Gideon

by Grant Rosenberg

  Unfortunately, escaping the Sinaloa Cartel didn’t mean her family had escaped “the life”. Her oldest son, Rodrigo, was serving a ten-year stretch at Pleasant Valley State Prison in central California for possession with intent to sell, larceny and aggravated assault. Another son, Chavo, died during a weekend of gang violence where five young men were killed. The SFPD reacted by doubling their Gang Task Force and shutting down drug dealing in the neighborhoods for almost a month. Eventually, the furore of that weekend abated, and the police department reshuffled their manpower. Drug dealing resumed and the cops made it a lower priority, as long as violence was kept to “an acceptable minimum”. Life on the streets reverted to its former status quo.

  Of the remaining three Sanchez offspring, Oscar (known as “Spider”) was an underboss with the Norteños, Tomas was in a youth correctional facility in Stockton, and then there was Diego. He was the youngest and held the most promise for the future. He was smart and had a kind heart. If Alma could keep him away from the gangs, he might have a chance, but that was a tall order.

  Alma was half Ramona’s size, but she could hold her own against anyone. “Diego’s only a little boy. His mother should be back there with him. You know it.”

  Ramona puffed out her chest, as if she needed additional bulk to make herself more intimidating. “The Doctor knows how old Diego is, and he knows you’re out here. He also knows what’s best, so you’ll wait.”

  Alma wasn’t ready to back down. “What if that was your boy back there? What would you do?”

  “I’d sing the praises of the Lord Almighty, because I’ve never been able to conceive children,” which put an abrupt end to that argument. Ramona softened. “Alma, we need to fill out paperwork. Tell me exactly how this happened.”

  “I already told you! Diego was over at the Rec Center on 20th and someone drove by and fired guns. He wasn’t doing nothing wrong.”

  “Why didn’t you take him to the trauma center at St Francis? It’s only a few blocks away from the Rec Center.”

  “Because you are my doctors.”

  “You know we have to file a report with the police, just like they do at St Francis.”

  Alma bristled at the comment. “Even though you disrespect me, I came here because you take care of my children.”

  Ramona smiled. “Alma, por favor. The doctors have great respect for you, but there are rules.”

  Alma backed down… a little. “Ramona, por favor. Tell the doctor I’m not going nowhere until I see Diego.”

  “Trust me. He knows.”

  It was ten o’clock when Ramona finally closed the front doors and turned out the lights in the waiting area; one hour later than usual. David liked to get his team out at a decent hour, but once in a while, especially on the weekends, the flow of patients was non-stop, and David had a difficult time turning people away.

  As was their tradition, David and Kelly gathered in his small office to recount the day. Vik, Annie, Sonita and Ramona stopped by on their way out.

  “Thank you all for staying late,” David said gratefully. “I’m sorry we ended up short-handed tonight.”

  Vik shrugged. “No problem, Doctor. It comes with the job.”

  “It shouldn’t, but I appreciate the sentiment.” He turned to Ramona. “Do you think Alma will take Diego to St Francis? I called over and they agreed to see him as soon as he arrives.” St Francis Hospital had much more sophisticated equipment and David wanted their team to give Diego a thorough examination before letting him go home.

  “No way Alma’s gonna take him. She’s damn stubborn, that one.”

  David exhaled a weary sigh. “I can understand it from her point of view. The hospital system’s not exactly designed to cater to undocumented immigrants.”

  A federal law required hospitals to administer emergency services to all patients, but due to these patients’ immigration status, the hospitals were not generally reimbursed by Medicaid. As a result, most hospitals performed triage, then cut the patients loose. In recent years hospitals have been much stricter in determining if a patient actually qualifies for “emergency services” before he or she is admitted.

  Since private clinics aren’t legally bound to treat anyone, many “illegals” that need medical help are often left in the lurch. When David opened the MSC, he vowed not to turn anyone away, which was why the clinic was so popular, so crowded, and constantly on the brink of financial collapse.

