Vigilante Angels Trilogy

by Billy DeCarlo

  “There’s one very promising trial we’re looking at if you test positive for the right mutation, so we have a plan. This is a new drug called Forbaxatel; it’s been very effective for some patients with your type of cancer. It also seems to rejuvenate some patients. I hesitate to say it, but it’s somewhat miraculous, so far. When it works, that is. It’s early in the trial process, so we don’t know a lot about the long-term effects yet.”

  “It’s pretty fucked up I have to hope for a mutation,” Tommy said glumly.

  “Good thing you were always a mutant, Dad,” Bobby said, laughing.

  Tommy added a forced smile, his mind a long way away.

  The doctor rose. “Don’t feel bad. All cancers are mutations, and we all have them inside of us. So, we’re gonna keep you here, eating this delicious food, for a day or so. Just to observe and get these radiation treatments done. Rest, and put some mind-garbage on the TV. I’ll be in checking on you from time to time. Keep your hands off my damn nurses, Borata.”

  The comment finally brought a genuine smile from Tommy. “Okay, Doc. You got it.”

  The doctor left, and Bobby moved over to take his place at the foot of Tommy’s bed. “One more thing, Dad. I stepped out a few minutes ago and heard over the radio that Carson had picked up Moses’ nephew Lukas. They found a baggie on him. They were taking him to the station, and I guess his seat belt came off somehow in the wagon. He’s here in the hospital—a little busted up, but he’ll be okay. I tried to check in on him when I got here, but he was asleep. They have a guard posted.”

  Tommy’s face reddened, and he felt anger surge through his body. “That’s all bullshit. He doesn’t use. Just weed. You know damn well that had to be a plant by Carson and his asshole partner. And I’m sure the seatbelt thing was no accident, either. Son of a bitch.”

  Bobby began to gather his things. “Don’t let it get to you. You have enough on your plate. I’ll check into it. Maybe I can get close to Carson and get something on him. I got a shift to pull, Dad. Get some rest. I’ll be back after work. I’m sure Mom will be in to harass you in a little while.”

  “Okay, kid. Be careful on the job. Stay away from Carson, but don’t take any shit from him. Tell that idiot that I said, ‘Fuck you.’”

  Bobby laughed. “I’ll be sure to do that. Love you, Dad,” he said, looking back as he reached the door.

  “Love you, son. Always loved you.”

  Tommy watched the door sweep to a silent close.

  6 Interrogation

  Lukas groaned and reached for a cup of water on the stand next to his hospital bed. The officer tasked with guarding him turned at the sound and watched his effort with amusement. Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall, and the officer turned to have a low conversation with someone out of sight.

  A nurse entered and took his vitals. “Do you need anything for pain, Mr. Taylor?” she asked.

  Lukas nodded, and she went about preparing the medication.

  Moments later Carson came in, smiling. “Mr. Taylor. I cannot express how sorry I am about our faulty equipment. On behalf of the department, I do apologize. Nurse, would you give us a few moments, please?”

  She nodded, then finished up and left.

  Carson continued. “However, Mr. Taylor, I am still suspicious that you may have been trying to escape from the van, and noted that in my report on the incident.”

  “Uck you,” was all Lukas could muster though his wrapped and damaged jaw. To make his point clear, he raised his uninjured arm and produced a middle finger.

  “Oh, now, let’s not get testy. After all, you have a pretty serious charge against you. That coke is some bad shit. We’ve been trying to track down the supply sources into the city. Looks like it might be a certain motorcycle gang you’re involved with.”

  Lukas tried to rise up, but the cop grabbed the front of his gown and forced him back down, pushing his back into the bed. Lukas gasped in pain.

  “Listen. Let’s make this easy. Give me what you have on the white guy that was running around with your uncle before he killed that priest. You know the guy—Tommy Borata. I know he was involved somehow. You must’ve heard them discussing it, or maybe your uncle talked to you. That’s all I need. Then all this business about resisting arrest, striking an officer, and carrying dope can just go away.”

