Black Friday

by Tim LaHaye

  Even in the air-conditioned car, Gus’s forehead was dripping with sweat. “Only fear. I saw fear . . . in his eyes. And rage. Vic is mad enough . . . to kill me.”

  Chapter 13 Tuesday, 8:11 p.m.

  Jodi made the turn into her neighborhood. “Heather, so why are you so skeptical?”

  Heather, riding in back, crossed her arms. “I never actually said that I don’t believe him . . . All I said is I don’t want to believe him.”

  “Fair enough,” Jodi said. “And, Stan, it seems you’re not sure what to think, right?”

  “All I know is, after you said what’s in that letter, I’m mad enough right now to do something stupid—”

  “Like what?”

  “For starters, I’d put Dr. Graham in an old-fashioned headlock and let him taste the ground for a while,” Stan said.

  “Based on what?” Jodi surprised herself with the question. She was starting to sound like Joey.

  “Well, on the things Gus said. I’m starting to think that’s enough for me,” Stan said, scratching his chin.

  “What if he’s wrong?” Jodi said. “I’m not saying he is. But listen, I’ve got a better idea than just bashing Dr. Graham’s face in the dirt. If you really want to help Faith—”

  “I do, in a big way.”

  “And if you, Heather, want to find out the truth as much as I do,” Jodi said with a glance over her shoulder.

  “Sure, maybe—”

  “Then here’s my idea.” Jodi pulled the car into her driveway and shut off the engine. “First thing tomorrow, Stan, go get a job at that Total Choice place—”

  “Now who’s crazy?” Stan said.

  “For real; I’m serious. You don’t have a summer job yet, so why not?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Beats me,” Jodi said with a shrug. “Maybe taking out the trash— I dunno . . . or be a janitor. I’m sure if a buff dude like you applied, they’d find something.”

  Stan laughed. “So, say I did, how does that help Faith?”

  “You’d be on the inside,” Jodi said. “You can maybe see things for yourself that back up what Gus wrote in the letter. Plus, that way I’ll have another credible source for a story that could expose all the secret stuff going on behind the scenes.”

  Stan considered this.

  Heather said, “What would I do? That is, if I agreed to help with your little plan.”

  “I’ll tell you, but don’t go jumping down my throat,” Jodi said, turning around in her seat. “Okay?”

  “I’m all ears,” Heather said with a smirk.

  Jodi smirked right back. “I want you to set up an appointment to terminate a pregnancy.”

  “Whose?”

  “Yours.”

  Heather raked her hair. “Now I know you’re seriously whacked in the head.”

  “Hear me out; I’m dead serious—”

  “Me? Pretend I’m pregnant? Get real. No way, Jodi Adams.” Heather brought her purse to her lap. She opened her door and started to step out. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

  “Fine. I’ll do it myself,” Jodi said. She got out and, with a thwack, closed her door. The motion-sensing light mounted by the garage door clicked on, tossing its yellowish beam in her direction.

  “Wait a minute—,” Heather said. She walked around the rear of the car to Jodi’s side. She softened a notch. “I’m not saying I don’t want to help you. Just not that part. Besides, I’m a lousy actor.”

  Stan, getting out on his side of the car, said, “Well, then why don’t you go with me and we’ll get a job together.” He walked around the front bumper to join the others. “You know, maybe you could work the front desk or answer phones—stuff like that.”

  Heather looked up at the moon. “You guys make it sound like we’re going to get a job at McDonald’s or something. What makes you think they’re even hiring?”

  “I don’t. But I say it’s worth a try.” Jodi winked at Stan. “This isn’t forever, Heather. You can always quit after the first day if you want.”

  “That’s if I don’t blow my cover first.” She reached in her purse for a piece of gum and tossed it in her mouth.

  “You’ll be cool,” Stan said. “So, Jodi. Let’s say we get in. What’s the goal?”

  Jodi thought a moment. Gus had said so many things in his letter. There would be no way they could prove everything. She’d have to narrow down the list. “Okay, let’s start with the things you probably can’t prove, like, that Dr. Graham isn’t a licensed medical doctor.”

