Vitale was frozen like a statue. He was in shock, standing and staring at Watkins. Regan sensed his moment and grabbed hold of Vitale’s arm, placing him in an armlock. Regan swiftly moved his hands to the hand holding the gun and applied a wrist lock so forcefully Vitale’s wrist splintered then cracked. The gun was now on the floor. Regan stooped and picked it up.
Vitale screamed in pain and said, “Who the fuck are you?”
Regan said, “Good question,” as he took in the intruder.
“Look. Take it easy. These guys were going to kill you both, right?” the intruder said.
Studying the man’s face and demeanour, Regan said, “Right, so thanks. First though, Fon, get that gun and keep our guest in your sights. If he raises that gun again, shoot him. But please grab a bed sheet and make yourself modest.”
Fon wrapped a bed sheet around her sari-style to cover her nakedness. Regan noted the intruder did not interfere or make any protest.
“That’s true. They were going to kill us and first torture Fon here,” Regan said. “But believe me, we have had one hell of a few days so your story had better be good,” he added.
Regan sensed a total lack of aggression towards him. This guy was only interested in Vitale judging by the contempt in his eyes when he stared at his target.
“Let’s start with who you are? Yeah?” Regan asked.
“Marco, Marco Lusardi.”
“What! Get outta here!” Vitale exclaimed. “Why would they send you, a snot-nosed kid? They could have sent Joey the Gimp or Bobby Shapiro to whack me. They are pros.”
“You’d have spotted them a mile away,” Marco said calmly. “I went to your place in Chiang Mai, followed you to Bangkok then here to Patong. You had no idea I was following or who I was.”
“How did you find my pad in Chiang Mai?”
“I was given the address.”
“Who gave it up?”
“My uncle.”
“Antonio? How did he get it?”
“Tomas.”
“Tom Quiglano?”
“Yes.” Vitale put his head in his hands. “I thought I could trust that guy,” he said.
Regan listened carefully. He was confused but started to relax. He had a good feeling. He communicated this to Fon by flashing a brief smile at her. She returned it.
“You lost all loyalty with the chaos you brought to the East. Bombs in Philly, New York and Boston. You are seen as a crazy guy. Families have been killing families. Soldiers have been to the mattresses for months now. It has to stop. Everyone is sick of it,” Marco said.
The penny dropped for Regan. He now recalled the BBC World Service broadcast he had listened to all those months gone by.
He replayed it in his mind:
I’m standing outside the federal building in Philadelphia. So far no federal law enforcement spokesperson has said anything on record about the three simultaneous explosions. Here is what we do know. Three bombs, apparently timed to explode at the same time, at one-thirty yesterday afternoon, ripped apart three restaurants in Philadelphia, Manhattan and Boston. They all had one thing in common. They were Italian restaurants and believed to be used by local Mafia chiefs on a regular weekly basis. I can tell you ten people are known to have been killed in the explosions, including the ten-year-old grandson of Vincenzo Lusardi, the head of the Philadelphia mob. The FBI and local law enforcement continue to conduct investigations. I am given to understand that Carlo Vitale has been placed on the ‘most wanted’ list in connection with these murders. This is Ken Veevers, WKSV, reporting from Philadelphia.
“It’s business,” Vitale said.
Marco threw a piece of paper at Vitale making him flinch. It fluttered to the floor.
“Pick it up! Look at it,” Marco shouted.
Carlo Vitale did just that. There was no reaction at what he saw. It was a black and white eight inches by six inches photograph bearing a stamp on the reverse side - ‘FBI Confidential.’
“He’s my cousin. Ten years old. Was my cousin, and he’ll never see eleven. Look what your bomb did, no legs and arms, just a torso with half a face. A look of horror in that one remaining eye. Look at the fucking photo!”
Regan heard a noise. He looked up and saw Fon wiping a tear from her eyes. He smiled, one of reassurance, but she took no notice as she averted her gaze from the photograph. Still there was no reaction from Vitale.
