by S. W. Frank
He scanned the diagnostic results of the Polymerase Chain Reaction or PCR testing. He searched for atypical, strains, including Mycoplasma, Chlamydiapneumoniae and possibly Haemophilus Influenzae Type-B, but the results were unremarkable. The patient’s infection was eradicated with antibiotic treatment. With a compromised immune system as a result of HIV, the patient’s doctor decided to utilize the expensive and more aggressive testing along with the standard urinalysis, sputum and blood samples. Having premium health insurance, Tyree was sure also instigated the decision. Hospitals were businesses and unfortunately, the better the insurance, the better the care.
Tyree returned the patient chart and addressed the patient who lounged in a crumpled gown with his eyes glued to the TV. “Mr. Ortega your test results are negative. There’s no longer any sign of infection and it looks like you’re going home in a day or two.”
The patient tore his eyes from the TV to give Tyree his full attention. “That’s good to hear doc.”
“Yes, it is. Dr. Reeshani will come in the morning to officially …”
The patient’s eyes returned to the television and Tyree squinted at the man’s preoccupation. Instead of discussing his condition, he preferred to share a news report. “Seems Italy has a major crime problem, too. Mobsters shooting up people in a drive-by like they’re in East LA, it's all a goddamn shame!”
“Yeah, crime’s everywhere,” Tyree said with disinterest.
Mr. Ortega pointed to the screen which Tyree could not see. “They’re saying one of the victim’s oversees a charitable organization and has roots in Brooklyn. Can you believe her parents were shot dead a while back and now she’s the victim of gun violence? I guess being married to a rich guy don’t stop bullets. They have her picture up and this Selange Diaz is one fine lady. I really hope she makes it!”
Tyree pulled on the metal bracket attached to the cumbersome TV to get a peek. His chest caught an immediate cramp when he saw the picture displayed on the screen. The lovely face was unmistakable; he’d seen it up close many times. How could he not recall the dimpled smiles of encouragement and congratulatory well-wishes when he graduated med school? Not to mention, he was the guest of honor at a recent fundraiser. He hurried out of the room in search of the attending physician.
Dr. Nzunghe was in his office on the administrative wing of the busy hospital. Balding with silver glasses; his dark skin was so smooth it looked polished. He looked up from his computer when Tyree entered without knocking. “Dr. Davis, is there an emergency?”
“Yes. I have a family emergency. I need time off.”
Dr. Nzunghe leaned back. “That may be impossible at the moment Dr. Davis, we’re short-staffed.”
Tyree’s blood pressure elevated. His head began to throb. The attending physician was known for having an abrasive demeanor and extremely tough on the interns. Tyree experienced this first-hand when he arrived late for his shift. The man nearly bit his head off for ten minutes of tardiness. “I’m sorry but this is an emergency. A family member may have been killed and I need to leave town, today.”
“An immediate relative?”
“Yes,” Tyree lied.
“How long?”
“I don’t know…two weeks…it depends.”
“Unfortunately, I cannot grant your request today. I will see what I can do tomorrow.”
“You don’t understand, I can’t continue my shift. The patients deserve an attentive physician. The last thing I want is for the hospital to defend me in a malpractice lawsuit when I requested immediate leave due to emotional distress and had it denied and patient care got compromised.”
Dr. Nzunghe grunted irritably. Dr. Davis displayed the reason he graduated in the top one percent in his class at Harvard. He relented. “One week Dr. Davis and I expect you to return with documentation of this emergency.”
“Two.”
“One and a half max. Now do not push further Dr. Davis, There are many candidates willing to fill your slot."
"None with a Harvard Degree," Tyree quipped.
"No, but a degree from an Ivy League university only gets you so far young man. Nobody likes an arrogant braggart."
"Then I suggest you stop wearing your Princeton ring," he retorted before hurrying home to book a flight, pack and scribble a note to his fiancée. On his way out the apartment he nearly collided with her when he stepped out the door.
His fiancée immediately noticed his suitcase and asked, “What’s this, are you going somewhere?”
She held a bag of groceries and Tyree sat down the suitcase to hold open the door. “Tonya, an emergency’s come up. A friend’s been hurt and I need to leave town.”
