Lifeblood
Page 28
“How do you know I won’t tell everyone I know?”
“We are willing to assume that you will have sufficient interest in preserving both your financial assets and your life, that you will keep your mouth shut about this matter. And that you will not want to risk other people’s life and welfare.” He paused before adding, “Keep in mind that the money, of course, is tax free. Transferred to your account from an off-shore source.”
“That can’t be legal.”
“My dear woman, a very great deal of what you, yourself, already have done is not legal.”
“What if I take the money and then go to the police?”
“This is not child’s play. The moment you accept the money, the moment we have your signature on the check, you will be implicated. Believe me, at the very least, the jail time would not be short.”
“You don’t miss a trick, do you?”
“We’re not foolish. Things have been thought through.”
“This offer is from Zyrco and Jefferson, right?”
“I am not at liberty to say.”
“What about the other parts of Zyrco’s operation? Gordon said there were other hospitals besides Jefferson.”
“Even as we speak, these activities are disappearing.” Baker’s face was utterly blank. “I realize this is a complicated decision. Perhaps you would like a little time to think about it.”
“What do I tell the cops when they come to question me?”
“I think the police will not be bothering you. At least not for a time. Maybe never.”
Rachel frowned at what that statement seemed to mean. “Are the people you represent that powerful? They could keep the police from even questioning me?”
“They have considerable influence, yes.”
Rachel was wondering how she could bring herself so accept so much tainted money—more than tainted, filthy. “And what if I don’t agree to keep quiet? Another goon comes to silence me?”
Baker had the grace to look uncomfortable.
A nurse carrying a white envelope came through the door and stopped short. “I didn’t realize you had a visitor.”
“Just leaving,” Baker said, then to Rachel, “I’ll check back this evening.”
“I don’t know if you know about Dr. Johnson,” the nurse began.
“Is she going to be okay?”
“They tried.” The nurse was obviously struggling to keep her lower lip from quivering. “For a while we thought she might make it. But we lost her.”
Rachel’s eyes filled but did not spill. “Oh, God, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“This was on the desk in her office. It’s addressed to you.” The nurse handed the envelope to her and left, pulling the door closed behind her.
Rachel tore open the envelope and drew out the paper inside. It was a birth certificate in the name of Soledad Chavez.
Chapter Sixty-seven
Goldie strode into Rachel’s new room, a private one on Jefferson’s top floor. “Mmm-mmm. You got more tricks in you than a triple pinochle deck.”
Rachel pushed the button to raise the head of her bed. “Have you heard from Hank? Do you know where he is, how he is?”
Goldie stared at her. “How should I know? Don’t you?”
“I called the hospital in Pasadena from Olvera Street, just before that guy jumped me. They said he’d been discharged. Last time I talked to Irene, she didn’t know where he was. I thought he might have contacted you when he couldn’t reach me.”
“Shit. This does not sound good.”
“I’m worried. He would have called me to pick him up when the hospital discharged him. I don’t know what’s going on.”
“I will try to find out where he is. I’ll go to Pasadena myself, if I have to.”
“Thanks. I’d really appreciate it.”
“So what’s this I hear about you having a gun right here in this very hospital? How did that happen?”
“Soledad brought it to me. In a shopping bag.”
“You had that little kid walking the streets carrying a concealed weapon?”
“Without her or the gun I wouldn’t be here now, talking to you, would I?”
“Aside from the fact that you’re probably guilty of child endangerment?”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “I never thought of that.”
“And nobody’s been here asking questions, including where that gun came from?”
“Not yet anyway,” Rachel said as it dawned on her that Baker’s fingerprints might well be all over the lack of official question asking. “I guess they had a little more on their minds than an old thirty-eight that I didn’t even fire. At least not here.”
Goldie squinted at her. “You look guilty about something.”
“How much would it cost to buy your own cleaning company?”
Goldie rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Are you crazy? You been doing crack or joy juice or something?”
“Of course not. But it’s possible I may come into some money and I may want to invest it in something like a well-run cleaning company.”
“Whee-ooo. I do not want to hear any more.”
“There’s my girl,” came a voice from the doorway.
“We can talk about it later,” Rachel said to Goldie as Marty made his way to the bedside.
“What’s this I hear from Irene, that you’ve been going around attacking men with guns?” he asked, trying to sound jovial but not quite succeeding.
“Where—?” Rachel’s breath nearly stopped as she got a good look at him. “What…what happened?”
The right side of his face was an awful combination of green, blue, and yellow hues. His right eye was swollen nearly closed. “Nothing exactly good,” he said.
“Why? How…?”
“I won, again, Rache. I won big. Really big. And I was getting into my car, and this guy, well, I guess I was mugged.” Marty looked down and muttered, “He took the car, too.”
“How did….Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you. No answer. I even called the club.”