  Heather blew and popped a bubble. “I’m sure your buddy Gus has to be wrong about that detail. I mean, how in the world could Dr. Graham’s clinic be allowed to stay open even one day if he’s back there working on people without a license?”

  “Heather, chill,” Jodi said. “I didn’t say I agreed with Gus. I have no idea if Dr. Graham’s legit or not.”

  “Wait a sec,” Stan said. “Is there a way to check stuff like that online? You know, maybe there’s some medical board—”

  “Good idea. I’ll look into that at work,” Jodi said. “My point is, you won’t find out if he is or isn’t a certified doctor by just walking around the clinic . . . unless you ask a whole bunch of seriously uncool questions.”

  “Hey, you know what?” Stan said. “My sports doc has his license posted on the wall. I’ve seen it. I could look for something like that.”

  “Yeah,” Jodi said, “but I doubt you’ll find one. And another thing, Gus said none of Dr. Graham’s ‘medical assistants’ are actually licensed nurses.”

  Heather grabbed Jodi’s arm. “You didn’t tell us that before.”

  Jodi smiled. “I just remembered that part.”

  “Gosh . . .” Heather shook her head. “That’s nuts,” she said, chewing her gum.

  Stan said, “Are you sure? If they’re not real nurses, what are they?”

  “Well, according to Gus,” Jodi said, looking at Stan and then Heather, “Dr. Graham likes to hire, um, . . . women from, quote, ‘the lower socioeconomic class’ who, for whatever reason, couldn’t make it as a nurse. In some cases, they just worked in a doctor’s office somewhere.”

  Heather leaned against the car. “Why not hire the real thing? Is he trying to save money?”

  “Nope. It’s one word,” Jodi said. “Accountability.”

  Heather shook her head as if Jodi were talking about the quantum theory of physics.

  “Look at it this way,” Jodi said. “If a new assistant doesn’t have a medical background and Dr. Graham gets to train them, he’s the expert in their eyes, see?”

  “Not really,” Heather said, raising an eyebrow.

  “In other words, what he says, goes,” Jodi said, hooking her hair over one ear. “And these assistants wouldn’t know any different.”

  “Makes sense,” Stan said. “There wouldn’t be anyone to, like, challenge the doc if he wasn’t doing something by the book when he’s doing a procedure.”

  “Exactly,” Jodi said. “Plus, he pays them top dollar—as if they were nurses—so they have no reason to leave.”

  Stan whistled. “Makes me wonder how many other clinics are like that, you know?”

  “Uh-huh. That’s why this could be such a big story,” Jodi said, smacking a gnat against her arm. “And, remember, Gus did the same thing in Maryland when he and Dr. Graham were partners, or so he says.”

  “Well, if those are the things we can’t check out,” Heather said, “what would we look for—again, if I were convinced to help out?”

  “I’d say there are two main things,” Jodi said. “First, we’ve got to see if, like Gus said, they’re giving out those low-dose birth-control pills.”

  “I find that so hard to believe,” Heather said.

  “Hey, I’m male,” Stan said. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Stan, you’re a brain-dead male,” Jodi said, punching him lightly in the arm. “How many teens do you know who do, like, the s
ame thing exactly the same way at the same time every day?”

  Stan rubbed his arm. “I’d say not many.”

  “Right. And, because the pills they supposedly give out are of such a low dosage,” Jodi said, “they’ve got to be taken exactly the same way and the same time every day or they won’t offer any real protection against a future pregnancy.”

  “Says who?” Heather said, popping her gum.

  “Gus.”

  Stan whistled. “Wow. So a kid goes in, gets the free pills—”

  “Low-dose pills,” Jodi said. “Unlike the normal prescription kind.”

  “Right,” Stan said, “then they do the wild thing thinking they’re not gonna get prego. But—bam—the next thing they know, they’re headed back to the clinic—”

  “All because they messed up their schedule,” Jodi said.

  “That means big-time repeat business for the doc,” Stan said, ramming a fist into the palm of his other hand. “Now I really want to tackle that scumbag.”

  Heather folded her arms. “Seems far-fetched.”

  “Maybe. We’ll try to find out for sure. Anyway,” Jodi said, “the second thing you’d need to do is kinda hard to even talk about. We, um, need to find out what happens to the babies’ remains.”

