Diversion 2 - Collusion (14 page)

Walter motioned for Lucky to follow him into the hallway. Together they traipsed back to Bo’s office.
Walter claimed a chair across from Bo. “You have the samples?”
Bo tapped a bulging envelope on the desk.
“The pedigrees?”
He handed Walter a stack of papers. Lucky moved in to peer over his shoulder at the documents that tracked each leg of the product’s journey between manufacturer and current owner. He whistled. “Damn! Those drugs have been around the block more times than I have.”
“Why the hell can’t the manufacturer simply sell to the hospital?” Bo groused.
“Because they’d need a whole different set of licenses, following a whole different set of laws. Even keeping their sales to wholesalers may require several licenses per state,” Lucky replied.
“Well then, why do wholesalers sell to these cutthroat bastards?”
Walter fielded the question. “Wholesalers take orders, check for valid licenses, and send the product. They have no way of predicting what their customers intend to do with the goods.”
Bo’s frown turned into a scowl. “And there’s nothing we can do?”
“There’s legislation in place that, once passed, will discourage the price gouging, but if there’s money to be made there’ll always be devious individuals to take advantage of the situation. That’s where we come in.” Walter grinned his most feral. He might present himself as a teddy bear when it suited his purposes, inside lived the heart of a grizzly.
“What now?” Bo slumped in his chair.
“Now, we process what we’ve found and find out who’s being naughty and nice. Bo, I’m afraid the gray market sharks may up the stakes to take advantage of the feeding frenzy, and they might see you as easy pickings.” Walter turned his no-nonsense gaze on Lucky. “Given the situation with the picketers, we need to maintain a presence here. Lucky, conduct whatever investigations you feel are necessary.” The side of his mouth lifted, engaging a smirk that’d be right at home on the face of a late night movie villain. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble gaining the staff’s cooperation. Keep in mind the nature of this hospital, however. If you discover suspicious product, contact Bo to have it quarantined for testing immediately.”
Walter rose to his feet, clutching the documents. “Your cover remains in place, Bo. You’re the hospital buyer, cooperating with the SNB. You can deal openly with Lucky. Once the lab analyzes the samples you provided, we’ll send copies of the results. If it were up to me, we’d impound the lot. Unfortunately, we currently have no legal basis to take drastic measures.” He rounded the desk and dropped a massive paw to Bo’s shoulder. “Keep up the good work.”
Samples and paperwork in hand, Walter headed for the door, crooking a finger at Lucky. “Walk me to the elevator, please.”
With a curt nod to Bo, and eye contact meant to offer reassurance, Lucky followed his boss. Halfway down the hall Lucky asked, “What’s up?”
“Danvers’s termination set off a chain reaction. Parents, not understanding the situation, have begun to remove their children to send elsewhere, believing Rosario is denying patients proper care. An emergency meeting was called. The hospital board stands by its decision not to purchase from untrustworthy sources. Too many of the drugs they use require special handling. If they cannot guarantee the safety of their medications, they won’t use them. Which brings me to our next problem.”
“Don’t we have enough problems as it is?”
Walter’s barked a humorless laugh. “It seems Keith uncovered evidence from Danvers’s computer. Apparently, Danvers has been trying for some time to allow purchasing from Primero Care.”
“Yeah, Bo said as much. And all this time he tried to fool people into believing he cared about the kids. No one I’ve talked to here liked him much.”
They stopped by the elevator and Walter pushed the down arrow. “You didn’t trust Danvers?”
“No, I didn’t. But I’ve been told I don’t trust anybody.”
The elevator doorsopened and Walter stepped inside. “And you’re usually right. You’ve made it abundantly clear that you prefer working alone, but I need you to keep an eye on Bo.”
“Keep an eye on Bo? Why?” Lucky’s heart paid his throat a quick visit.
“The situation is volatile and emotions are running high. The hospital has received death threats.”
“Death threats!” The door closed in his face before Lucky got the chance to insist Walter take Bo back to Atlanta.

Lucky spent his day tracking down the paper trail, checking licenses, laying groundwork, and forwarding his reports to the Atlanta office. How he hated faxing, filing, and copying evidence. Apparently, Danvers fed Primero information about what drugs were needed, and through a series of bogus wholesalers, every last one owned by members of the Cunningham family, set about earning a tidy fortune through collusion.

Except for Primero selling too much stock to wholesalers, Lucky couldn’t find any solid legal reasons to shut them down either, and he kept searching long after Walter began hinting at defeat. Danvers’s employment record showed he’d been fired from his last job for poor performance. Good thing the bastard had a rich wife, though if Lucky had his way, he’d send the lot of them to the poor house.

