I’ve never donned a full disguise, but do whatever I can to mask my appearance. A simple change of hair color and wearing different (but not distinctive) glasses go a long way toward hiding in plain sight. Glasses have worked for Superman all these years, so there must be something to their particular cloaking power. The most important thing is to blend in, or better yet, not be seen at all.
Recording my feelings and thoughts in this journal sounds like a “How To Be A Hit Man For Dummies” handbook. Nothing could be further from my intent. Perhaps one day in the future (hopefully long into the future), this will be read by Kelly. I’ve instructed Benedetto that in the event of my death the journal is to be given to her, and her only.
Kelly… if you’re reading this, it means I’m dead. It also means you’ve now discovered my dark secret. I hope you can understand the events that brought me to this precipice and why I took the path I did. I’m not proud of what I’ve become, but nor am I ashamed. I haven’t gotten to this place easily and I don’t underestimate the consequences of my actions. I’ve unsuccessfully attempted to put aside the moral ambiguity of “right vs wrong”.
I’ve become a murderer. It’s not my proudest accomplishment as your father, or as a member of the human race. I never wanted to lie to you or keep secrets from you, but my actions aren’t something I could ever discuss. To do so would’ve put you and Jess in danger, and risked shattering our family. I couldn’t allow that to happen. You’ve been my anchor, Kelly. Without your love and your friendship, I’d be adrift.
In a twisted way, and please don’t take this wrong, it’s the strength of our father/daughter bond that’s given me the wherewithal to do the things I do. The things in the light… and especially the things in the dark.
I can only hope that one day you’ll forgive me.
42
Kelly went back to work on Monday morning and tried to keep her focus on her patients, but her mind kept leap-frogging between her father’s journal and Tommy Moretti’s frigid glare.
At one point in the day, she found herself at the pharmaceutical lockup, mentally cataloging the drugs they had on hand. She was taking stock of what she could easily obtain in the event she decided to move ahead with her as yet unformed plan.
She was lost in thought when she heard Nathan behind her. “Dr Harper?”
Kelly spun around, hoping her face didn’t belie her sense of ‘getting caught’. “Doctor Curtis.”
“I wanted to let you know that I spoke to my father last night and he’d love to sit down with you to talk about financial support for the clinic. He suggested the three of us have drinks tonight at the Olympic Club.”
“I thought the Wallace Group wanted to buy the clinic outright.”
“That’s still an option, but there are several different financing scenarios he’d be happy to lay out for you. I’ve explained how important the clinic is to you, and to the neighborhood, and he’d be honored to help you find a favorable solution that will work for everyone.”
“I didn’t know your father was so altruistic. I’ve heard that he’s a very shrewd and tough businessman.”
This caught Nathan off-guard. He’d been instructed to tell Kelly whatever was necessary to get her to the table. Randall would take it from there and close the deal. However, based upon Kelly’s attitude and body language, this wasn’t going to be the slam-dunk that his father imagined.
“He’s smart, and can be tough, but he sees this as his opportunity to give back to the community. I’m sure he’ll figure out a way to make a buck and take advantage of the good press, but his heart’s in the right place on this one.” Nathan surprised himself that this bullshit flowed so easily out of his mouth. Maybe the apple didn’t fall far from the tree after all.
Kelly wasn’t buying it. “Let me be clear. This clinic’s financial wellbeing is not your or your father’s concern. We’re not going to talk about this again, all right?”
Nathan looked like a scolded child. “I was only trying to help.”
Kelly’s smile was so fake it couldn’t pass an audition for a bit part in a local theatre company. “I appreciate it. Now, we’ve got work to do.”
Nathan turned and headed out the door. He was totally humiliated. Kelly was right for chastising him… he was pushing too hard for something he knew was wrong.
Once again his father made him feel like an ass.
Kelly turned back to the drug cabinet, selected a small bottle of pills, two vials filled with clear liquid and a few syringes, all of which she slipped into her pocket. When she looked up, Vik was standing there. Had he seen her?
Kelly pulled herself together and greeted Vik with warmth. “Dr Danabalan. Is everything okay out there?”
“Yes, but I spoke to one of the ICU nurses at St Francis and she told me that Diego’s infection is winning the battle. He’s out of immediate danger, but they don’t know if they’ll be able to save his leg.”
“I was going to drop by there this morning on my way in, but got hung up. I’ll swing by later.”
Vik stood there, awkwardly trying to find a way to broach the real reason he came to see her. Kelly picked up on the obvious cue.
“Was there something else?”
The last thing Kelly needed today was dealing with personnel issues, but Vik was a rarity – tireless, brilliant and charming with patients. He was worth taking care of, even if it meant listening to him bitch a little from time to time.
Vik was clearly nervous, but he took the leap. “This may be inappropriate, but I’ve heard Dr Curtis talking about the clinic being sold to the Wallace Group.”
“Dr Curtis likes to talk. I’ve told him repeatedly that the clinic isn’t for sale, but he has a hard time accepting that as the truth.”