  “This is so gross,” Heather said, holding herself as if chilled.

  “I know.” Jodi swallowed hard, then stole a look at Stan. Up until now, Stan seemed engaged, even energized by the prospect of doing a little undercover work. At the same time, she knew this wouldn’t be easy for Stan to hear, especially since Faith had just undergone the procedure and he was still obviously shaken up about it.

  Stan interrupted her thoughts. He had a faraway look in his eyes. “Don’t most clinics just toss them down the garbage disposal?”

  “Yes,” she said, surprised by his observation. She wondered how he knew that but wasn’t about to ask. “Um, what we need to find out is if some of . . . of the bodies are packaged and shipped out to labs for—” Jodi stopped. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Stan, maybe this isn’t such a good idea to—”

  “Jodi . . . ” He gave her an extended side hug. His bloodshot eyes shimmered with a fresh wetness. He sniff led. “I’m okay. Go on . . .”

  “Are you sure?” She searched his eyes.

  “Yeah. I mean, if anything,” Stan said, clearing his throat, “what I can’t handle is the thought that I might, like, meet that lady with the list. I swear, I’ll lose it.”

  On the way to the newspaper earlier that evening, Jodi told them about the List Lady. In his letter, Gus described a woman who operated as a middleman. She arrived at the clinic once a week with a list of baby parts from fetuses eighteen to twenty-four weeks old, as if she were going to the meat department looking for specific cuts of beef.

  Gus claimed she represented various research labs, fetal tissue banks, and “technology-driven, specialty cosmetic companies.” Ever since she’d read that in Gus’s letter, Jodi had struggled with a heavy sadness. She couldn’t imagine anything so horrible.

  Jodi wiped the edges of her eyes. “Look, if she exists—and I pray she doesn’t—you’d be verifying something extremely important from Gus’s letter.”

  “I don’t know, guys,” Heather said, shaking her head. “This is all so unreal. I mean, I read a Robin Cook novel once. He does those medical thrillers. Anyway, this sounds like something he’d dream up.”

  “Suppose for a second you’re right,” Jodi said, pulling her hair back over her shoulders. “Why would Gus make it up?”

  A nervous laugh escaped Heather’s mouth. “Just look at the guy. He’s . . . no offense . . . a street bum who talks like a Martian. Maybe he’s delirious. Maybe he’s trying to blackmail the guy. Whatever his deal is, here we are acting like we’re the FBI planning our next bust.”

  “You know, Heather,” Jodi said, taking her by the arm and turning her so they were face-to-face, “I agree with you.”

  They looked at each other for a long second. Heather stopped munching on her gum.

  “There’s one small thing that makes me think Gus may be at least partially right,” Jodi said, letting go of her arm.

  “What’s that?”

  “Faith.”

  Stan looked up. “She’s right, Heather. Faith said that’s the place that screwed her up so bad.”

  “If he’s not a legit doctor—,” Jodi started to say.

  “Yeah, and if they’re not real nurses,” Stan said.

  “Then it’s possible they did the procedure on Faith when she may not even have been pregnant,” Jodi said, tilting her head.

  Stan sighed. “Gosh, I never thought about that.”

  Heather shrugged. She appeared unconvinced.

  “And that’s why we’ve got to at least try to find out if Gus is right,” Jodi said. “Either these things are true, or they’re not. If this stuff is going on, then everybody who goes in there is at risk.”

  Heather swatted away a mosquito.

  Jodi looked at Heather. “Don’t forget, we’re talking about big bucks here, too. Gus says Dr. Graham is even bilking the government for services on—”

  Heather cut her off. “Gus says this, Gus says that. I’m tired of what that quack says.”

  Jodi’s eyes widened. Stan, too, looked stunned. No one spoke for a minute.

  Jodi broke the silence first. She lowered her voice. “Hey, Heather. I didn’t ask for this. Gus handed me the letter, remember? Maybe this wasn’t an accident. Maybe God wants to use us to help Faith and other people who could be in her same situation.”

  Heather looked at her feet.

