by Hamel, B. B.
Surprise turned to rage.
Maria knew better. She knew what doctors did and how important our jobs were. She knew that ripping a doctor’s office into pieces meant hurting the lives of countless patients. The violation was one thing—having my office broken into didn’t feel great, of course—but the loss of my notes, and the way that might affect a patient, that was too much to bear.
I wanted to kill her. More than anything, I wanted to kick her in the face again and again until she died, but that wouldn’t bring back my notes. I took several deep breaths and pulled back on my anger, barely keeping myself under control, and tried to look at this from a distance.
Maria knew what she was doing. She knew ripping my place apart like this would hurt patients, but she clearly didn’t give a fuck. She must know that I would, and it hit me that she was trying to use my patients against me—using the threat of hurting them to make me back down and give in. That almost sent me spiraling into another rage, but I managed to hold myself back as my fingers clutched at my doorframe.
I thought I was dealing with a bureaucrat and a snake, but I was dealing with something so much more than that. She was a psychopath, and she must be willing to do almost anything to keep her secret hidden, which meant her threat level jumped up several notches.
I was going to have to convince Fiona to stay with me for a while, and we were going to have to move a lot faster than I thought.
My footsteps were silent on the thin industrial carpet as I stalked away. I slammed the door, and it didn’t matter anymore—that place was useless to me. I’d come back later and salvage what I could, and from now on I’d keep all my important files locked away at my apartment.
As I reached the elevator, I had an idea. I took out my phone and texted an old friend of mine, someone I hadn’t spoken to for a little while, but might be able to help. He answered right away and agreed to meet with me for lunch.
I hurried back home and prepared to present my case.
* * *
Curt Wells grinned at me as we shook hands in the Panera lobby. “Sorry to drag you here, buddy, but I’ve only got a half hour before I need to be back in court.” He looked good, haggard and tired, but good. He was a few inches shorter than me with a scrubby beard and dark eyes. His suit fit him well enough, but it looked rumpled, like he’d slept in it.
“How’s the prosecutor’s office treating you?”
He shrugged as he steered me over to a booth. He already had food arrayed out in front of him, and I guessed he’d been there for a few minutes already based on how much he’d eaten. “Not too bad. You want to grab some food?”
“I’m good.” I sat down and he shrugged, taking his seat with a sigh.
“I gotta say, I was surprised to see you text.”
“I know, it’s been too long.”
“Yeah, but that’s not all your fault. I mean, shit, they have me working eighty hours a week and I bet you’re not much better.”
“I sleep in the hospital most nights.”
He nodded like that wasn’t a big surprise. “It’s the job. I love it, but goddamn, does it take a lot out of me.”
“I can relate.” I took my laptop out of my backpack and placed it down on the table. “Honestly, my job’s great, I love my patients, I love what I do, but sometimes that hospital feels like a vampire sucking away everything I love.”
Curt laughed. “Sound like you haven’t changed.”
I grinned at him and turned on the computer. “Okay, speaking of vampires, I need to talk to you about something.”
“I figured this wasn’t a social call.”
“Sorry about that.”
He waved me away. “Don’t worry about it. What do you have for me?”
I pulled up the spreadsheet I stole from Maria’s office and took a deep breath. I had no clue if he’d believe me or not, and as I told him the story, starting from the moment I overheard Maria and those guys, and ending with finding my office ripped to shreds, I could almost hear myself from his perspective. I sounded crazy, without a doubt, and most people might stand up and walk away thinking I’d had some kind of mental break.
But Curt and I went way back. We were friends in high school and became close in college, and kept in touch when I was in med school and he went to law school. We drifted apart after that when we both fell into demanding careers, but we’d always been close and always would be. He understood me better than most, and as I finished talking and showed him the spreadsheet, I knew he’d listen before he wrote me off as insane.
“That’s one hell of a story,” he said, squinting at the numbers on my screen. “And this is all the hard proof you have?”
I nodded and told him about the donations. “I think this is a record of her washing money for the mob.”
He grunted and shook his head. “I’m not sure what to think here.”
“You see how the numbers don’t add up, right?”
“What I see is a lot of conjecture and guesswork,” he said. “You might be right, but there’s no proof here.”
“But my office—”
“Do you have pictures?”
I hesitated. “No, I don’t, but I can get them.”
“Document everything. From now on, have a recorder with you in your damn pocket wherever you go, just in case that lady Maria shows up. Tell your friend Fiona to do the same. You need something solid if you’re going to go after her.”
“What about the mafia?”
He leaned back in his seat and stared at me. “You know, most people would roll their eyes at you and laugh. You sound nuts, talking about the mafia.”
“I know, Curt, but—”
“But,” he said, interrupting me, “I’m a prosecutor in this damn shit stain of a city, and I know full well that the mafia is real, and they’re very active.”
I stared at him, a little surprised. “I thought you went after corrupt busines men or something.”