Occasionally he checked in on Bo. Each time, Bo offered a brief, if strained, smile, holding a phone receiver to his ear with his shoulder, while steadily tapping away on his laptop. Other times, he checked the parking lot, to find the protest going strong. Didn’t these folk have jobs to go to? Oh right. The weekend. Damn it.

At noon he brought Bo a sandwich. It still sat on his desk, untouched, at four o’clock.
With the day winding down and no new evidence to show for the hours of work they’d put in, Lucky found an empty conference room and phoned Walter. “We’re done here. I’ve pulled anything of interest, Keith’s got the laptop, and the hospital’s interviewing for a replacement buyer. They need to step up their game. How’d the samples come out?”
“Based on preliminary testing, they matched product specifications. Though the center paid through the nose, they did get what they paid for. You and Bo finish up and report to the office Monday morning. I’ll return early tomorrow for a wrap-up meeting with the hospital administrator. Keith’s there until tomorrow afternoon.”
“Sounds good,” Lucky lied.
With the boss pulling the plug, maybe Lucky’d get to spend more time with Bo. He trotted down the hall to share the happy news. “Guess what? You’re outta here tonight.”
Bo gazed up from a stack of papers on his desk, a desk more resembling Lucky’s disorganized mess than Bo’s tidy one back in Atlanta. “What? We can’t! There’s still tons to do. I’ve got to…”
“Bo, look at me.”
A pair of big brown eyes stared up at Lucky, indignation sizzling from their depths. Bo held his tongue.
“That’s better. Now, you’ve got to understand that your job is catching criminals. This”—he waved a hand to indicate the center—“is not your job. Take it from me and past experience, as long as Walter lets the center use you, they will.”
“But…but… What about the kids?”
“What about them?” With his words Lucky struck a match. He watched it fall on gasoline.
“You really are a heartless asshole, aren’t you?” Bo jumped up, sending the chair crashing to the floor. “You mean to tell me you honestly don’t care if these kids get their medicine or not?”
Ouch. “I care, believe me I do. But this situation isn’t only here. Across the country hospitals are struggling. Do you think you’re the only one spending the day on the telephone, calling salesmen, wholesalers, and even the manufactures, asking when they’ll have product to ship? And do you think they’ll actually tell you that for every order they get out the door there’s three more they won’t? We can’t fix the problem. There’re plenty of folks with a lot more experience working on it, and if they can’t find an answer, what the hell makes you think we can?”
All emotion fled Bo’s face, along with the color. It returned in abundance, a flash fire of red chasing away his paleness. “Have you ever heard the expression ‘crazy people change the world because they’re too crazy to believe they can’t?’”
Bo’s stance brought to mind a certain bull on Lucky’s daddy’s farm. A red cape wouldn’t be enough to hide behind when he charged. “Listen,” Lucky said, “you’re catching the blame for Danvers being fired, and folks are mad enough to get violent. You’re not safe here. Why do you want to stay?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.” Death threats. Idiots had issued death threats. Lucky would drag the man kicking and screaming if he had to, but Bo was getting his ass out of danger one way or another.
“I joined the Marines, and went to school to be a pharmacist, to do some good in the world. I don’t want to pass through life taking,living day to day. I want to make a difference.”
Lucky clenched his teeth. Just because he didn’t run around with his heart on his sleeve, donating all his hard earned pay to “Save the Pickled Herrings” or whatever, didn’t mean he didn’t care. “Are you saying that’s what I do? Take? I’m not ashamed of it,” he said, though deep inside Bo’s words cut him to the core. “’Cause let me tell you, if you don’t take, you don’t get. No one hands you anything in life. Nothing worth keeping anyway.”
“Do you have to be so damned hard all the time?” There it was, the little defiant chin lift, to match the sparks flaring in Bo’s eyes. “If you’ve got somewhere else to go, go there. I’ve got work to do, and I don’t like you very much at the moment.”
Ah, hell. Lucky’d gone too far. “Bo…”
Bo raised his splayed hand. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say right now. I don’t even want to talk to you. Please leave.”
Lucky skulked back down to Danvers’s office. Maybe Keith would open his mouth and give Lucky a reason to work off his aggravation. Only, Keith wasn’t there. The clock on the wall said five o’clock. Damn it, the asshole must’ve gone back to his hotel, probably a far cry better than Lucky’s third-rate apartment.
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He fished it out, heart giving a leap when he read,
“I need u…NOW.”
He ran back to Bo’s office, skittering to a halt outside the door. A deep breath later, he’d composed himself enough to go inside. Bo sat at the desk, head in his hands. His shoulders shook. Was he…laughing? Bo raised his head, peeking out between splayed fingers. Misery. Pure, utter misery. “Lucky,” he said, “we lost two patients this afternoon. They suspect tainted drugs.”