“Okay, in your world I can understand the death of my grandfather, Vincenzo Lusardi. He was, after all, a Mafia boss. Live by the sword die by the bomb. But an innocent kid.”
Vitale shrugged his shoulders and said, “Business.”
“Talking about business, they are pissed at you for all these shit shenanigans. There are still many with honour who stick to the rules, the old ways. No drugs no gun running for political reasons, unpatriotic reasons and no sex trafficking.”
“Okay, okay, they are pissed. So what the fuck you gonna do? You’re a kid. Twenty-three? You’re not even a made-man. What the fuck are you? A bean counter?”
“I’m a doctor, and I’m twenty-five,” Marco said matter of factly, holding up the syringe and the empty vial.
“What the fuck is that?”
“That, you piece of shit, will make sure you die a slow and painful death. Heard of VX nerve agent?”
“Thought you said you were a doctor? What about that Hippocratic Oath?”
“Nothing in there that says I can’t exterminate vermin. I am a doctor. I specialise in toxicology.”
“Toxy what?”
“The study of poisons. Want to hear something funny I plan to be one of those CSI guys, Crime Scene Investigations.”
“Freakin’ wise guy,” Vitale said.
Marco said, “Listen up. I want you to know what’s going to happen to you. This nerve agent is powerful. I’ve been researching an antidote as part of my thesis at MIT. There isn’t one yet. And while you are dying slowly but still living, I sure won’t give you the antidote even if I had it.”
Marco continued, “Now listen carefully. This is what’s going to happen before you die. There first will be an excessive production of mucous, tears, saliva and sweat. You will experience severe headaches, stomach pain, nausea, and vomiting.”
“Enough already. Enough.” Vitale shuddered.
“That’s not all. There will be chest tightness and shortness of breath, loss of bladder and bowel control. Diapers for you. Your muscles will twitch involuntarily. You will have seizures.”
“For fuck’s sake. How can you do that to another human?”
“You are not human. Finally, you will fall into an irreversible coma followed by certain death.”
“Fuck you!”
“No. Fuck you Vitale! You fat piece of shit!” Marco shouted.
Vitale was visibly shaking now. He wiped the sweat from his brow and started to fiddle with his jacket sleeve. Regan, Fon, and Marco noticed but put it down to nerves. Vitale was hoping he had one last trick up his sleeve, literally.
Since his teenage years running wild on the streets of Little Italy, Manhattan, he had always carried a concealed weapon for emergencies. This was an emergency. He felt the cloth of his sleeve to locate the small button. Once pressed, it would release a surgical scalpel with a two-inch blade. Gravity did the rest. All he had to do was catch it in the palm of his good hand and use it.
“Right, enough talk. Lady, hold his arms, pin them,” Marco said to Fon.
Marco twice crashed his gun across Vitale’s head to make him drop from a sitting position on the bed. He was now lying on the bed, on his side with legs extended. Regan moved towards his legs. Fon looked at Regan. He nodded. She walked closer to the bed and held on to Vitale’s arms.
“Tell me one thing, Regan,” said Vitale. “If I’m gonna die, tell me the truth are you a cop?”
“No,” Regan said.
“Regan, pin his legs,” Marco said.
Regan pinned Vitale’s legs. “Look, Marco, you sure you want to do this. I mean
you are a doctor,” Regan said.
“Yeah, listen to him, Marco,” Vitale chipped in grasping at straws. “It’s against your oath,” he added.
“I told you. It doesn’t mean squat when exterminating vermin. Besides, I have an oath to my family. They sent me. My loyalty and duty to my family is far greater than any oath you talk about,” Marco said.
Fon said, “He could be right. Why screw up your career as a doctor? I’m sure you are a good doctor. It’s a terrible thing he did to your family and that little boy.”
She looked at the photo on the bed and recoiled at the horror of it all. She thought of her own young daughter. “These two bastards were going to kill us. Torture me and maybe rape me. I’ll do it. Let me do it,” Fon said.
Regan frowned at Fon, incredulous at what she was saying. “Don’t be crazy, Fon. That’s murder.”