The fiancée cop stared at him funny and went into an interrogation. “Really, who, where and when did this happen?”
Tyree hadn’t talked much about his family or friends. She knew the important stuff. He’d gone to live with grandparents after his father’s murder; won a scholarship from a non-profit organization and attended a recent function. He did invite her but she had to work and that’s about the gist of it. He hadn’t elaborated on the founder or her marital ties because his fiancée hadn’t asked. Well, he could have volunteered the information, but he didn’t. Omission is how Tyree avoided the argument certain to arise about cutting ties with Selange Diaz.
He could hear it now. “Tyree, it doesn’t bode well that I’m in law enforcement and you’re affiliated with someone whose husband is in the syndicate.”
No, he wasn’t ready to go toe to toe with his fiancée on the subject. Selange Diaz’ charity had given him a leg up and the woman was the nicest person he met. She became a friend over the years. Hell, Mr. Diaz paid his entire tuition at med school, including room and board and that’s a big-deal!
Eventually, he’d tell his fiancée. Her probation ended shortly and once he fulfilled his residency requirements he would. By then they would be husband and wife. Perhaps, she’d refrain from ultimatums and accept his associations were just as important as her job. Maybe, just maybe she’d get to know Selange and realize the woman was a human being and not some Mafia Queen. Anyway, he’d done things his own way for a long time now. There's a hazard being an only child with relatives akin to strangers. Flying solo becomes a preference but he didn’t want to go on that way. He loved his fiancée, boy did he, however there’s little honor in a person who walks out on a good friend.
He checked his watch; he had less than an hour and thirty-six minutes to get to JFK. “Look, I’ll call you and explain everything when I get to the hotel.” He gave her a quick kiss, picked up his luggage and rushed outside to get one of the livery cabs passing on the corner of Kings Highway.
CHAPTER THREE
A worried mother held her convalescent son’s hand while whispering loving words. She caressed a man’s face, although she saw a boy. Her Giuseppe, giovani Geo they called him was rambunctious toddler. He always found trouble. Sophie missed the boy who held the hem of her dress, yanking it when they passed toy stores or sweet shops, pleading with innocent eyes for treats until she relented. She could not sleep or eat now; everything had changed in a day. There was a tube in his mouth, bandages around his head and electrodes on his broad chest.
The neurosurgeon said the bullet missed Giuseppe’s brain stem and the thalamus. She listened attentively as he elaborated about deep brain structures which are crucial to consciousness, basic functions such as controlling breathing and heartbeat. He was optimistic the CT scan hadn’t shown penetration beyond the scalp and there weren’t any bone fragments, subdural bleeding or tissue damage. Giuseppe’s Glasgow coma scale rating upon arrival showed cognitive functions. He responded to voice commands and moved his limbs. Based on these factors, her son’s chance of survival was good, and then the dreade
d conjunction had followed. “But, there are complications which may arise such as hydrocephalus, for example. The first seventy-two hours is crucial and we will closely monitor his condition. We’ve administered propofol in an effort not to raise his blood pressure or have him excitable and that is why he sleeps.”
This is what the foreign surgeon told her and the reason her bambino rested in a comatose state, which resembled death.
The door opened and a nurse entered to check the EEG and other machines near his bed. Sophie watched her as did the guard seated not far away. Giuseppe was never alone; none of the family was during their recuperation. They had lost friends yesterday and good soldati for what?
The nurse disguised the nervous jitters from the watchful eyes following each movement as she checked the patient’s vitals and IV drip. She recorded her findings, initialed in the patient chart and quickly exited the room, glad to be away from such dangerous people.
Sophie ‘humphed’ at the frightened woman’s departure and then relaxed in the comfortable lounge chair Nico had placed in the room. Yes, Nico had risen to his station, and his handling of the crisis proved he was undoubtedly Alberti’s son. Last night she saw him talking with Bruno in the hall. By their conspiratorial tone they were discussing motive and suspects who sanctioned the heinous crime. Without question, Nico sought to exact vengeance, and Sophie suspected when Alfonzo awakened his anger would be immeasurable. An involuntary tremble occurred at the thought.