“A cab driver saw me lying on the ground. I’m surprised he stopped. Goes to show there are some decent people left in the world. He offered to take me home. I couldn’t even think where I lived. So he said he’d take me to a hospital. I told him I couldn’t pay him but he took me anyway. The hospital people looked me over, put in a couple stitches, did some kind of scan of my head, and said I could go home in the morning. So that’s what I did. After signing my life away promising to pay the bill.”
“Oh, Pop.” Rachel was thinking how a load of extra dollars might help straighten this out. Including finding the cabby and thanking him. “Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you answer the phone?”
“For a while, I couldn’t talk very well. And then, it was you not answering the phone.”
Marty brushed her hair away from her forehead and kissed it. “Jeez, Rachel, you gave me a terrible scare.”
“About time I scare you rather than the other way around.”
Marty looked at the floor. “Well, there’s that, too.”
“So you won big and then some crook on the street stole it?”
Marty couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “That and the car, too. I told you, you should’ve taken the SUV. At least then we’d still have it.”
“But you still have your earlier winnings.”
Marty hung his head. “’Fraid not, Rachel. I may as well say it straight out. I’m dead broke.”
They were interrupted by a man in khakis, yellow knit Izod shirt, and golf shoes. He strolled toward the bed, both hands in his pockets. Rachel’s attorney, Edgar Harrison.
“I have to admit,” Harrison said, “when we first met, the last place I would have expected to find you was in a private room at Jefferson, with all expenses waived.”
“You and me both,” Goldie said, and Rachel introduced them.
Harrison announced, “LAPD is dropping the charges on the OxyContin.”
Rachel’
s smile froze. Was Baker so sure what her answer would be? “You’re kidding. Why?”
“Well, for one thing, it seems your fingerprints were not on the bottle found in your jacket.”
Goldie glanced at Rachel. “Amen.”
A nurse arrived and, ignoring them, went about the business of taking Rachel’s pulse. The room fell silent until the woman smiled. “Very good.” Turning, she brushed something from the table next to the bed. Goldie picked up a large envelope from the floor and handed it to Rachel.
In that moment, Rachel knew exactly what she was going to do.
The nurse glanced at everyone around the bed. “Sorry, but I’ll have to ask you all to leave. Our patient needs some rest. You can come back after dinner.”
“Let’s you and me go to the cafeteria,” Marty said to Goldie.
“Good idea. And hey, if you like greens….” She turned back to Rachel. “We’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“I have a date with a golf cart,” the lawyer said.
“Wait.” Rachel put out her hand. “Could I have a few words with you, Mr. Harrison?”
“Of course,” he said, turning back toward the bed as the door whisked shut behind the others.
“Can you draw up a trust?”
“Sure. How much money are we talking about?”
Rachel thought for a moment. She might keep enough to help her dad one last time, enough to get Goldie started with her own company, if she could get that stubborn woman to agree. And enough to pay off the debt that covered her bail bond—money that Gordon’s little operation had cost her. “Maybe seven hundred thousand dollars. Something like that.”
Harrison’s eyes widened. “All right.”
“Even though I would give you the money to put in the trust, could you fix it so nobody, not even me, could take any money out of it?”
“No one except the person in whose name the trust is held. Sure.”
“Like maybe when that person turned twenty-one?”
999
Marty glanced at the paper Rachel was holding. “What have you been up to? Who is that?”
“Holy shit,” Goldie said softly, looking at the birth certificate. “Now you really got your hands full.”
All three were still staring at the certificate when something began bumping against the door to the room. Goldie pulled the door open. “Jesus, Mary, and Jehosephat!” She stepped aside, held the door open for a wheelchair that was having some difficulty navigating its entry.
Rachel threw a puzzled look toward the door. Her features moved from surprise to disbelief.
Hank was slapping the arm of the wheelchair. “There must be a knack to running this infernal machine.” He flashed a grin at them like someone who had just won the lottery.
Rachel gaped at him. “Why are you in a wheelchair? What are you doing here? Why were you in isolation? How did you leave that hospital in Pasadena without your car?”
Marty went to the door, turned the wheelchair and guided it toward the bed.
“Tell us you drove that wheelchair down the Pasadena Freeway,” Goldie chortled. “I’ll bet that would back up traffic.”
“I was transferred here in an ambulance as soon as they were sure the infection was under control,” Hank said. “I needed more surgery and the doctor they referred me to wanted to do it here. The wheelchair is just so I don’t overdo.”
“How did you know where I was?” Rachel asked, still looking astonished.
“I called the garage this morning. Irene told me. She even gave me the room number. Is that all I get? Questions?”
“You look wonderful.” Rachel almost shouted it. “I was so worried. You have no idea how good it is to see you.” She held out her arms.
He rolled the wheelchair to the bed and she leaned over for an awkward embrace. He planted a kiss on her cheek. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing at the certificate still in her hand.
Rachel dropped her glance to the paper. “I guess it’s something we need to talk about.”
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