  “Look, it’s getting late,” Jodi said. “Let’s just sleep on it, okay? Maybe pray about it, too?”

  “I’m done praying,” Stan said. “I’ve just about prayed my eyes out since last week. I’m calling about a job in the morning—”

  “You sure, Stan?” Jodi said.

  “It’s the least I can do for Faith.”

  Jodi gave him a friendly hug. “Now, whatever you do, don’t debate the issue.”

  “You’re the debate queen, remember?” Stan said. “Trust me. I’ll stick to football; you can handle the debates.”

  As they talked, Heather abruptly turned and walked off without saying good-bye.

  Chapter 14 Wednesday, 10:31 a.m.

  Jodi had arrived at work two hours early to get a jump on some research. True, Joey hadn’t given her the green light to do the story, but she was on her own time, so she didn’t think it would be a problem. She figured she’d start by digging around the back issues of the paper to see if they’d ever done a story on women’s clinics in the area.

  Unlike the Philadelphia Inquirer or the Los Angeles Times, both of which had transferred all their articles to a searchable database on the Web, Jodi was stuck plowing through stacks of microfiche copies of the Montgomery Times. So far, after thirty tedious minutes with her nose to the microfiche reader, she couldn’t find one article.

  Jodi’s cell phone chirped from inside her purse. She snatched it up on the second ring. “Hi, it’s Jodi.”

  “It’s me, Stan,” he said just above a whisper.

  “Hey, what’s up?” She pressed the phone harder against her ear.

  “You’ll never believe it . . . I just got hired.”

  Jodi’s heart soared. She had a thousand questions but managed to blurt, “Oh my gosh, are you serious? At the clinic?”

  “Yeah. But I can’t talk right now,” Stan said, his voice hoarse.

  “It’s hard to hear you.”

  “Sorry, I’m in the lobby on a pay phone and . . . and this place is packed. Have you talked to Heather?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Listen,” Stan said. “If you talk to her, they’ve got an opening for a phone counselor.”

  “What about you? What’s your job?”

  “Stuff . . . I think my thing is called a central supply clerk, but I’m more like a roving gofer—”

 
“I can’t believe this,” Jodi said with a wide smile.

  “I’ve really got to go.”

  “Hey, I’ll be praying for you, Stan.”

  “Thanks, Jodi. Catch you later.” He hung up.

  Jodi was elated. Thank you, Lord, she thought. Last night as she’d drifted off to sleep, she prayed that they’d have a breakthrough or at least some sign that they should move ahead with the “investigation,” as Heather had called it, if God wanted her to check out Gus’s story.

  “Hey, Jodi,” her boss called from across the room with a friendly wave. “You’re in early today.”

  Jodi looked up and smiled. This time she actually heard him when he called her name, which was a relief. She’d hate for him to waltz over and see what she was working on. Then again, what was there to hide? She was on her own time. Come to think of it, she thought she’d bring up the story again now that she knew about Faith’s situation.

  “Hey, got a second?” she said, rising from her chair.

  “Let’s walk and talk,” Joey said, waving her over.

  She crossed the room and fell in line behind him as he headed toward Roxanne’s office. He looked over his shoulder. “I’ve got a crazy day. What’s up?”

  “Um, I know you’re opposed to my doing a story on the clinics and . . . on the stuff in that letter—”

  He stopped in his tracks and Jodi almost plowed into him.

  “Is this about Gus?”

  “Well, sort of—” She offered a sheepish smile.

  “Then zero.”

  “—but not totally,” Jodi said. “See, it gets kinda complicated. I really, really need to talk to you. Just two minutes, I promise.”

  “My mind is made up, so talk quick.”

  She hooked her hair over both ears. “Okay, first of all, I have a friend. She’s in the hospital because of a botched job at a clinic.”

  Joey started to walk again. “I’m listening.”

  Jodi rushed to catch up. “And, according to Gus—”

  “What did I tell you about talking to that man?”

  “Okay. Forget him,” Jodi said. She took a quick breath. “A source I have says Dr. Victor Graham isn’t a licensed doctor . . . and sometimes, according to my source, he performs abortion procedures on people who aren’t even pregnant. I believe that might have happened to my friend.”