“Steve, I’m not crazy. Marco saved our lives. I owe him, I don’t know about you?”
Regan shrugged.
“You know I’m Buddhist. I believe in karma, an afterlife. If I do wrong, I will be punished in the afterlife, but somehow I don’t feel it’s wrong.”
“Okay, okay,” Regan said.
Marco had drawn off the nerve agent from the vial before he burst into 302. He was ready as the syringe was now full.
He handed the syringe to Fon. “Just stick it in any muscle. It will work. No need for a vein.”
Marco and Fon switched places. Marco was now pinning Vitale’s arms with Regan firmly holding on to the legs. Vitale began to struggle and vainly attempted to kick out, but Regan was strong.
“Okay here?” Fon asked pointing towards Vitale’s right bicep as he lay prone on his left side on the hotel bed.
“Fine. Plunge it in,” Marco said.
She did, right up to the hilt. The full and fatal contents of the syringe were now intra-muscular. Vitale screamed like a kid. It took Marco, by surprise making him loosen his grip on Vitale’s arms.
Vitale found the button, pressed it and palmed the scalpel. He thrust upwards into Fon’s eye. “Fuck you, whore! Fuck your whore, Regan, and fuck you too!”
Fon staggered back from the bed and collapsed in one of the vacant armchairs. Regan was shocked. Fon made no noise. She didn’t cry out. She must be dead, assumed Regan. Regan got to Fon first. “She’s breathing,” Regan said.
Turning to Vitale, he said, “If this woman dies, you will die earlier than you thought. And I will think of an even more painful way for you to die. Hear me?”
He wanted to kill him on the spot. Fon was now his real concern.
“You’re the doctor. Do something,” Regan said to Marco.
“Make way, go to the next room and bring in my bag.”
13
Ciao!
Regan did as he was instructed.
Marco retrieved some surgical gloves from the bag, a stethoscope, a box of small syringes and three vials of clear liquid.
He put the stethoscope to Fon’s chest. “Yes, she is breathing, and it’s not shallow. That’s good.”
Marco donned the gloves and said to Regan, “Open the syringes box please.”
Marco took out the finest needle he could find. “Now the vial with the orange label. Unscrew the top for me.”
Regan did it and Marco drew some liquid from the container.
“What’s that?” Regan inquired.
“A local anaesthetic.” Marco injected it through Fon’s skin close to the injured eye. “Now the blue label. It’s a mild sedative.”
Marco administered the sedative, sat back and said, “Okay the red label. That’s a strong sedative to keep Vitale quiet. Once I’ve done that, call an ambulance and we’ll get Fon to hospital. Perhaps they can save the eye. I think it was a small blade. Anything bigger could have killed her.”
Regan leaned over Fon, kissed her hair on top of her head at the same time breathing in the smell of her. “Be strong, Fon. I’m here. I love you.”
Regan ran down the stairs. Mong was still behind the bar. He asked, “Everything okay, Mister Steve?”
Regan breathlessly replied, “All’s good. Call 191, Mong. We need an ambulance here quick!”
“Okay, boss.”
Regan ran back up the stairs to Room 302. He had picked up a large plastic carrier bag from the bar. He approached Watkin’s body and searched his safari jacket pockets. He was looking for the guns taken from him and Fon, and his car keys. He found them and threw them in the bag. He checked for other weapons but found nothing.
Marco said, “What are you going to do about him?” Marco nodded at Watkins.
Regan said, “Not sure yet. Sure got to do something. Too many questions otherwise. What you going to do with him?” Regan indicated the sedated Vitale.
“A phone call. My zio, uncle Antonio, has it all arranged. Private ambulance to Phuket Airport. Chartered ambulance flight to the States. He’s a very sick tourist who needs urgent hospital admission stateside. Only it’s ours, the family’s private clinic. There he will die in agony, I promise you.”
“Can’t you somehow take the stiff too?” asked Regan, as he pointed at Watkins.