  Lukas stared back defiantly, and the cop leaned harder on his chest. He tried not to react, but couldn’t withhold a wince.

  “What are you doing to him?” a voice from the doorway demanded. Carson turned and stepped away from the bed, allowing Lukas to see a Latina nurse coming at them. She shoved the officer away and moved to check on him.

  “He was trying to tell me something,” Carson said. ”His jaw is all fucked up; I couldn’t hear. I was just leaning in closer to try to understand him.”

  She turned back to him angrily and took note of his name tag. “Yeah, nice try Officer...Carson. His gown is still all bunched up at the neck from where you were grabbing him. Get out of here.”

  He looked at her name tag in return. “Don’t tell me what to do, Nurse Carmen.” He looked at Lukas. “Think about what I said, Taylor,” he added as he left the room.

  “Assho,” Lukas said to the nurse, nodding in the direction of the door.

  “Yeah, too many of them are, unfortunately,” she said. “Hi, Lukas. I’m Carmen, the head nurse in the oncology wing. I think you know Tommy Borata, right?”

  Lukas nodded in the affirmative.

  She continued to speak while making him comfortable, adjusting his bed and pillows. “He’s here too. Had a seizure, but he’s going to be okay. He was worried about you—sent his son to ask me to check in. I’m glad he did.

  “Anyway, I talked to the doc, nothing’s broken. You’ve got a mild concussion, but we won’t need to admit you. He’ll be in shortly with instructions. In the meantime, keep the pager button handy and hit it any time they come in. Always make sure a nurse is in here with you.”

  “Anks,” he said.

  She turned the television on for him and flipped through channels until he nodded at one showing a baseball game. She made sure his water pitcher was refilled and consulted with the nurse on duty before coming back to sit by his bed.

  “Take care of yourself, Lukas.” She took his good hand and squeezed it. She left, and Lukas turned his attention to the baseball game.

  A while later, he heard a commotion outside of his station. He could see Tass having words with the cop. She shoved him as he laughed at her, and entered the room shaking her head. “Motherfucker has some nerve, calling me ‘brown sugar’ after the bullshit they pulled on us today. Racist assholes, all of them. How you doin’, Luke?”

  Lukas formed an okay sign with his thumb and index finger, then motioned toward the door with his middle finger and shook his head.

  “I’m getting you outta here soon, and I ain’t leaving until then. Pisses me off—people only see black people’s reaction to getting treated the way we just did. They never show why we’re so angry. Countless blacks incarcerated and executed over decades, generations, but let one cop get hurt or killed and the big, bad black people are plastered all over the damn news. What happened to us this morning should be on the news.”

  Lukas took her hand and patted it, trying to calm her. He pulled it to his mouth and gingerly kissed it. That seemed to break her foul mood, and she smiled at him.

  “I kind of like this,” she said. “I can talk and talk, and you can’t say shit.”

  He issued a fake groan and a faint smile.

  “Anyway, I been thinking. Why don’t we give it another shot? I miss you, Lukas Taylor. And you ain’t shit without me, right?”

  He winked at her and nodded in the affirmative.

  “Good answer, because you know, in the shape you’re in, I could kick your ass right now, buddy.” She leaned in and kissed his bruised lips, and he closed his eyes to enjoy it.

  “Ove you, ‘ass,” he tried to say.

  “Yo
u always did, didn’t you? We don’t do well apart. I keep dreaming about us getting the hell out of here. Out of the city. We work at the VA; they’re all over the country. What the hell we doin’ here? Your uncle is gone, and I don’t have much family. You want to ride off into the sunset with me, Lukas Taylor?”

  “I do,” he managed.

  “I do?” she asked. “Like in marriage ‘I do’? You trying to propose to me, Mr. Lukas?”

  “I do,” he repeated.

  “Yes!” she shouted, leaning in again to hug him. Lukas groaned and smiled.

  7 Visitors

  Tommy diverted his attention from the window as the door to his room opened. “Nurse Carmen! What a sight for sore eyes. What brings you to the neighborhood?”

