fred answered.
"She inside?"
"Yep, but we're on the move. I'll call an ambulance."
"I'll keep an eye out, then. Make your call. Let's take care of that girl. She's got a lot of people back home missing her," Dave told him.
"A lot, huh?" Fred asked.
"Over fifty that know her, some eighty more that don't, but still care about her," Dave said, then added, "The kind of care that your little gun isn't going to keep back for very long. So let's put that away, alright?"
Fred looked at his .45 and shrugged, then put it in his holster. Then he called the emergency line and asked for an ambulance.