FIGHT (23 page)

“Can I ask why you want out?”

“Personal reasons.”

“Fair enough.  I’m not one to pick a fight when none is needed.  You say you want out, and that’s fine by me.  No hard feelings, right?”

“None whatsoever.”

As Gabe left the shortest round of negotiations to ever occur between two career criminals, Don quietly resolved to kill him, just to be on the safe side.  He also decided to kill the D.A.  Seeing Victor dead had emboldened his thirst for uncontested power.  Gabe was wrong to think the Filippos wouldn’t come after Bruce because they feared the publicity.  News of Victor’s death made Don feel ballsy enough to go after the D.A., and he also wanted the rumor to spread that he’d killed him.  A gutsy move like that would cause the future D.A. to think twice about going after his Family, and it would have the added benefit of scaring the shit out of any underworld competitors who might spring up.  Don briefly wondered what Victor’s brothers thought about Gabe forfeiting his position as Godfather, and he also wondered about the possibility of a civil war brewing among the remaining Adelaides. 
No matter
, he reasoned.
  With both Victor and the son gone, guys have to be abandoning them by the dozens. 
In good humor, he finished his meal with a new zest for life and ordered two generous portions of desert. 

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As Gabe drove back to St. Knox’s, he realized that Bruce’s surgery needed to occur even sooner than he’d previously planned.  Contrary to what he’d told Don, he knew he couldn’t go legit. Victor wasn’t around any longer to work the legal system in his favor, and he was wanted for kidnapping.  But he still wanted Don to think he was going legit, because that impression would disentangle August from the mob world, if they’d been spotted together.  To his alarm, he sensed Don was too quick to agree to let him go legit.  Don hadn’t asked for assurances, for collateral.  He sensed Don might be out for blood, probably his blood, and that would be Don’s assurance.  If Don was planning to kill him, he might kill August too. 

Making matters worse, Gabe now had more enemies in the underworld besides Don.  It would only be a matter of time before Victor’s body was found, and the security guy would accuse him of the murder, since he was the last person to see the Godfather alive.  Ronald and Michael Adelaide would seek revenge with what little power they’d have left, as associates started looting the Family fortune at every opportunity.  If his “uncles” killed him before Bruce’s surgery, the surgery might be canceled due to the hospital’s fear of getting involved in a mob war. 

Gabe’s belief that August would be safe with the Hudsons was his only comfort.  He still wasn’t worried about the Filippos going after Bruce (though he should’ve been), because he reasoned they had too much at stake to pick a fight with the law.  Still driving to the hospital, his plan unfolded before his mind’s eye. 
Gotta position myself somewhere discreet, where Sandefur won’t suspect me tomorrow.
Gotta convince her to get Bruce over pronto.  Finally, gotta make sure she does the work.
  He remembered Victor had paid a nightshift janitor to break into offices and copy and steal medical records.  He’d hook up with the janitor when he got to the hospital, because he’d have the key to Sandefur’s office.  

When he arrived, he pulled his Benz into the hospital’s back lot to once more use the personnel entrance.  He buzzed the intercom so that the security guard on duty would recognize him with the camera mounted above the door and let him in.  The door didn’t click unlocked.  He felt his fury rising.
This is the second fucking time today the son of a bitch hasn’t let me in!  The fuck is wrong with this shit head
?  If he hadn’t been intent on getting to Sandefur’s office, he would’ve had words with the guy, since he knew the guy was on the Family’s payroll.  Once again, he had to wait for another nurse to let him in. 

Inside, he passed many of the same familiar faces he’d seen earlier, when he’d slid the remaining funds for Bruce’s surgery underneath Sandefur’s door.  He was surprised that the hospital staff on the Adelaides’ payroll still didn’t speak to him when he walked by.  It was evening, and speaking to him now wouldn’t draw a lot of attention, as most of the place’s “clean” staffers had clocked out.  He spied the janitor he needed, standing just down the hall from the nurses’ station on the ground floor.  The guy was mopping slowly around a “Wet Floor Sign,” looking bored as hell.  When he caught a glimpse of Gabe, a look of terror covered his face. 

Strange.  Luke never said the guy’s afraid of us.  Luke said he’s always so eager to kiss the Family’s ass that he’s annoying. 
Gabe wasted no time:

“I need the keys to Dr. Cathy Sandefur’s office in the GI unit.”

“I, um, I don’t have my keys with me.”

Gabe grabbed the large, bulking key ring attached to one of the guy’s belt loops and jiggled several dozen keys, silently demanding an explanation for the apparent lie. 