A sigh of relief was that Amelda and Carlo were uninjured. A mother could not endure a triple heartache. Matteo was well, another boon in the sea of tragedy. It is Selange’s face she remembered during the shooting which spasmed her heart. The woman had clutched her, thrusting the baby forward. “Sophie…take Carlo…there’s something wrong,” she had said and looked down. Sophie’s eyes had followed and the river of blood running down her legs frightened an old woman. At first, she believed Selange was wounded by bullets and she gripped the poor girl. Thankfully, Carlo was secured when Selange fainted. Sophie wiped the wetness from her rouged cheek at the memory. They had fallen together because Sophie refused to let go. If she had Selange’s injury may have been fatal. The trio rolled in unison, cushioned by clothes and flesh. It is for family she lived and by the saints it is for family she would die.
The door opened again, it was the specialist Nico flew in. He nodded respectfully and set about examining her boy. He didn’t say anything until he was done. “He’s stable, which is good.” He took out his pen light and checked Giuseppe’s pupils. “Equal and reactive, that’s always a good sign.”
His smile was encouraging and gave Sophie hope, which is something in short supply in hopeless times. “Grazie doctor.”
The neurosurgeon tucked away his assessment tool. “You’re welcome. I’ll check on him again this evening,” he said and departed.
Sophie settled in to nap. Weariness had begun to show in her heavy eyes. Any moment they would have closed except another visitor entered and she slid up fully awake. “Shanda, the baby cannot be in here. Por favore,” she said as she stood and hurried to the woman.
“I’ve come to see him. I didn’t want to leave without saying good-bye.”
Sophie ushered Shanda out of the ICU. The woman was not thinking. The hospital is not a place for fragile babies with weak immune systems or healthy ones for that matter. Germs abound. Her eyes registered the young woman’s appearance and the matronly lips frowned. The girl had bags beneath her eyes; her clothes were wrinkled as if she slept in them. She held tightly to Carlo and when Sophie reached for the child, Shanda retreated.
Sophie’s voice became tender, “I will hold Carlo while you visit.”
Shanda’s eyes were glassy, on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry Sophie but please tell Giuseppe when he wakes that I can’t stay. I’m afraid for Carlo’s life. My parents are waiting and they’ve come to take me home and…” she pressed the baby’s head to her breast, “I want to be here but I have to think about our son…I have to.”
Sophie rubbed her grandson’s small spine and then kissed his cap. She did not try to remove him from its mother. Shanda suffered emotional trauma which was evident. Fragile and vulnerable, it is understandable she sought comfort of family, but to leave…that is what confused Sophie most. Perhaps, her parents had more influence on the young woman than she thought. An angry mother wanted to slap sense into the girl but for the sake of Carlo she did not, instead she said, “When my son is well he will ask for you and Carlo…is it wise to leave so soon?”
“I’ll call every day…I promise Sophie, but I need Carlo safe.”
Sophie’s disappointment showed. “Then do what is best for your delicate heart. Giuseppe will gain his strength and he will travel wherever you are to claim his son.”
~ ~
Ah, she came. Sí and she carried a bag filled with things as instructed. He could see through the window his father’s men checking through the girly outfits Lucia Peglesi had brought for Amelda. They were probably informing the teenager Amelda was not at home, but of course Lucia knew this because Giuseppe told her when she called. Amelda had gone to Milan to buy a dress for her sixteenth birthday. His parents were not suspicious when he chose not to go. Who could blame a nineteen year old boy for refusing to suffer through his sister’s fittings? Not to mention, hearing her chatting all afternoon about fabrics and things he cared nothing about. His father certainly understood, but he was obligated to go, Amelda was his genteel flower and his mother asked for his company. His father never denied his mother. After many years together, Giuseppe could tell they were genuinely in love.
He hurried downstairs before Lucia was sent away. He opened the door. “Buongiorno Lucia. Amelda is not home,” he said for affect, “but she said it is okay for you to look through the shoes and borrow any that you like.”
The mean soldati turned to Giuseppe. “Your father gave instruction giovani Giuseppe.”
A smile of warning twisted Giuseppe’s mouth. “Allora non ne parlano.”