  “You do. I take care of my patients no matter where they are. How’re you feeling?”

  “Not bad. Ready to get out of here, that’s for sure. Probably tomorrow, they tell me. I need to get home to my bed and my wife.”

  “I’m sure she’s upset. Was she here?”

  “No,” Tommy answered. “My boy was here overnight. She was going to come this morning, but something came up. I’m sure she’ll be by. You know, a thing like this makes you thankful for what you have. Like a good son, devoted wife, and the best damn oncology nurse in the country. Prettiest, too.”

  “Ah, well thanks,” she said, blushing. “Well, Bobby found his way to me. I stopped over at Lukas’ room just in time. Some big, stupid cop was leaning on him pretty good.”

  “Yeah,” Tommy said. “I bet I know who that was. Carson. Major asshole.”

  “You’d think they’d be out looking for real bad guys. Like the one that stole my purse yesterday.”

  “Oh, no. How’d that happen, Carmen?”

  “I had just cashed my paycheck at the credit union in the hospital lobby, so all my money was in it. I stopped at the bodega on Fifth, grabbed a twenty and ran in for a sec to get a quart of milk. I could swear I locked the car with the fob, but it must not have taken. Someone grabbed it right off the seat. I’m sure it was one of those seedy guys that are always hanging around outside of the place. They were both there went I went in, but gone when I came out.”

  “Damn. Yeah, I know the spot. Did you report it?”

  “No. What good’s that going to do? The only good cop I know is retired.” She patted his hand. “I’ll pull some overtime to make it up. They’ll probably overdose on the dope they bought with my dough. I did love that purse, though.”

  “Send your old man, Buster, after them. He should be good for at least that much.”

  “Can’t,” she replied. “He’s back in the joint. Burglary. I guess that’s what the part-time job was that he said he got. I filed for divorce. I need an honest man, Tommy. Are there any left out there?”

  “Just me,” he said, half joking, half hopeful. Feeling drowsy, he took her hand. It was smooth and warm. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the silence and her presence, using his thumb to caress her palm as he slowly drifted into sleep.

  His awareness came and went between the nurses coming to check on him and the dreams that passed through his subconscious like slowly moving ships. Eventually, he realized there was a woman sitting next to his bed. “Hello, Margie,” he said, assuming his it was his wife, who was long overdue.

  “Hi, Tommy. It’s Diane.”

  He looked at her, momentarily confused.

  “Diane,” she repeated. “Your sister-in-law. Are you okay? Should I come back?”

  He raised himself up a bit, the only formality he could manage from the confines of the hospital bed. “Hey, Diane. How’s things? How’s Jack?”

  “Not bad, Tommy. I guess none of us can complain, seeing what’s going on with you.”

  He sensed that she was downcast and nervous. She still wore her jacket and clutched her purse tightly on her lap.

  “Are you going to be okay, Tommy?” she asked.

  “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about me. I’m getting out of here today or tomorrow. Pretty sure, anyway. Good as gold. I’ll be home and pissing off your sister like always.”

  “I uh...I wanted to talk to you about something, Tommy. Maybe this isn’t a good time.” She looked toward the door.

  “No, it’s okay, Diane. What’s on your mind, kid? I’m all ears.”

  “Well, I think something’s been going on. Jack’s been acting funny lately. Real distracted, you know? Fidgety. Making excuses to go out.”

  “Aw, it’s probably just work. Don’t jump to any conclusions.”

  She looked at the door again. “Well, there’s more. A while back, Margie and I were just hanging out talking in my kitchen, when Jack came home. I dunno. I just felt something funny, like an intuition, the way they looked at each other, you know what I mean?”

  Tommy sat up even straighter and waited for her to continue.

  “And the thing is, Margie went upstairs to use the bathroom, don’t ask why, but anyways instead of using the hall bathroom she went into the one off our bedroom. Something happened up there, we heard a crash, and she came downstairs and left in a hurry. I went up and found Jack’s cologne spilled all over the place. He acted all weird about it.”