“Those ain’t the right ones.  My master key is gone.  I had to turn it over.”

“Who did you give it to?”

“I gave it to, um, the new administrator.”

Gabe could smell horseshit when near it.  He opened the left side of his suit jacket just far enough to reveal one of his Glocks, so that only the janitor could see it.  He demanded:

“Then I suggest you stick your hand up the new administrator’s ass and pull the key back out.”

The janitor released his mop, letting it hit the floor, and tore the key ring from his belt, not caring that he’d ripped open a belt buckle.  He skimmed a few keys in the center and picked one out, handing it to Gabe:

“Here’s the master key.  It’ll let you in, no matter where you wanna go.”

Gabe snatched the key and walked away baffled and angry at the obvious insolence. 
First, the security guy.  Now, this douchebag.
  Possibilities whirled through his brain.  Had Victor been late paying them?  Had he cut their salaries?  He figured that even if these scenarios were true, the fear of God still would’ve prevented them from refusing to obey a mobster. 
They must be more afraid of something else.  Or someone else.

Gabe passed patients, doctors, and a slew of nurses on his way to the GI unit.  Everyone knew his face, but no one acknowledged it.  Most assumed Gabe was still a free man. No one at St. Knox’s knew he’d kidnapped a kid and that there was a new warrant for his arrest.  Dorsey kept August’s kidnapping out of the news, fearing for the safety of a hostage. If the scared patients in the hospital would’ve known that Gabe was again a wanted man, they would’ve eagerly called the cops to report his location.  Their ignorance worked to his advantage.  They didn’t know the cops had a new reason to lock him up.

Gabe turned on the lights in the empty GI department and used the janitor’s master key on Sandefur’s door.  Inside, he was relieved to see the envelopes of cash on the floor, where he’d slid them under her office door.  He stepped inside, closed and locked the office door, kept the lights off, set his cell’s alarm for 5 a.m., and settled comfortably into the office’s large plush chair, with his feet lazily propped up on the doctor’s desk.

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“Hello, this is Bruce.”

“Bruce, this is Dr. Cathy Sandefur.  How are you?”

Bruce had expected to hear from the police with news about Gabe, or from Sara with an update about his home’s pending status for foster approval.  He hadn’t expected to hear from Sandefur. 

“I’m fine.  I wasn’t expecting you to call,” he replied.

“I’m no less surprised at the reason for this call,” she chuckled.  “You’ll be pleased to know that the rest of the money for your surgery came in.  We can operate today.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  Within 24 hours he’d gone from constantly worrying about August to having custody of him, and now his colorectal surgeon wanted to cure him of colitis today!  It sounded too good to be true, which caused him to recall the source of the funds:

“That money came from the mob.  Remember?”

“I know this, Bruce, but money’s money, and theirs spends just the same as a cop’s.  The bottom line is you can have your surgery today.  That’s really all that matters.”

He noticed the slightest bit of anxiety in her voice. 

“When you put it that way, I can’t argue with you.  I’ll contact Dorsey and see when his crew is available.  He’ll provide me with cover to make sure Adelaide doesn’t try anything.”

“I’m not sure which Adelaide you’re referring to, but if it’s Victor Adelaide you’re worried about, well, you needn’t be.  I heard on the radio this morning that he was killed yesterday.”

He rushed to the living room where August had passed out from a late night of cartoon watching and flipped stations to the local morning news.  He saw the caption “Suspected Mobster Killed” next to a file photo of Victor, as the morning broadcaster recapped the police investigation that had ensued over night. 

“God!” Bruce exclaimed.

“So, can you come in today?  For surgery?”

“I probably can’t do it today.  Like I said, I gotta coordinate with Dorsey and make sure the BPD is ready to cover me. I have to work around their time table.”

She didn’t respond for a few minutes.  Bruce almost thought he’d dropped her call, but he remembered he was on a landline. 

“Hello?”

“I’m still here,” she confirmed.  “What if I can arrange for state troopers to be here?  Would that be sufficient protection?”

“Of course.  That would be terrific, but how could you or the hospital afford that?  A municipal ordinance will only pay for the BPD to protect me, under the DA Protection Act.”

“It’s like this,” she paused, before adding, “we have administrative funds that have to be used before the end of the fiscal month on charity, and today is the end of the hospital’s fiscal month.  I can use those funds to get state troopers here.  Trust me, we’ve done this before.  When I operate on convicts, these funds provide security. I have a long history of working with Staties, and we’re on good terms.  If I can get them here, can you come in for surgery today?”

