Missouri Loves Company (Rip Lane Book 1) by W.J. Costello

the brake lights. My plan was to signal motorists for help by sticking my hand out through the hole. But pushing out the light proved to be much more difficult than I had anticipated. Kicking it out would probably work, but it would be close to impossible to maneuver myself into a kicking position. And so what I did was rip out the wires. I figured maybe a state trooper would stop the car for having a faulty brake light.
    Minutes passed.
    No state trooper came to my rescue.
    But I felt the car slowing.
    It made a turn.
    Tires crunched on gravel.
    The car radio came on. Full blast. An AC/DC song told me I was on the highway to hell. Which I already knew.
    The car did not stop. It kept on going. Hell was apparently down the road a bit.
    The shock absorbers were no match for the gravel. I bounced in the trunk like popcorn in a popper.
    Finally the car stopped.
    There was movement from inside.
    Car doors slammed.
    The car radio was loud. It drowned out all other sounds. I wanted to hear my abductors talking. I wanted to hear their footsteps. All I could hear was AC/DC singing about dirty deeds.
    The trunk lid opened.
    Harsh sunlight blinded me. I blinked and squinted.
    Hands seized my limbs and yanked me from the trunk. My face landed in the dirt and my world went sideways. Boots hammered my back, my side, my chest. It sounded like a buffalo stampede. It got louder when they beat me with baseball bats.
    Then it got quiet for a moment.
    Car doors slammed.
    Tires crunched on gravel.
    They left me for dead.

CHAPTER 23
     
     
    “W HERE AM I?”
    “You’re in the hospital, Rip.”
    It was Sally Moran, the woman who lived in the rusty travel trailer that was parked beside my motor home at S’mores and Snores Campground. Sally was standing at my bedside, looking down on me. Her husband, the lawyer, was nowhere in sight.
    “Where’s Harry?”
    “Back at the campground. He’s organizing his papers. He thinks you might want to file a lawsuit against your attackers.”
    “I don’t plan to sue them.,” I said. “I plan to pur sue them.”
    “What happened to you? Do you remember?”
    “Like it was yesterday.”
    “It was yesterday.”
    “Oh. How long have I been unconscious?”
    “Doctor says twelve hours or so.”
    “Last thing I remember’s getting beat up. How’d I get here?”
    “According to the paramedics you crawled all the way through a cornfield until you reached a road. A passing car stopped to help. The driver called for an ambulance.”
    “A good Samaritan?”
    “A good Samaritan.”
    “Who was it?”
    “Nobody knows. She was gone when the paramedics arrived. I guess she didn’t want to be involved any further.”
    “I know how that goes.”
    “Yeah, you’re lucky to be alive.”
    “How do I look, Sally?”
    She frowned.
    “That bad, huh?”
    A nurse came into the room. He checked the IV taped to my hand. He checked my chart. He looked at me without expression, the way a medical student looks at a cadaver.
    “How are you feeling, Mr. Lane.”
    “Like I was kicked and beaten by four guys.”
    He patted my arm, nodded sympathetically, and left the room.
    Through the open doorway I could see a doctor in blue scrubs. Four years of medical school and you get to wear pajamas to work. Seems worth it.
    “How’d you know I was in the hospital, Sally?”
    “Harry told me. He was soliciting clients at the hospital when your ambulance arrived. He saw them wheeling you into the emergency room.”
    “Harry get any new clients?”
    “He was hoping you were one.”
    I nodded. It made my neck hurt.
    “Thanks for coming, Sally. It’s nice having a visitor.”
    She tossed her hair, parted her lips.
    “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” she said.
    My face felt flushed. It was probably pink with embarrassment, and brown with facial stubble, and black and blue with bruises. As multicolored as oil on wet pavement.
    I didn’t expect to have any other hospital visitors—except maybe Harry. I considered