by Hamel, B. B.
She hesitated, then shook it. I looked into her eyes and held her gaze there, wondering what was going through her head, my fingers touching hers before I let them go and leaned back.
“What now then?” she asked.
“I’ve got some theories, if you want to hear.”
She gestured. “Go for it.”
I flagged down the waitress again, ordered another drink for Fiona, then cleared my throat.
“Maria’s involved in moving money around. Whether she’s laundering money or what, I don’t know. I was thinking, who the hell in this city would get involved in a scheme like that? And a few groups came to mind.”
“Which ones?” She sipped her new glass of wine, leaning toward me again.
“First, politicians. I don’t know which one, or why, but they have the flout and the cash. Second, a union, maybe the nurses’ union, though I can’t imagine that guy has anything to do with them.”
Fiona interrupted me. “Not the nurses’ union. I’m a member.”
“Do you know everything your leadership does?”
“No, but I like the girls in charge.”
I shrugged. “Fair enough. That leaves me with the mafia.”
She didn’t react, and I found that fascinating. Of the three options, I thought the mob was probably the most outlandish and absurd. Of course there was organized crime in Philadelphia—every major city had organized crime. But I couldn’t picture them getting involved with a hospital.
And yet she didn’t seem surprised at all by the suggestion.
“Why do you think they might have something to do with this?” she asked.
I shrugged. “They’d have the money, and buying off people if sort of what they do, right? But it’s a crazy idea. It can’t be the mob.”
“It could be.”
I stared at her, eyes narrowed. “How?”
“I probably shouldn’t tell you this.” She hesitated, running a finger along the rim of her glass. “You remember Gavin?”
“Of course. We’re still in the same fantasy league. I hear he’s doing pretty good out in California, living the dream life.”
“His wife, Erica, she was involved with the mafia.”
I stared at her then laughed, but my laughter died when she stared back at me with a straight face. “You’re kidding, right? That pretty blonde girl?”
“It’s a long story,” Fiona said, grimacing, “and it’s not my place to go into details, but I’m not joking around here. They left the city because of the mob.”
“Holy shit.” I leaned back and took a long slug of my whiskey. “That’s absolutely insane.”
“I know, but the mafia isn’t so outside the realm of possibility. I mean, they were already involved with a doctor and a patient—who knows what else they were up to in the hospital.”
I shook my head and stared at her full lips, trying to wrap my head around the idea that Gavin and Erica had something to do with organized crime. It was almost impossible to picture it—and yet they had left really abruptly, gotten married out of the blue, and certain parts of their story never quite matched up.
“The mafia,” I said softly. “Okay then. So the mafia.”
“I don’t know for sure.” She paused and tugged on her hair. “I’m just saying it’s possible.”
“Are you still in touch with Gavin?”
She nodded. “I’m friends with Erica still, although we’re drifting apart a little. Hard to stay close across the country.”
“Ask them what he knows. Maybe he has some info, a contact, whatever.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to them about this since they left.”
“We need to start somewhere, right? It can’t hurt.”
She finished her wine. “Can’t hurt you, since you’re not asking.”
“Don’t worry. My task is going to be much more dangerous.” I leaned toward her, eyes locked on hers. “I’m breaking into that office again.”
“Come on, are you serious? We barely got away last time.”
“I don’t care. We need to know what she’s got in there.”
“Dean—”
“I’ll be smarter about it, go in after hours. I have a night shift coming up soon. I can sneak away.”
“Shit.” She rubbed at her temples. “You’re serious.”
“Of course I’m serious. Nobody will be up in that office. I can get in and out.”
“There are security cameras.”
“So what? I’m a doctor.” I grinned at her and tilted my head. “Nobody would suspect a thing.”
She groaned but waved a hand. “All right, fine, do what you have to do.”
“Okay then.” I held up my glass with the dregs of my whiskey. “Let’s have a toast to our team.”
She held up her glass. “To Watson and Sherlock.”
“And to getting to the bottom of this case.”
We drank, and I caught her smiling, which sent a thrill down my spine. She leaned her head to the side, and her cheeks were slightly pink—maybe from the heat in the cramped cafe, maybe from the alcohol, or maybe from the way I looked at her like I wanted to undress her nice and slow.
“One more drink?” I asked.
I saw her consider it, and I thought she might say yes, but she stood up and shook her head. “I’d better get home.”
“Sure I can’t tempt you with actual dinner?”
“Nice try.” She smiled at me, lingered for half a second, then turned and left. I watched her go and let out a disappointed sigh.
I left a wad of cash on the table and waved goodbye to Melissa as I stepped out onto the street. Fiona was long gone, and I wondered what she was thinking. I liked getting to know her a little bit more. I felt like I got a peek beneath her exterior, that tough, pissed-off facade she put up for everyone all the time. I understood a little better why she was like that, and I couldn’t imagine what she’d gone through, and what she’d overcome.