“Suppose so. I need to use a phone to get the phony papers arranged and the private ambulance to collect us,” Marco said and added, “Tell you what, you go to the hospital with Fon. Tell them what happened, though that’s obvious,” nodding towards the blade still protruding from Fon’s eye. Marco continued, “Give me a phone to make my call and I’ll see you when you get back.”
“You can have as many phone calls as you need. Have a drink, some food, put it on my tab.”
“Sure?”
“Sure I’m sure. I do own the place.” Regan shook Marco’s hand. “Thanks for everything.
Especially for saving our lives and treating Fon so quickly.”
“You’re welcome.” Marco continued, “I’m curious about something.”
Regan said, “What?”
“What’s with all the questions whether you are a cop or not?”
“Is she sleeping?”
“Yes. She can’t hear a word. Even if she can, she won’t remember anything. That is a traumatic injury.”
“What about Vitale?”
“Out like a light.”
“I have no idea why I’m telling you this but yes, I am.”
“You had me fooled. Guess all our secrets are safe after what happened here today,” Marco said.
“Guess so. I won’t tell if you don’t.”
“Why did you decide to tell me?”
“Don’t know really. Sometimes you have to do what seems right.”
“Loud and clear. You know it wasn’t easy for me to come here and do this. I know what my family do and have done. I don’t make excuses for them. But they have honour. I have honour. What scum like these two do is beyond the pale. I have no regrets. From what I overheard, I take it you and Vitale here have a history.”
“Sure do. I infiltrated their cocaine operation in Miami. He tried to drown me in a swimming pool. The excuse was he was trying to see if I would admit to being an undercover cop. The truth is I called him a fat pig. He didn’t like it.”
“He is a fat pig.” Both men laughed and hugged.
“Anytime you are in Boston, with or without this tough lady, look me up. I’m in the phone book. Unlike you, Marco Lusardi is my real name. What’s yours?”
“Steve.”
Marco grinned and said, “No, your full name.”
“That I can’t tell you.”
“Can’t or won’t.”
“Correct on both counts.”
They shook hands firmly once more like two long-lost brothers reunited.
“That’ll be the ambulance for Fon,” Marco said on hearing the two-tone horns outside the hotel. “I’ll be here waiting when you get back. Tell her she is one tough and beautiful lady when she wakes up.”
“I will. Do me a small favour. See her into the ambulance. I’ll be there in a minute. There’s something I need
to do.”
“You got it.”
* * *
Regan picked up the plastic bag containing the guns and his car keys. First, he placed his car keys in his pocket. He threw the electrical torture tool in the bag and walked to his own room. He dialled in the combination of the safe, opened the door then placed the plastic bag inside the safe. Regan checked to make sure the fifty thousand dollars was still there, and the gun used by the Thai gunman, Watkins’ henchman. It was all there. He removed twenty-five thousand, stuck it in his back pocket, spun the combination and walked outside to the ambulance as he slipped on a pair of shoes.
* * *
Five minutes was all it took to Phuket Hospital. Fon was lying on her back on a gurney with a blanket covering her from toes to neck. She still wore the bed sheet as a sari. Regan, now more relaxed, couldn’t help thinking how good she looked robed in only a thin sheet. It showed her curves. He held her hand all the way there.
Fon started to whisper through dry lips, “Steve, will I be okay?”
“You will be fine. I’m here. As long as I’m here you will be fine. I love you more now than ever I did.”
Fon smiled weakly with her good green-tinged brown eye. It melted Regan’s heart. The gurney was wheeled to a consulting room. An eye specialist was with her in about five minutes.
He examined her and said in clear English, “I will need to operate today, remove the blade, check for brain damage, clean everything up and possibly save the eye.”
Regan said, “What’s the chances of saving her eye, Doctor?”
As soon as he said it, he knew it was a stupid question.
The doctor understood people ask crazy questions when in shock. “I won’t know anything until I see what is going on in there.”
“Yes. I understand. How long do you think she may be kept here?”
“All being well, about three days. Then post-operative check- ups mainly to check and prevent infection. Are you the husband?”
“No. She is my girlfriend.”
“Wait here while I go through the consent form with her to make sure she understands there are always risks with surgery.”
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