  “I’ll swing by the Sanchez house and check on Diego,” Vik said. “Nothing waiting for me at home except leftover chicken tikka.”

  David shook his head. “You’ve already put in a long day. Go enjoy your tikka.”

  “Good night, doctors,” said Annie, a smile on her face.

  “I know that smile,” said Kelly. “Do you have plans tonight?”

  “It’s Saturday,” she said, as if it should be obvious. “Got a Tinder date with a fine looking Jamaican man, and with any luck, it’ll carry over to the morning.”

  Ramona asked the recurring question, “And how old is this one?”

  Annie shrugged. “Age is a relative concept, darlin’.”

  Ramona nodded. “So he’s under thirty.” Annie responded with a smile. “Twenty-five?” asked Ramona.

  “Have a lovely time,” said Kelly. “And be careful.”

  “Ah, don’t stay up worrying about me, Doctor. I can take care of myself.”

  Of that they had no doubt.

  After the staff left, David slid open the bottom drawer of the oak desk he purchased secondhand when he opened the clinic. The desk had belonged to his favorite professor at UCSF medical school, and when the professor retired, David acquired it. He could think of no better way to honor his mentor and christen the new clinic.

  The drawer still smelled slightly of the tobacco humidor the professor kept secreted there. David used the drawer for a different kind of stash and pulled out a bottle of single malt Clynelish and two glasses.

  David cracked open the bottle. “I’ll look in on Diego on the way home.” He poured one glass and hovered the bottle over the other. “Care to join me?”

  Kelly smiled and shook her head. “I should go. I’m meeting Pete in a little while.”

  “One advantage of dating a cop is you both keep insane hours.” He raised the glass to his lips, then hesitated. “You know I hate drinking alone.”

  “Fine,” Kelly gave in. “A small one.”

  As David poured, Kelly asked, “What are we going to do about Dr Curtis?”

  Dr Nathan Curtis came from a very wealthy San Francisco family. Money can make life easier, but it often comes with a caveat. In Nathan’s case, his family’s fortune infused him with an inflated sense of self-entitlement.

  In his late twenties, Nathan had already been dismissed from two medical residencies in the city. David saw something in Nathan and decided to give the young doctor another chance. However, this would be his third and probably final opportunity to prove himself worthy and establish a medical career in San Francisco.

  “Nathan has the tools to become a good doctor some day, but he’s his own worst enemy. We can’t have someone working here who’s unreliable. This isn’t the first time he’s left us short-handed.”

  Kelly shrugged. “He’s got a lot of family issues.”

  “He’s a spoiled rich kid with no sense of responsibility.”

  “You’re being too harsh on him.”

  “Am I?”

  “We both know how tough it is to become a doctor. I was lucky because I had you. From what I hear, Nathan’s father is hardly the nurturing type.”

  “That may be, but we’ve got a clinic to run, and when he pulls stunts like leaving early, it puts patients’ health in jeopardy. I told him last week if he did it again, I’d have to let him go.”

  “You gave him an ultimatum? How’d he react?”

  “How do you think? He’s not used to hearing the word ‘no’.”

  “Do me a favor and talk to him to see what’s goi
ng on before you cut him loose. If he lost this opportunity...” They both knew he’d likely be screwed.

  “You were always a nicer person than me. I promise I’ll hear him out before I show him the door.” He raised his glass. “Enough about him. To Jess.”

  Kelly clinked his glass. “To Jess.” She finished her drink in one swallow.

  “Have you been to see her recently?” he asked.

  “Last Sunday.” Kelly didn’t need to sugarcoat her statement and add how good her sister looked or how she was coming along. Things with Jessica never changed. “We’re onto The Prisoner Of Azkaban.”

  David smiled. “I saw The Goblet Of Fire on her nightstand the last time I was there. Is this your second or third time through the series?”

  “Third. She just can’t get enough of Hogwarts,” Kelly said with a sad smile, knowing that she could be reading War And Peace in its original Russian and it would have the same impact on her sister.