He shook his head slowly. “That was a few years ago. I moved on to a new task force, one that’s been quietly picking off some of the nastiest made men in this place. And I’m telling you, there’s a group called the Leone family that has their claws in just about everything in this town.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “If they’re the ones you’re dealing with, you’d better be careful.”
I clenched my jaw for a moment. There was a surprising hint of fear in Curt’s eyes, and it sent a chill down my spine. I’d never seen him afraid of anything, not in all the time I’d known him—not when we got into fights as teenagers, or when we did reckless things as young adults. He never once hesitated, but he was hesitating now, and I knew he was terrified.
Which meant I was on to something real, and I should be very, very nervous.
“I need advice on what to do here,” I said. “I’m afraid I’m out of my depth.”
“My advice is to either drop it all together and let them do whatever the hell they’re doing, or you’d better get some real advice. Take it to the cops as soon as you can, and hope you don’t end up dead.”
“Come on, that wouldn’t—”
“They would, that’s what you have to understand. I know you think you’re immune to all this because you’re a relatively prominent doctor, but they don’t give a damn about what. They own this town.”
“Do they own you, too?”
He shook his head, eyes flashing. “I’m one of the few they don’t.”
“Then you can help me.”
“Only if you get me proof first, but listen to what I’m saying. Back down, ignore it, forget you ever heard a damn thing, because these guys don’t mess around.”
“I’ll think about that.”
“Good.” He sighed and looked down at his lunch, gone cold. “Lost my damn appetite.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. Not your fault this city is a mess. Never thought you’d get sucked into it, but I guess there’s nowhere to hide from those bastards.”
He grunted and gave me a strange look as I packed up.
“Keep me updated,” he said. “Seriously, if you find anything at all, send it to me. I’ll do what I can to help.”
“I really appreciate that.”
“Good luck, Dean.”
“And hey, when this is over, let’s get a beer.”
He nodded and a smile drifted across his face. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
I shook his hand again then left, not feeling like I’d gotten anywhere at all, but at least my worst fears had been confirmed.
The mafia was real, and Curt seemed to think it wasn’t so far-fetched that they’d be involved with the hospital in some capacity. Which meant they were the ones that broke into my office, and they were following Fiona around—and they were going to come after us, one way or another.
I’d be ready. Damn them to hell, I wasn’t going to step aside and let them run their schemes. Maria would pay for what she did to my notes, and to my patients by extension—and the mafia would drown in their own damn blood.
13
Fiona
We fell into an easy rhythm: I’d text Dean at night with my schedule, and he’d show up in the morning, or late in the afternoon, or whenever I needed him. No questions asked, no hesitation. After a couple days, I felt kind of stupid for taking him up on the rides, but he never once suggested we stop.
I woke up for an early shift after a few days of our little arrangement. I was tempted to skip the ride today and head into work myself, but I figured it couldn’t hurt, and besides, I’d started to really enjoy our rides together.
Aside from the first one, we talked the whole time, about what was going on with patients and at work, but also about our lives, about our hobbies and favorite shows and movies, and I started to realize that he was actually funny, and caring, and smart, and not at all the arrogant, cocky asshole I’d always thought he was.
Well, he was that, too, but not only that, at least.
I headed downstairs, dressed and ready, and made some coffee. On the kitchen table was a small black recording device that Dean had given me. He told me about his conversation with his lawyer friend, and how I should have one with me at all times. I picked up the recorder and dropped it into my pocket, absently toying with it, smiling a little, then returned back to the kitchen.
As I leaned against the counter and watched the pot fill up slowly, I closed my eyes and thought about what it would be like if I took him up on his offer to stay at his place. There’d be so much tension, and I wasn’t sure how long I’d last before I ended up in his bedroom, my body sweating under his hands, his lips against mine, breaking all my rules and making a horrible mistake—and I felt a thrill of excitement. I thought of that kiss, and the way I needed more, and I realized that I’d been daydreaming about having more with him ever since we’d first met.
That wasn’t like me. I kept guys at a distance because I didn’t want to get attached, and I didn’t want anyone to get attached to me. I wasn’t ready for that kind of relationship and doubted I ever would be. But for some reason with Dean, it was like none of that mattered, and I kept sinking deeper and deeper into him, letting myself feel giddy excitement when his car pulled up outside, or pure joy when he opened the car door for me and made some stupid joke about being my driver.
A loud banging at my door made me jump.
I glanced at the clock on the stove and frowned. If that was Dean, he was twenty minutes early—which would be unusual. He was always prompt, or maybe a couple minutes late, but never early, especially not this early. I drifted to the door, wondering if maybe he wanted to spend some extra time with me, maybe wanted to take me out to breakfast, and opened the door without thinking.
Two men stood in my threshold and I choked back a scream.
It was them, the two men that followed me. One was tall and thin, wiry with dirty hair and dark eyes, while the other was short and compact, with a bald head and a pug-like nose. Both wore simple gray windbreakers and jeans, so boring and nondescript that I would’ve forgotten them the instant they left my sight, which was probably the point. The bald one stepped forward and a hand shot out, banging against the door again, holding it open so I couldn’t slam it shut in his face.