It didn’t occur to Bruce to ask why the hospital could afford to pay state troopers to protect him but hadn’t had the money to provide a colectomy on the house.  Sandefur sounded so convincing, so believable.

“Hell, yeah!” he shouted, waking up a groggy August.  He saw the kid rubbing his sleepy eyes and lowered his voice: 

“Staties would be better than the local force.  If you can get them, then let’s do this operation today.”

“Sounds good, Bruce.  I’ll call you back when I can confirm they’ll be here.  Oh, and let’s keep this between us.  If word leaks you’re having surgery, your safety could be compromised.”

“You sound like a member of law enforcement more and more these days,” he laughed.

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Dr. Sandefur hung up.  Gabe lowered the Glock that he’d pointed at her forehead during her entire conversation with Bruce.  She didn’t know the Glock was empty.  Gabe hadn’t reloaded since he’d emptied its clip on Victor.  He had two fully loaded spare clips in his waistband, but he figured it was safer to point an unloaded gun at the doc, since he had no intention of actually shooting her.  Besides, she’d never know it was unloaded.

“You did well,” he told her. “Wait an hour, then call him back.  Tell him you got Staties on the way.  Tell him to leave work early.  The surgery happens at 3 this afternoon.”

Her hands visibly shook on her desk, and tears made watery tracks down her face.       

“I don’t want to kill him,” she protested.

“I never asked you to kill him.  I just want you to do the surgery.”

She threw a hasty glance at the half dozen envelopes of cash strewn about her desk.  She’d never seen $22 grand up close.  She’d also never been kidnapped in her office with a gun stuck to her head.  It didn’t help that she was desensitized to blood and guts: the thought of her own blood and guts, brought on by Gabe’s gun, shook her:

“I don’t want to kill him.”

“Maybe you didn’t hear me.  I don’t want you to kill him either.  I just want you to do a routine colectomy. That’s all.” 

She shook and cried and pleaded:

“Please.  Please don’t make me kill him.”

She buried her face in trembling palms and whispered a helpless plea that he couldn’t make out.

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Ronald and Michael Adelaide knew their days were numbered.  Their chauffeurs hadn’t come to work this morning.  Their maids and butlers hadn’t come to work either.  Worse, none of them had bothered to call in.  They weren’t coming back, because they feared their employers’ homes would be targeted for drive-bys.  Their staff had heard of Victor’s death on this morning’s news, and they didn’t want to be at Adelaide homes.  Adelaide homes were now bulls-eyes for the Filippos, who had to be smelling blood in the water like ravenous sharks.  A Filippo strike was imminent.

“Who killed him?”

This felt like the millionth time Ronald had shouted this question to his brother.

“For the last time,” Michael shouted back, “how in the fucking fuck am I supposed to know who the fuck killed him?  The security guy said Gabe was the last person to see him alive.”

“Let’s call Gabe then!  We’ve gotta get to the bottom of this.”

  ------------------------------------------------

Gabe sat across from Sandefur’s desk, thumbing through a scholarly journal he’d taken from her bookshelf.  The jargon was incomprehensible, but it was more interesting than staring at the room’s walls as they waited.

Sandefur had just lied to Bruce about the fake Staties.  Bruce would be here at 3, and the colectomy would proceed as planned.  Gabe was glad to put this all behind him. Once Bruce’s health issue was resolved and the Hudsons qualified to adopt August, he could live or die in peace, and he didn’t know which would happen.  Thumbing through the journal, he forced an interest in an article about blood clots in the eye, hoping to ease his hostage’s tension:

“What’s a central retinal vein occlusion?”

“Don’t make me kill him!”

She burst into heaving sobs, shaking like she was having a grand mal seizure.

God, you are really getting on my last nerve
, he inwardly ranted.  He’d expected a medical expert to be a calmer hostage than she’d turned out to be.

“For the love of God,” he said, fighting the urge to yell to keep his presence in her office discreet.  “I’m not going to make you kill him or anybody else.  I just want you do to the colectomy.”

“But why?”

She’d finally worked up the nerve to ask about the white elephant in the room.  After being held a prisoner in her office for hours now, she’d finally brought herself to ask the most pressing question.

“Because I want the D.A.’s colitis gone so he and his wife can adopt a foster kid.  True story.  There’s nothing more sinister going on here than that.  Any other questions?”

“If that’s really it, then why are you threatening me with a gun?  Why not just drop the funds off for his surgery and allow Bruce and I to do this on our own?”