  David finished his drink and poured another jigger into his glass. He leaned in to refill Kelly’s glass and she covered it with her hand.

  “We need to toast to your job offer,” he said with a smile.

  “The job I’m turning down?”

  David reacted. “How can you turn it down? Director of Emergency Services is a very prestigious position.”

  “Complete with red tape, corporate politics and a bottom line mentality.”

  “You’re just looking at the downsides. What about a great salary, wonderful benefits, actual vacation time…?”

  “You mean all those things you left behind?”

  “We’re talking about you.”

  “Exactly, and you need me here. Especially if you’re going around firing the rest of the staff.”

  David replied with a grin, “Don’t flatter yourself. I can bring in another doctor.”

  “Why bother when you’ve got someone who’s willing to work endless hours for minimal wages?”

  “Speaking of which, I’ll be able to cut you a check next week for your back pay.”

  Kelly cocked her head. “Where’s the money coming from?”

  “I’m liquidating one of my investments. It’ll tide us over for a while.”

  Kelly reached for the bottle and poured herself another shot. She sipped the scotch, considering her father for a moment. “Dad, are you trying to ease me out the door?”

  David was shocked. “You’re not serious, right? I love having you here.”

  “Then what are we talking about? Once I decided to become a doctor, all I ever wanted to do was go into practice with you.”

  “And I’m the luckiest father alive. Sweetheart, what we do here is important, but it’s a tiny pond. You were born for greater things, and you’ve been given a chance to push yourself, test your limits. Now’s the time for you to make bold choices, take on new challenges. I don’t want you to end up at age sixty-five, looking back on your life and having regrets.”

  “Do you?”

  After a moment’s thought, he nodded. “Some.” Before Kelly could grill him, he continued, “My advice, for what it’s worth as the man who brought you into this world, is accept the job and give it a few years. If you don’t like it and want to come back, I’ll try to find a spot for you.”

  “A few years…”

  “That’s what it takes to give it a fair shot. I’m not planning on retiring any time soon, so we’ll have a lot of road ahead of us.”

  Kelly was still conflicted. “I’ll give it some thought.”

  David drained his drink. “That’s all this old man could ask for.” He placed his hand atop hers. “I hope you never doubt how much you’ve meant to me and how much I appreciate you being in my life.” He leaned back in his chair. “Now go on, and give my regards to Pete.”

  Kelly successfully fought back a tear. “I love you, too. Don’t stay too late.”

  David smiled. “Don’t worry about me. See you in the morning.”

  4

  44 Degrees on Market Street was an upscale restaurant whose contemporary fusion menu attracted a well-heeled crowd. Walking distance from City Hall and the Opera House, the eatery drew a mix of white-collar locals, wealthy bohos and out-of-towners who wanted to experience the San Francisco foodie scene and had the foresight to make reservations a month in advance. During peak hours it was near impossible to get a table, and at 10:30pm the place still did a brisk bar business.

  Kelly entered looking for Pete. He hadn’t arrived yet, but sitting at the copper-topped bar was a stunning woman with shamelessly wavy auburn hair framing a Mediterranean face that recalled Ancient Greek images of Aphrodite. Many women would have spontaneously felt a rush of envy and instant dislike for someone who looked like they’d just come from a Vogue cover shoot, but Kelly’s reaction was altogether different.

  The woman was chatting with a younger man who resembled Brad Pitt circa A River Runs Through It. Kelly interrupted them with, “Buy a girl a drink?” and when the woman turned around, her face lit up.

  Alexandra Russo was Kelly’s oldest friend, and given the grueling schedules they kept, it was a joyous occasion when they got together. “Alexa” was gorgeous, but her beauty took a backseat to her intellect. A business powerhouse with an MBA from Columbia, she was Vice-President of a very successful hedge fund that had been first in the door at the outset of the tech boom. Alexa convinced the board that the silicon tsunami wasn’t sustainable in the long run, so they put her in charge of diversifying the firm’s holdings. When the dot-com bust took down most of the money managers in San Francisco, her company was there to buy up assets at a fraction of their value.