“Hello, Fiona,” he said, sounding almost casual. “My name’s Aldo, and this is my associate, Davide. Mind if we have a chat?”
“I don’t know you,” I blurted out.
He grinned at me. “Aw, come on, Fiona. No need to be like that. Let us inside and we’ll talk. We’re not here to hurt you. Not today, anyway.”
I took sharp, fast breaths, and went through my options. I could scream, but that might provoke them, and I didn’t know how violent they’d get. I could try and run, but they were blocking my only exit, and I doubted I could get out a window fast enough.
Or I could let them in and see what they wanted.
My heart raced so fast I felt dizzy as I stepped away from the door. Aldo beamed at me and walked inside, followed by Davide, who gave me a strange, almost bored look as he closed the door behind them.
“Nice place,” Aldo said, looking around. “You live alone? No roommates gonna come out and surprise us?”
“No,” I said. “I’m alone.”
“Great.” He showed me his teeth. It was probably meant to be a smile. “Let’s talk, okay?”
“Sure. Sure, we can talk.” He drifted toward the table and I had a sudden, wild idea. “Do you want some coffee?”
He frowned at me, then glanced toward the kitchen at the fresh pot. “You know what? I’d love some coffee. You want coffee, Davide?”
“No, thank you.” Davide’s voice was gruff and soft, close to a whisper.
“One coffee.” I walked into the kitchen, breathing fast, and as I passed in front of the counter, I slipped my hand into my scrubs and found the small, rectangular recording device, and hit the record button—or at least what I hoped was the record button. I hadn’t practiced this and I wasn’t very familiar with it, so I might’ve screwed up, but I had to hope.
“How do you take it?”
“Black,” he said. “Please.”
I filled two mugs, one for him and one for me. I added milk to mine and brought them out to the table. He frowned at it, but took a sip, and smiled.
“What can I do for you two?” I asked, sipping my own coffee, hoping it would steady my hand. Instead, it only made the shaking more obvious.
He sat down and I sat across from him.
“We got a problem,” Aldo said as he sat. Davide lingered a few feet behind him, hands in the pockets of his windbreaker, eyes narrowed in a strange glare. “I know you’ve been a very busy girl, very busy, doing things outside of your specific job description.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said, shifting in my chair.
“Oh, come on, Fiona, can we skip that whole stupid game where you pretend like you have no clue what I’m talking about, and I don’t have to beat the shit out of you until you admit it?”
I stared and nodded once.
“Good,” he said with a sigh. “All right then. So you’ve been busy.”
“Yes.”
“Maria says you’ve been snooping. She says you might’ve found something. Did you find something?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?” He arched an eyebrow. “Come on now, Fiona. What did you find?”
“Financial reports, some spreadsheets, but we don’t understand any of it.” I tried to tell him as much of the truth as I could, skating right along that fine line. He grunted once, nodding slightly.
“And what does your boy think? Dr. Dean?”
“He’s as confused as I am, but we’re both pretty sure Maria’s financially involved with you people.”
Aldo’s eyebrows went up. “Now who do you think we are?”
I hesitated. “Mafia.” I felt silly saying it out loud.
> He didn’t smile. “Okay, I guess you figured that one out pretty fast.”
My blood went cold. “What do you want from me?”
“I think that much is obvious.” He leaned closer. “I want you to stop snooping. Leave Maria alone. Stop getting involved in things that don’t concern you.”
“She’s stealing from patients. People might die because—”
“Nobody’s dying,” Aldo said, rolling his eyes. “Look, will it make you feel better if I said that any money we touch is money that never would’ve seen a patient to begin with?”
I shrugged. “I guess so.”
“Then take it from me: we’re not stealing shit from nobody.”
“That’s good then.”
He snorted. “You don’t sound convinced.”
I felt my temper rise and my stupid mouth got the better of me. “You stalk me on the street, you come into my apartment uninvited, and you expect me to do what, believe you? Take your word for it? Sorry if that’s not going to happen.”
Aldo grinned huge and looked over his shoulder at Davide. “Can you believe the balls on this one?”
“Huge balls,” Davide said. “Enormous.”
“Just enormous elephant balls.” Aldo looked back at me. “All right, I hear what you’re saying, Fiona. Here’s the thing though. I don’t give a fuck what you think. I don’t give a fuck that you’re annoyed we’ve been giving you a hard time. I want you to back the fuck off, and if you don’t, I’m going to hurt you. Me, personally. I’m going to hurt you very badly.”
I swallowed once and stared at him. “Get out of my apartment.”
He shrugged and stood. “We said what we came to say.” He nodded down at the table. “Thanks for the coffee.”
I stayed where I was, hand trembling as I tried to pick up my mug. Coffee dribbled down the side and I cursed, putting it back down. Davide looked over his shoulder at me, eyes almost glazed over, and he gave me a wicked smile. I stared back at him, heart racing.