And I liked telling her about my family, at least a little bit. I wasn’t ready to go into the gory details—how my father would beat my mother then turn on me, all in the name of toughening us up, or whatever insane excuse he came up with after the fact—but it was nice to talk about it a little bit. I rarely brought it up, and rarely let myself get close to anyone, all because I kept wondering if that animal was inside of me, if that strange, psychotic part of my father that set him off sometimes and turned him into a piece of shit was inside of me as well waiting to come screaming out from deep inside me.
The possibility made the idea of a serious, committed relationship seem like too big of a risk.
Still, talking about it a little bit felt good. I wouldn’t let myself go too far down that road, but this partnership with her might not end up poorly after all.
5
Fiona
I called Erica the next night. She picked up after a couple rings and sounded a little breathless. “How are you, sweetie?” I asked.
“Doing good,” she said. “Running around like crazy though.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“I know we’ve been here for a year but I feel like we’re still getting settled.”
“It’s not easy, getting used to an entirely new place.” I sat down on my living room couch and curled my feet underneath me. My apartment was a hodgepodge of styles and half my stuff was bought secondhand at a thrift store outside the city. I made good money, but I lived in a nice neighborhood, which meant most of my cash went to rent.
Not that it mattered, since I didn’t have much of a social life. Erica was a good friend for the brief time we knew each other, but she moved away. We’ve kept in touch and text and talk on the phone constantly, but it’s not quite the same thing as seeing each other in person. I get drinks with some of the other nurses sometimes, and go out to see movies once in a while, but I haven’t been on a date since high school and haven’t been able to bring myself to get involved with anyone seriously since the accident.
“I know,
but still. I just spent an hour in the grocery store because I couldn’t decide what I was going to make for dinner tonight.”
“You cook for Gavin?”
She laughed. “When he’s lucky.”
“How’s his new job doing?”
“Good. He’s starting over from scratch pretty much, but he’s got a full patient list and he seems happy.”
“That’s important. I’d hate to start over at a new hospital. You have to learn where everything is all over again and I swear I’m just figuring out where stuff is at Mercy.”
Erica snorted. “Don’t tell me that. You were my nurse.”
“Speaking of which, your mom’s still good?”
“Still good. Gavin watches her like a hawk.”
“Good man.” I cleared my throat softly and fidgeted. “Uh, Gavin’s not home right now by any chance, is he?”
“Actually, yeah, he had the day off. Why, what’s up?”
“I was wondering if I could ask him something.”
“Uh, sure. Want me to give him my phone?”
“I can call him if you want.”
“No, no, hold on a second.”
I heard her cover the receiver as she had a muffled, whispered conversation. I felt awkward, and I realized I should’ve called him from the start, but I wanted to talk to Erica more than anything. I wished I could spill it all to her—but I wanted to see what Gavin said first, and anyway I figured he’d tell her all about it when we were finished talking.
“Okay, hey, sorry, here he is.” She passed the phone over.
“Hey, Fiona.” Gavin’s familiar voice made me smile a little bit. He used to drive me crazy back in the day—he slept with every single nurse in the hospital and didn’t seem to have any qualms about it. I always thought he was a useless womanizer, at least until Erica dropped into his life.
He had it hard though. His sister was murdered by her husband, and his parents died in an accident, so I knew he suffered a lot. I didn’t realize how much until everything happened with them, and now I’d say that we were friends, although still nowhere near as close and me and Erica.
“Hey, Gavin. I have something weird to ask you, and I need you to promise not to overreact.”
“Okay, sure,” he said slowly. “I can try. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” I hesitated. “Well, something’s wrong. How much do you know about the mafia?”
A long silence on his end. I thought we might’ve been disconnected, but then I heard something ruffle along the receiver, like he’d just moved to a different spot and adjusted his phone.
“I take it something’s going down if you’re asking about them,” he said, voice dropping in volume.
“It’s hard to explain and I’m not sure how much you want to know.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“No, not exactly.”
“Doesn’t sound promising.”
I laughed a little. “I swear, I’m okay. But something’s going on at Mercy and we’re trying to get to the bottom of it.”
“We?”
“Me and Dean.”
“Dean Coarse?” He barked a laugh and I grimaced a little, holding the phone from my ear. “No kidding. I never thought he’d be the one to finally break through your ice wall.”
“That’s not what’s happening.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Can you help me, or what?” I felt my anger rising and I knew I’d better try to get this conversation over with before I ended up berating him. As much as I needed his help, I wasn’t about to sit back and let him be an asshole. That wasn’t my style.
“Like I said, I don’t know much about them. If you’re tangled up with the mafia, you should go to the police.”
“You didn’t.”
“And look what it got me.” He hesitated and let out a breath. “I guess it could be worse.”
“I’m looking for a contact. Someone relatively friendly. I know you talked to a lot of people, when you guys went through your little problem.”
“There is one guy.” He didn’t sound sure, and I had a bad feeling in my gut. “But he’s not exactly friendly.”