“Because the surgery needs to happen ASAP, and you and Hudson wouldn’t have done it today if I hadn’t insisted.  There’s a foster kid living with the Hudsons, and he needs to stay with them. But he isn’t allowed to stay with them, because the D.A.’s health disqualifies him from adopting.  The kid isn’t safe at another home, because another mob Family, the Filippos, likely spotted him with me.  They probably think he’s my son, and that makes him a future threat to them.  The D.A. needs to be cured pronto for the kid’s sake.”

Sandefur thought she might be suffering from a slight case of shock, but she found herself believing Gabe.  His story didn’t seem rehearsed, and he spoke too quickly to seem like he was hiding anything.  And he’d coughed up a huge sum of cash for this procedure.  If this was just a trap to kill the D.A., why pay the hospital anything? 

“But… but I don’t understand.  Why do you care about this foster kid?”

Since his confession to August, Gabe found himself ready to talk.  He gave her a brief background of his trial and about dispatching guys to dig up dirt on Bruce, setting the tone for:

“When I found out the D.A. was trying to adopt a kid and he couldn’t because of his health, the news touched a nerve.  I found myself giving a damn about this kid, because I could relate to his situation.  I knew what it’s like not to have anyone, and I wanted better for him.”

She pieced the puzzles of Gabe’s story together.  In its own strange way, his story stood to reason.  And he seemed authentic.

“So what happens after the Hudsons adopt this child?” she asked.

“How the hell should I know?  I suppose they’ll throw him birthday parties, take him to church, stuff like that.”

“No, I mean
what happens to you?
  You just said you were adopted to take over after Victor.”

“Was.  I was adopted to take over after Victor, but that was before I killed him.”

She blanched.  During her morning commute, she’d heard from a local radio station that Victor’s killer was still at large and unidentified.  Listening as she drove, she’d thought that identifying his killer would be more difficult than finding the proverbial needle in a haystack.  So many people wanted him dead. 
Good luck connecting all those dots,
she’d thought.  She hadn’t believed his murder would ever be solved, and that was usually the way things went in the underworld.  But, surprisingly, here sat Victor’s killer confessing it all to her. 

She knew to tread lightly.  She didn’t want to antagonize a killer with a gun, though she wanted to know: 

“Why did you do it?”

“Because he wasn’t much of a father figure.  He brought me into this world by having one of his goons rape my mother.  That was his solution to needing a son and not having one.”

Neither spoke, and the awkwardness hung heavy.  Gabe felt compelled to say something, to move the topic forward:

“It’s ironic that I was born in this hospital, and here I am all these years later, still hanging out.”

“You were born here?”

“Of course I was born here.  This place has always been where Victor’s operated.  Why do you think St. Knox’s gets so many gunshot patients?”

He finished his question with an amused laugh at her ignorance.

“What happened to your mother?” she asked.

“I don’t know.  She managed to get us both out of here somehow and keep us together for a few years, but Victor found me when I was seven, and the rest is what it is.”

She couldn’t think of more questions to ask.  He reopened his medical journal and resumed the article he’d been browsing:

“What exactly is a central retinal vein occlusion?”

She ignored the question, silent and lost in thought.  He snapped his fingers to pull her out of her private headspace.  When she made eye contact with him, she spoke despite her better judgment:

“I… I don’t want to kill him.”

He released a frustrated sigh and said:

“You don’t have to kill him, and that’s that.  Now drop it!”

“But they…”

He tossed his journal down and shot forward in his chair, fiercely looking her square in the eyes:

“Who are ‘they’?”

“I can’t, I don’t….” she started, fighting back tears.  “I guess I have to trust you.  You have a story that kind of makes sense.  And what other choice do I have?”

She briefly paused to recollect her composure, and when she’d summoned her bravery she said:

“Donatello Filippo and some of his guys broke into my home last night.  They told me to kill Bruce Hudson during his surgery and make it look like an accident. And they said they’ll kill me if I don’t.”

“Are you sure it was Don Filippo?”

“Yes, I recognized his face from the news.”

He wondered how Don knew about Bruce’s surgery.  There had to be a leak in the hospital, and, since the Filippos had pressed their way into St. Knox’s, they were stronger than he thought.  Bruce was in real danger.  She went on:

“We have to call off Bruce’s operation, because if I refuse to kill him during the procedure, then the Filippos will kill him.  And,” she added with a bit of hesitation, “they’ll kill me too.”

She could tell he was thinking, formulating a plan.

“If he doesn’t face the Filippos here,” he said, “then he’ll face them somewhere else.”