  “Jesus, Diane. That’s a lot to process. She’s a heavy drinker, you know that. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

  She started to cry. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I shouldn’t have come here and dumped this on you, here in the hospital. I’m so sorry...” She pulled a tissue from the box on the stand attached to his bed and poured herself a glass of water from the flimsy plastic water pitcher that stood next to it.

  “It’s going to be okay. I’ll get to the bottom of it, don’t worry. Just let it go for now, and let me look into things. Don’t do anything. Let’s hope it’s nothing, but you can be sure I’ll find out either way. I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay, Tommy. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Diane. You’re good as gold, always were.”

  “Is she coming?”

  “I don’t know where Margie is. She was supposed to be here today, but I haven’t seen her yet. Probably at the liquor store stocking up.”

  “I gotta go, Tommy. I gotta get back to work. I really just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  “We go back a long way, don’t we? I miss the old days, Diane. I really miss the old days. When everything was good, and fun. We didn’t have too many problems back in the early years. Not compared to now, anyway.”

  She lingered for a while. They made awkward small talk until she left, and then he sat in silence, processing the news and slowly clenching and unclenching his hands. I should’ve pulled the plug on her and this marriage a long time ago. Wasted time.

  He rang the nurse’s buzzer, and when he came in Tommy asked for something for anxiety and sleep. He downed the pills with a large glass of water, then got up to black out the shades, returning to the bed to sleep.

  The television came on, and he roused himself to clarity. There was another visitor in the chair: a short Asian man with jet-black hair tied in a topknot, and a black eye patch. The eye patch strap made a diagonal line across the man’s forehead and down under his ear. The man sat looking at him without moving.

  “Hey, Molletier,” Tommy greeted him. “What are you doing here? You got treatments today, or just can’t get enough of this dump?”

  The man spoke in a slow, raspy tone. “Sensei. Call me ‘Sensei,’ as I asked you. It is Japanese, not the proper term for a Korean taekwondo master, but Americans do not know the difference, and the Korean version is hard for your people to say.”

  “Okay, okay. Got it,” Tommy replied.

  Molletier continued. “When we met in chemo a while back, you said you wanted to talk to me. I was here to see the doctor today, and I heard Nurse Carmen say you were here. Now I’m here. What do you want?”

  Tommy remembered the man’s blunt, emotionless attitude from their prior meeting. “Yeah, right. We talked about the old days when you were Bobby’s instruc
tor. How’s things at the dojo?”

  “The dojo is gone. No business these days. Parents just shove video screens in front of their kids to shut them up. They’re all growing up weak and fat. No discipline.”

  Tommy reached for his remote and turned off the overhead TV. “I agree. I miss the old days. I bet it’s not like that where your people come from. Where’s that again, China?”

  The man gave Tommy an even more hardened look. “Korea.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry. So how’re you doing with the treatment? You did okay, keeping all that hair.”

  Molletier maintained his stony demeanor as he pulled up on the topknot, lifting the wig slightly from his scalp.

  “Oh, sorry again.”

  “How is Bobby?” Molletier asked.

  “Doing okay. He’s having a rough time at work though. Some asshole’s been picking on him. He’s a sensitive guy, you know?” It was as far as Tommy could go toward revealing his son’s recently disclosed homosexuality.

  “I remember. Good boy. Big, strong. Respectful. He should have stayed in training. Send him to me. Private lessons.”

  “I’ll run it by him. So what’re you doing now that the studio is closed?”

  “Private investigator work. Old job before taekwondo studio.”

  Tommy considered the possibilities. “Huh. You interested in doing a little work with me? I think I could use you on a couple of projects.”

  8 Reconciliation

  Tommy fussed as Margie tried to help him from the car and into the house. “I can do it. I can do it myself,” he said testily as she tried to steady him.

  When they were finally inside, she said, “I have the bed all ready for you up there. Go on up and relax. Put the TV on—and not the news, please!” she implored. “I’ll bring you a sandwich and some soup.”