Vik smiled. “That is good news. I’ve had experience with the Wallace Group, and they are a medical disaster. A few years ago I worked at a clinic in San Diego in a low-income area that was on the verge of gentrifying. The original clinic was struggling and eventually bowed to the financial pressure of selling to the Wallace Group. They came in, painted the walls, refurnished with new chairs and sofas, and replaced the entire staff with doctors they had under contract. And then raised their rates by thirty percent. They churn patients as quickly as possible to generate maximum fees.”
“You just summarized the sad future of medicine. I’m not selling, so it won’t be an issue, but I appreciate your concern. I really do. By the way, I need to leave here in about an hour, so I’d appreciate if you could take charge for the rest of the day and lock up this evening.”
Vik beamed. He’d been asked to do this a few times in the past, and each time it made him feel that he truly belonged and was appreciated. “I would be most happy to, Doctor.” He hesitated for a moment, then continued, “There is one other thing.”
Kelly leapt to the assumption that Vik may ask for additional pay for taking on more responsibility.
“It is none of my business, but if the clinic is having financial problems, I’d be willing to defer my salary for a while.”
Kelly’s face reddened. She was embarrassed to have so drastically misjudged Vik’s character. “That’s incredibly nice of you…”
“Also, my brother Krishan, who recently moved in with me, graduated from the Duke-National University of Singapore medical school and completed his internship at Kaiser in Oakland. He would gladly offer his services to you at a very nominal fee while he explores local opportunities for a residency position.”
“Vik, I don’t know what to say. I’m touched, and I’m sure my father is looking down on us right now with a tear of gratitude in his eye.” Kelly had no problem promoting the notion that her father’s soul was in heaven, despite her serious doubts.
Vik smiled. “When I came here from Singapore, this community embraced me. Since then, I’ve been invited into their homes, shared their food, and made to feel like family. It is my obligation and honor to repay them with the best care I can provide, and that means keepi
ng this clinic open.”
Kelly dabbed at a tiny drop of salty water that formed at the corner of her eye. “You are truly special, Doctor, and all I can say is I appreciate your warm support and your dedication. We’re going to be okay.”
“I know we will.”
When Vik left, Kelly reached into her pocket and pulled out the bottle of pills. The label read Zolpidem (better known as Ambien). She still wasn’t certain how she was going to deal with the Moretti situation, but a plan was slowly starting to take shape.
43
It was coming on four o’clock when Kelly arrived at Peninsula Oaks. The sky was free of clouds and sunshine filled the late afternoon with cozy warmth. It was a perfect day for a stroll in the woods, or in the case of the patients ensconced at the facility, a wheelchair ride through the extensive and impeccably groomed grounds. Towering oaks were surrounded by vibrant green lawns and colorful beds of seasonal flowers.
Kelly brought Jessica out to their favorite spot under the canopy of a tree that stood on the outskirts of the property, away from any well meaning or curious healthcare workers who could accidently drift into earshot of the sisters’ heart-to-heart.
Birds overhead sang never-ending songs and unseen insects buzzed nearby. It was a lovely setting, but not one that engendered great joy. Jessica was comfortably secured in her chair with padded straps, and she stared off into the distance, unaware that Kelly was sitting on the wrought iron bench facing her.
Kelly hadn’t come to inform Jessica what she intended to do. Rather, she’d hoped that by verbalizing her plans, even to someone who had no cognitive ability to understand them, it would help her decide how to proceed.
This may have been a ridiculous idea, but Kelly desperately needed someone to talk to, or in this case, someone to talk at. She understood why her father couldn’t share his secrets, just as she couldn’t talk to Alexa (and definitely not Pete) about what she was considering. Using Jessica as her own “journal” gave Kelly an outlet that she otherwise lacked.
After making sure they were alone, Kelly leaned over and spoke in hushed tones. “Jess, we could be in danger. There’s a man, I’m pretty sure he’s the person who killed Dad, and he might try to hurt us, too. I’m not going to let that happen.”
Kelly went on to tell her sister about the terrible people who shouldn’t be walking around free. People who were a threat to society. As she spoke, she had a growing reaffirmation of how strongly she felt about her family and the evils that had befallen them. Dealing with Moretti wouldn’t be about revenge; it would be proactive, and perhaps to a lesser degree, perform a public service.
Kelly’s mind was racing; had she just adopted her father’s attitude about making the world a better place by stamping out some of humanity’s worse cancers? Had she crossed over? Was she willing to pull the proverbial trigger if and when the time came? She knew one thing for certain… she was ready to take the next step in her plan.
She glanced around the gardens again before she continued, “His name is Tommy Moretti. I’m going to find out if he’s the one responsible, and if he is, I’m going to stop him.”
Kelly wondered if she would’ve confided in Jessica if her sister was healthy and had all her faculties. Should Jess ever become fully functional again, Kelly vowed to trust her with all of the family secrets.
She desperately hoped that the darkest Harper secrets were in the past.
44
Kelly found street parking on Waller, one block south of her destination on Haight. Scoring a metered space in that area was akin to winning Power Ball, and she took it as a good omen. She was going to need all the good juju the universe chose to shower upon her.