He suddenly realized that the security guy who wouldn’t open the back door for him and the conspicuously silent staff (along with the janitor who’d lied about not having a key to this office) had changed sides.  They were now in the Filippos’ corner; probably out of fear rather than out of greed.  Unlike Victor, Don used the stick instead of the carrot.  Gabe sensed the hospital had changed sides quite some time ago and that Don had known about Bruce’s surgery for a while. 

He realized he was wrong to assume that Don wouldn’t target the D.A.  He also realized that he was wrong to think August was safe with the D.A.  August was still a target by proxy of the adults in his life.  He no longer wanted Bruce and Martha to adopt August, but he still felt compelled to help improve Bruce’s health.  He had truly changed teams.

“I’ve been spotted by Don’s guys,” he stated, “He knows I’m here.  At this point, he’ll go for a twofer and try to kill me and the D.A. at the same time.  I’ve got to pretend to leave but hang around to protect you and Hudson.  I need you to get me a surgeon’s uniform and a surgical mask for cover.  I need to stick around for the operation.” 

“There are uniforms down the hall, in the surgeon’s prep room.  I’ll go get you one.”

He sensed the uncertainty in her voice, despite her promise to return.  She was weighing her options carefully, and she might not come back at all.  She might go straight to the cops and tell them where he was, tell them that he’d held a gun to her head.  If she left the room, she’d be tempted to run like hell and seek protection.

“If you don’t come back, you won’t make it out of this alive either,” he warned her.  “The Filippos will know you didn’t kill Hudson, and they’ll come after you.  You won’t be able to hide from them.  If you don’t work with me, you’re as good as dead.”

She didn’t ask about his plan, and she shook her head in affirmation.  He saw how frightened she was of Don’s threat. 

“Look,” he said, taking the Glock he’d threatened her with earlier. He ejected the empty clip from the pistol and showed her that the gun had been unloaded the entire time he’d been in her office.  She gasped in near disbelief.

“I never wanted to hurt you.  I just wanted you to help Hudson immediately,” he said, placing the empty clip and the gun on her desk. 

“I’m not your enemy.  The Filippos are your enemy.  And you’ve got to trust me, or I can’t help you.”

She nodded yes enthusiastically. 

“Since I’m asking you to trust me, I’m going to make the first move and trust you,” he said.

He removed one of the two loaded clips from his waistband, inserted it into the gun on her desk, and chambered a round.  He handed it to her, extending the loaded gun’s grip towards her.

“Take this. You may need it before the day’s over.”

She took the gun in her dominant right hand and found herself trembling to hold it.  She’d held many tools over the years, tools that had the potential to take human life… scalpels, knives, syringes.  But none of those were
designed
to take life.  This was the first item she’d held that was made for killing.  Her vow to live by the Hippocratic Oath’s mandate of “Do no harm” came to mind, and she felt pangs of guilt, as she hid the gun in her large white coat pocket. 

“You’ve got 18 rounds, but you can only fire once, because I’ve set the gun’s spring to fully automatic, and it’ll spit everything out as soon as you pull the trigger.  If you’re going to use it, hold on with both hands, or the recoil will whip the gun around, and you’ll hit something you didn’t intend to.”

After the world’s briefest lesson in firearms safety, he took out the other loaded clip and inserted it into his other Glock.  They were both now armed for a common cause, and, in a weird twist of fate, he and his former hostage were now allies.

“I’ll be back in five minutes with a complete surgeon’s outfit,” she promised.

She was true to her word.

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Ronald Adelaide sat in his leather chair, one with adjustable armrests made of memory foam and wrapped in deep brown material.  It was his favorite chair.  The entrenched areas his butt had carved in it made it more comfortable than his newer chairs.  Each armrest supported one of his thick arms.  With both sleeves rolled up, the left arm sported a Rolex Submariner, which at $52K was quite the ornament.  He was in his study; his head reclined against the chair’s top.  A ceiling fan hummed quietly.  His open laptop awaited his next command.  But there wouldn’t be another command.  Ronald now had 27 extra holes that he hadn’t possessed this morning.  The Filippos were proving to be prompt in their drive-bys.  Shortly after his morning conversation with his brother, Michael, he was taken out by spitfire from the front passenger’s window of a speeding Monte Carlo.  He never saw it coming.  His last thoughts were about needing to call Gabe to see how Victor had died and making sure that Gabe was ready to man up and hit back at whoever was responsible.  The call never went through.

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Michael Adelaide didn’t know Ronald was dead.  He thought his brother was calling Gabe and would get back with him when he knew something.  As he scanned through the contact list in his cell, a Monte Carlo drove past his house.