Everyone feared Carlo Dichenzo. Giuseppe’s father was considered a mannerly brute. An oxy-moron, certainly, but those who knew his reputation understood. The soldati nodded.
Giuseppe invited the girl in. “Entre.”
Her almond shaped eyes peered at the soldati who glowered in disapproval as she passed. Many girls flirted with Giuseppe Dichenzo. They loved the dangerous handsome boy rumored to have a sizable dick. A tall Sicilian with the blackest hair, eyes the color of the Mediterranean Sea, and a physique as hard as the sculptures in the piazza, Giuseppe Dichenzo was both good-looking and naughty.
Amelda wasn’t aware of her friends attraction to her brother, perhaps it’s because she never considered shy Lucia would have an interest in a troublesome and spoiled boy. But, a girl has eyes and equally raging hormones. The only downside to their mutual attraction is Lucia lied to her friend. Her brother Matteo would not like his little sister alone with Giuseppe. The son of Carlo Dichenzo had a not-so-favorable reputation. Fighting, causing mischief and challenging his elders are not the type of boys Catholic girls should have associations.
She stepped into the foyer. The refined taste of Mrs. Dichenzo evident in everything from the furnishings to the beautiful vases filled with flowers. Lucia visited this home many times, but each time Amelda was present.
The home was quiet. Giuseppe informed her, the cook was out and they were alone. He led her upstairs to his bedroom, locked the door and smiled. “Are you still curious?”
Lucia was nervous. Giuseppe was the first boy she kissed. Amelda had spoken of the great pleasures derived when a boy touches the breasts and many other things. The church did not speak of such intimacy, only of marriage and bambini. Fornication is frowned upon, although Amelda said that is nonsense. When a boy and girl like each other they kiss, touch their bodies together and display their affection. It is the happiness which comes with love. This she believed because Amelda seemed al
ways cheerful.
Giuseppe took off his sneakers and then undressed. “Look.”
Lucia’s eyes widened at Giuseppe’s carved body. His phallus was not lying limp or short like the statues; it rose and was quite big. His hand cupped the venous organ, sliding up and down in a firm caress. “Come feel it. He will not bite. This is what you wanted to know, sí?”
Lucia joined him. She touched it quickly with her finger. His penis was stiff, and soft. His hand covered hers to place her palm around the tubular shaped organ and told her to squeeze. There was a smile on the handsome mouth when she did. Emboldened, she caressed him there, liking the feel of it. His hands moved away and he began to kiss her as she stroked and pulled, stretching his dick, not knowing his arousal increased. His kisses became more liquid, his grunts guttural and he oozed in her hands. “Ummm bella, there is more. Let me show you how nice it feels.”
Lucia’s young breasts hardened beneath her dress. Giuseppe touched her thighs; warm fingers massaged her panties and then went inside her pussy. She began to tingle down there, a lot. Her legs opened, why she did not understand but Giuseppe did. He was older, not by much and he knew of pleasures she did not. He turned her to the bed, told her to lie down. “Do you want me to teach you about the love-making your friends whisper about during mass?”
“Sí, yes.”
“Are you certain Lucia, it is not for children only women?”
“Yes, Giuseppe, I am not a child. Teach me.”
His gorgeous eyes roved over her. He slid the dress down her arms. She watched, immobile as he peeled away each layer of clothes. He was not clumsy, in fact, he was quite adept at removing her undergarments and she smiled. Nude in the bed of the most handsome boy in Sicily she did not consider her friendship with Amelda, only what Giuseppe would teach her about love.
His mouth was hot. Suckling, warm and ticklish on her growing breasts. They enlarged since last year and she noticed many of the boy’s eyes upon them everywhere she went, including Giuseppe. Her eyes closed loving the gentleness of his hand sliding over her hip without haste and inside of her pussy again. Oh, she really liked the sensation, stretched fully and let him explore. She began to squirm, holding his hand there, letting him push deeper, thrusting naturally and wanting more of his tongue in her mouth. Wetness followed. The same wonderful sensation which occurred when she dreamed of Giuseppe, but never spoke to anyone about. His mouth soon went to the wet place, his tongue when it licked her clitoris, indescribable. These pleasures of the flesh were sinfully good. She craved more of Giuseppe, more of his touch.