The days of peace and love in the Haight were long since passed, but the commercialization of them still lived on in this neighborhood, which boasted the most famous cross streets of the hippie movement. Tourists flocked to the corner of Haight and Ashbury, cruising the boulevard to buy up faux-vintage t-shirts emblazoned with the names of rock bands from the sixties, exotic bongs and hash pipes (mostly made in China) and used vinyl.
Haight appeared to have a lock on vintage clothing stores, and Kelly walked past several: Wasteland, Relic Vintage and The Love Of Ganesha. She headed into Buffalo Exchange, a trendy chain that also had a store in the Mission. Kelly knew the two women who ran the shop in the Mission; a lovely couple from Portland who were raising a beautiful six-year-old girl named Tina. Tina was an orphan from Santiago and suffered from Osteogenesis Imperfecta, also known as “brittle bone disease”. Fortunately, Tina’s case was classified as Type 1, or mild. Even so, Kelly had treated her for a broken tibia, a fractured ulna and two broken fingers over the course of just two years. Her mothers showed their appreciation by giving Kelly massive discounts on whatever she wanted from their shop.
Despite the fact that Kelly was on a budget, especially since she discovered the clinic was deeply in debt, she wanted to keep the evening’s plans under the radar, which is why she drove three miles in congested traffic to pay full price for an outfit she’d only wear once.
An hour later and $300 lighter, Kelly exited with a side slit black dress, a pair of leather ankle boots and a red purse with a shallow false bottom. The latter would definitely come in handy. Her next stop was Piedmont Boutique, which was readily identified by the oversized plastic legs in fishnet stockings and pumps that protruded from the second-story window. The boutique was well known for outfitting drag queens and had everything necessary to complete a full transformation.
Kelly spent thirty minutes trying on different wigs. From a sedate brown wavy cut to a blue pixie style to a ginger Afro. Each wig gave her a completely different look, but not the look she was going for. She finally settled on a black Pageboy, which made a simple but bold statement. It was sexy and flirtatious without being vapid.
The young woman who helped Kelly wholly embraced the Goth look, complete with deep red eyeliner, black lips and multiple piercings. Kelly used her as inspiration and bought the appropriate makeup.
She headed home with her purchases to begin the metamorphosis.
45
The line outside The Patch was thirty deep. Since the nightclub’s opening six months ago, business had been thriving, which was the norm for a newly crowned hot spot. The question was, could it stand the test of time and still be packing them in a year from now?
The club was located in Dogpatch. Once a shipbuilding hub, the area was in mid-transition from an artists’ enclave to an arts-and-design neighborhood. Adjacent to Pier 70 and a stone’s throw from the bay, Dogpatch was home to fashion-forward stores and eateries, as well as the headquarters for the San Francisco chapter of the Hells Angels.
When Kelly’s Lyft driver pulled up to the club, he explained that as a single (and hot) female, she wouldn’t have to wait in line. Solo women were like neodymium magnets, drawing in overconfident men with unrealistic expectations. Men who couldn’t wait to drop a few hundred dollars on ridiculously overpriced cocktails with locale-inspired names like The Currfew (Courvoisier, Triple Sec and lime juice), The K9 (Ketel One and eight fruit-based ingredients) and the douche-bros favorite – The Doggie Style (a pint of Thirsty Dog Brewing’s Labrador Lager with a shot of Fighting Cock bourbon).
As Kelly stepped out of the car, she drew several appreciative glances as well as a few stalker-like ogles. The black dress clung to her like a kidskin leather glove and had the desired effect of showing off her lithe figure. She’d been judicious with her makeup, opting for black eye shadow with blood red hints nearest her tear ducts, and deep red lipstick. Kelly’s natural milky complexion was the perfect canvas and the overall look was striking and yet approachable.
Her long blonde locks were woven tightly under the black wig, which was secured with a dozen bobby pins. Kelly had to fight the constant urge to make sure the synthetic hair was on straight.
Everything about this moment felt awkward. Her clothing, her makeup, her hair, the club. None of it was remotely famili
ar or the least bit comfortable. Kelly was not a clubber. In fact, she’d been to a grand total of two, both with groups of women who were celebrating upcoming nuptials. She hated the noise, the crowds and the whole vibe. She was certain she’d be instantly pegged as a pretender. An upper-middle class prig who had no business trying to get on with this crowd.
Kelly paused, working up the confidence to take the plunge. If she couldn’t muster the courage to go inside, she’d never be able to follow through on her plan. Actually, “plan” suggested a well-thought-out course of action, which didn’t exactly define Kelly’s strategy.
Her intent was simple enough. Get Moretti alone, seductively encourage him to drink, slip him some Ambien to loosen him up and see if she could get some answers. Even though Ambien wasn’t a “truth serum”, when mixed with alcohol the result was disorientation and lack of concentration, which in turn made lying more difficult. If things proceeded accordingly, Kelly would leave the club knowing whether or not Moretti killed her father. If the answer was affirmative, she’d regroup and consider her next move.
Gideon Page 19