“Give it to me anyway.”
“His name’s Dr. Chen. I don’t know his first name, so don’t ask. I can text you his number.”
“He’s in the mafia?”
“Works for them. He’s their house doctor, the guy Dante and Vincent wanted me to replace.”
“Dante and Vincent?”
“They’re like the big bosses. I don’t have contact info for them, and even if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you. You need to stay far away from those two if you can.”
“Understood.”
“If you’re in trouble, seriously, Fiona, go to the cops. Don’t try to make this work on your own. Erica and I got lucky, and who knows how long that luck will hold. They might chase us down out here.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You never know.” He grunted and I got the sense that he was standing up for something. “Seriously, Fiona, you need to be careful. And if there’s anything I can do—”
“That phone number will be a good start.”
“You got it.” He chuckled again. “Dean, huh? How’s he doing?”
“He’s doing fine, and it’s not like that.”
“You could do a lot worse.”
“Gavin.”
“Whatever. Enjoy yourself and stay out of trouble, okay? These guys are no joke.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Good. Erica worries about you sometimes.”
I couldn’t help but laugh a little. “She worries about me?”
“Sure, I guess because your ‘fuck you’ barriers are up all the time and it’s hard for you to get to know people. She’s worried you’re lonely and miserable.”
“That’s… sort of insulting.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“And I don’t have barriers.”
He snorted. “You absolutely do. You were convinced I was going to hurt Erica from the start, even though I did nothing but prove over and over that I wanted what was best for her.”
“Can you blame me? That whole situation was crazy.”
“True, but you’re in it now, aren’t you?”
I let out a breath through my nose. “I guess I am.”
“Be careful then. And let down the shields from time to time, all right?”
“Goodbye, Gavin.”
“Later.”
I hung up the phone and leaned back on my couch. I shut my eyes and tried to picture Gavin and Erica together in their little house at the edge of the mountains—and for some strange reason, I felt a pang of jealousy. I got up, walked to the refrigerator, took out a bottle of wine and poured a glass.
I took a long drink as I returned to the couch and sat back down, legs curled underneath me. The phone buzzed and a phone number appeared on the screen. I saved it in my contacts as Dr. Chen then considered calling Dean to tell him about the news.
But I hesitated. I thought about the accident again, like I did so many times over the years, and my fingers strayed to the scar that ran down the length of my stomach, bisecting my belly button, and ending two inches above my crotch. It was ugly still, even after all these years, and I hated it so much. I remembered how it’d felt for that big, jagged piece of glass to slice down my front, the feeling of warm blood on the seat, of my boyfriend groaning in pain.
I was barely sixteen when it happened. At the time, I was dating an older boy named Jim O’Malley, a handsome guy that played on the basketball team for our parochial school. He was nice to me and we had a good time together, at least until that night, driving too fast down a quiet Buck County back road, laughing wildly with the windows down, swerving slightly. I hadn’t realized how drunk he was, not until we got into the car. I was a little drunk too, not as bad as him, but enough to take the edge off, to blur the danger enough.
One second, we were turning around a bend to t
he left, and the next he jerked the wheel to the right, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with a truck, but losing control and smashing into a tree. I smelled burned rubber, heard the tires scream. He said something, I’d never remember what, and his hand pressed against my chest like he wanted to hold me in place. Impact was instant. Most of what happened after was a blur: the smell of oil and gasoline, bits and pieces of glass and tree bark in my hair, pain hot and wild all over my limbs, my spit rolling down my chin as I rolled onto the damp grass, someone shouting to get moving, the car horn blaring. I remembered stumbling from the car, blood all over me, and an ambulance’s lights flashing along the road, illuminating the cornfield nearby. Dogs barked somewhere, angry.
We both survived. He had a bad concussion and broken bones, and ended up getting probation. I had scrapes, bruises, cuts—and one large scar down the front of me that never would heal right.
I dumped him the next day, but that didn’t help. The accident left me broken, tainted, ruined. I’d never get over it.
Maybe that was why I went into nursing. The idea of helping other people heal from their injuries appealed to me—even if I’d never heal from mine.
I sucked in a breath, finished my glass of wine, and called up Dean. He answered right away. “I was just thinking about you,” he said.
“Spare me the details.”
“Don’t be dirty. Actually, on second thought, please be dirty.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “You wish.”
“I sure do.” He adjusted the phone and I heard it scrape against cloth. “So to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I just got off the phone with Gavin.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Seems pretty good.”
“What did he have to say?”
“Warned me to back off, first of all.”
“He’s probably right about that.” He laughed softly, but with a hint of bitterness.
“Are you having second thoughts?”
“Not at all, actually. You’ll learn soon enough, but I don’t back down easy.”
“I get the feeling I understand that all too well already.”
“What else did he say?”
“Gave me some names. Dante and Vincent, they’re two of the big, bad bosses, but he said not to get involved with them. He told me about another guy named Dr. Chen. Gave me a number.”