The blood in Lucky’s veins froze. He gasped for breath. Were Steph’s blue eyes now closed in death? A hard swallow didn’t dislodge the boulder blocking his throat. “Any…any idea who they are?” he manage to strangle out with his too-thick tongue.

“I don’t have names yet, just two boys from the second floor. It’s a mess, Lucky. I’ve already told Walter that I’m staying another day.”

Lucky whooshed out an exhale. Not Stephanie, yet two kids died. Two boys. Two poor little tykes who hadn’t yet gotten the chance to truly live. How did people stand to work here, going home to their families at night after losing a patient?

“I know you said you weren’t talking to me, but if you insist on staying I reckon it’d be better if you slept at my place tonight.” No way in hell did Lucky want Bo to be alone.

“No. I need time to think. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I just wanted to tell you face-toface.” He’d made it nearly to the door before Lucky grabbed him. Hesitation. One split-second of backward glance, and Lucky read his open-book lover. Why did the man run when he needed to be held the most?

Bo struggled, but not hard, and not long, his rigid body melting into Lucky’s arms. Sniffles escaped, his whole body trembling. Lucky held tightly through the tears, rubbing Bo’s back and whispering, “It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you. Let it out.” Anyone else and he’d be running. He’d never desert Bo.

The sobs gentled to quiet gasps, and Bo slowly withdrew. “I’m sorry. If you don’t mind, I have a lot to think about. I need to be alone for a while.”

Damp splotches marred Lucky’s shirt where Bo’s face had been. “Can you drive yourself? At least let me take you home.”
Bo nodded. “I’ll manage.”
Please let me help you. What can’t you admit you need me right now?
Lucky stepped away from the door. If Bo wanted to leave, Lucky wouldn’t stop him. “Call me later, if you need me?”
Again Bo nodded, dropping his gaze.
Lucky drove to his lonely apartment, not even bothering to eat before going to bed. He turned his stereo off, plodded to his room, and collapsed onto the bed. A venomous rap rant from the apartment next door added fitting background music for his stormy mood.
No matter how many times he checked his phone, Bo didn’t call or text.

Bo snapped, “Nothing!” a bit too quickly. “I just need you to come get me. Please.”
Duty called. A shower would wait for later. Lucky grabbed the previous day’s clothes and dressed on his way to the door. His heart pounded all the way up Clemson Boulevard to Bo’s apartment. “Damn it!” he raged at the fourth light in a row to stop him. A black Toyota cut him off. “Cocksucking, mutha-fucking—” He inched his way forward. Every vehicle in his path sported an invisible X. Even at his most understanding, Walter wouldn’t turn a blind eye to a swath of hit and runs. “It’s your lucky day,” Lucky told the asshole in the Toyota.
Twenty minutes! Twenty minutes to drive six miles! What were those handful of folks doing milling around Bo’s SUV? Was Bo lying on the ground or something?
A woman stepped back and bile hit the back of Lucky’s throat. Neon orange spray paint spelled “Murderer” along the side of Bo’s vehicle. Lucky raised his cell phone and snapped a picture.
From out of nowhere Bo raced to the passenger side of the Malibu and crawled in the moment Lucky parked. He tossed his laptop case in the backseat. “Get me the fuck out of here.”
Lucky wasted no time. “You okay?” He rubbernecked between the road and Bo, checking for bruises, blood, or torn clothes.
“No.” Bo trembled in the passenger seat, arms wrapped tightly around himself.
“Want me to take you to Atlanta?” Lucky wanted to stop the car, take Bo into his arms, and promise to make everything better. Then he’d track down the bastards who’d spray painted Bo’s SUV and kick the living shit out of them.
“No. We need to finish this.”
A few minutes of hand-squeezing peace ended at the hospital. Protesters screamed, banners waving. A news crew shoved microphones in Bo and Lucky’s faces. Lucky, hat pulled down to minimize exposure, growled and moved on, while Bo, remaining in character, paused long enough to mumble the occasional “No comment.” What a cluster fuck.
“Mr. Scott, is it true that counterfeit drugs killed two patients at this facility?”
Lucky grabbedBo’s arm and ran.