  Alexa patted the stool next to her and signaled Philip, the white-shirted, black-vested bartender. “She’ll have what I’m having.”

  As Philip poured a glass of chilled Chardonnay, Alexa introduced the man on her other side. “Kelly, this is Josh Friedman. He just joined our company.”

  Josh reached over and took Kelly’s hand. “Nice to meet you.” He had a magnetic smile that featured perfect white teeth. Josh held onto Kelly’s hand until it became borderline awkward.

  Alexa broke in, “Kelly’s my oldest pal, and she’s here to meet her boyfriend, who’s late because he’s probably in the midst of a murder investigation.”

  Josh’s face reddened, and when he realized he was still clutching Kelly’s hand, he went full-on turnip.

  He released his grip. “It’s late, and I’ve got an early morning meeting.”

  “Here’s a little tip,” said Alexa. “Get there fifteen minutes before it starts, otherwise you won’t get a seat at the table, and huddling in the back row with the assistants would be a bad look.”

  He nodded. “Thanks. I will. Definitely.” He bade the women a good night and executed a hasty exit.

  As he left the café, Kelly sipped her wine. “Oh, my god.”

  “The wine or him?”

  “Let’s start with the wine. It’s incredible.”

  “Marcassin. It’s getting scarce, so Philip put away a case for me. Glad you like it.”

  “The upside of drinking with you is this.” She held up her glass. “The downside is it makes the stuff I drink taste like urine.”

  “That’s a pleasant thought. Whenever you need a wine fix, I can hook you up.”

  “You’re my best friend, not my sugar momma, but… damn, this is good.” She took another appreciative sip of the wine. “By the way, nice of you to put the fear of God into your new associate.”

  “He can handle it. Undergrad at Purdue, MBA from Harvard. Looks and brains. And if you can believe it, he’s single and he’s straight.”

  “That won’t last long in this city, one way or the other.”

  “So true.”

  “Wait, you’re not…”

  Alexa actually snorted. “Me? First of all, I don’t swim in the company pool. Secondly, I’m not a coug... at least, not yet.”

  Kelly smiled. Alexa could have any man she wanted. She’d never be classified
as a cougar. “So, this was what? A little welcome-to-the-team cocktail?”

  “It started that way, until he segued into his sad saga about the girl in Boston he left behind. It was a sordid tale of misguided ambition, unquenchable drug habits and perverse sexual appetites.”

  “That’s what I interrupted? Sorry.”

  “Kel, I hear the same stories every day. If it’s not aggressive junior executives who think that Glengarry Glenross is a training film, it’s burnouts who’ve had early success then blew all their cash, stupidly assuming they’d continue to knock down seven figures every year. They wake up one morning to find themselves at the bottom of a financial well, wondering what the hell happened. Unfortunately, many of them turn to drugs, bleach blondes with fake boobs, or your everyday, run-of-the-mill embezzlement. Mine is a business that knows no mercy.”

  “So you’re saying I should feel sorry for you?”

  “Sorry for her?” They turned to see Pete Ericson. “Lemme guess. Your Jag got towed? Or, your personal trainer got deported back to Switzerland.”

  Alexa shook her head. “You’re a shitty detective, and for your information, Franz is from Austria.” Alexa leaned over and kissed Pete on the cheek. “Take care of my girl, okay?”

  “I’m trying, but she can be difficult.”

  “Thanks for the wine, Lex,” Kelly said, as she pulled Pete toward an empty table.

  Moments later, they were sitting across from one another, casually holding hands. At thirty-seven, Pete was a few years older than Kelly and no less accomplished in his field, having made the grade of Homicide Inspector four years ago, seven years earlier than the department average. Blue collar, with only a public school education and two scant years of junior college under his belt, Pete impressively graduated third in his class at the Academy.