by Judith Lucci
“You OK man, you need help?” Shooter was concerned at the sound of Jacob’s voice.
Jake recovered. “Yeah man, I need help. You up for some company?”
“Hell, yeah. Git yo white ass down here. We got more shrimp than you can eat and the crawfish are running. You need me to come git you or you got wheels?”
Stark loved it when Shooter adopted the dialect of his native Louisiana. “Yeah, I can get there. Be a couple of days.”
“Where are you, buddy? I can send a bird for you,” Shooter replied.
“Thanks for the offer, Shooter, but I’ll get there. I’m in some fleabag motel in North Carolina. Weather has slowed me down some.”
“You all up there must’ve gotten hammered. Pretty nice down here,” he chuckled.
“Looking forward to it,” Stark said happily.
After a brief silence Shooter asked, “How ‘bout Helen? How’s she doing?”
“She passed away this morning,” Stark said, as he stifled a sob.
Shooter’s voice was gentle. “Get down here, Jacob. We’ll get you fixed up. Meet me at the bar at the port, near the Harbor Master’s office.”
Jack nodded, visualizing the scene in his head. They’d had a drink there a few years ago. “Done, should be there tomorrow night unless something happens,” Jake said, relief audible in his voice.
“See you then, buddy. Anything else?”
“Yeah. I need to go dark, Shooter. Can you help me, get me what I need.”
“Done, now get down here buddy where I can get you safe.”
“Thanks, man. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Stark said in a lighter tone. “I love you, Shooter. You’re pulling me out again,” Jacob said gratefully.
“I love you too, old man,” Shooter said honestly. Jacob could picture the tall lanky man with his broad smile that sliced across his face.
Stark felt hopeful, almost optimistic. He walked over to his cooler and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels and a couple of Hostess Twinkies. He smiled as he thought of how indignant Haley would be when she realized they were gone. This is a hell of a dinner – bourbon and Twinkies. But it’s better than nothing.
He thought about his friend, Shooter. They’d been in Iraq and Afghanistan together where Shooter had been a sniper … and a damn good one. They’d seen a lot and had saved each other’s life countless times. They were a pretty good team.
He’d never quite understood what Shooter’s family did. They were somehow connected to the Port of New Orleans and since Shooter was so close mouthed about the ‘family business’, Stark figured it was illegal. Stark remembered the one night when the two had been in a pub in London. After a long, long night of drinking, Shooter had confided to Stark that his family was in the import/export business and Stark though he’d said his family was part of the Gulf Coast Cosa Nostra and had ties to the New Orleans mafia family. However, Stark had been blitzed as well, so he was never really sure Shooter had actually said it.
Stark grabbed the greasy remote, flipped on CNN, and caught an update on the terrorist attack at Wyndley Farm. They’d found Seth’s body, and the Congressman’s daughter had been thrown through the woods and found half frozen with multiple internal injuries. She was currently in critical condition at the medical center in Richmond. When the media flashed Alex’s picture on the screen, Jake’s bourbon traveled up his esophagus into his mouth. He reached for the trash can. It’s the beautiful woman I saw in the riding boots at the barn. She’s his granddaughter and now she’ll probably die because of me. I’m a miserable, self-serving son of a bitch. I don’t deserve to live.
He put his Twinkie on the night table, poured his drink down the bathroom sink, and watched the amber liquid slide down the drain. He returned to the bed, grabbed his coat, and headed downstairs to the vending machine area for a couple of Sprites and a bucket of ice.
He returned to his dingy room, locked the door, and tried to sleep. He had a long drive ahead if he wanted to reach the coast tomorrow. Unfortunately, he was plagued with nightmares all night about Seth and the Congressman’s granddaughter.
Chapter 43
Robert had taken up residence once again in the OR waiting room. Monique had left a few minutes before to check on Jack in the intensive care unit. The Medical College of Virginia Hospital was an impressive place. The hospital had one of the largest, if not the largest, operating suites on the East Coast. The University housed a medical school and nursing school, and trained all types of health care providers.
The design of the waiting room offered individual sitting areas where families and physicians had privacy. Each area was equipped with the requisite tissues, a house phone, a writing table, and reclining chairs, as well as a sofa that could be converted into a bed. Robert sat in a recliner, playing with his phone, when a text came in from Kathryn asking about Alex.
Robert checked his watch. It was a little after five in the morning. Alex had been in surgery for over four hours, and he was hopeful they’d be done soon. The OR supervisor had told them Alex was doing well several hours ago. Fortunately, her head scan and skull films had been OK, so they were hopeful she had a concussion and nothing more serious. He uttered his tenth prayer of the day for Alex just as Monique entered the waiting room.
“Hey, how’s Jack? Is he awake,” Robert asked.
Monique gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Barely,” she said, “and that’s probably good for now. He’s in considerable pain, so they’re trying to keep him quiet and keep his leg still.”
“How’s the leg look?”
She shook her head, “Don’t know. He’s got pedal pulses, but it’s pretty discolored. The nurses think it looks pretty good. Been a long time since I’ve been around vascular surgery,” she added as she shook her head, blinking back tears. “Is Alex still in surgery?”
Robert nodded. “If it lasts much longer, I’m gonna ask them to phone back there. She’s been under anesthesia for almost five hours.”
Monique was pensive. “She was pretty beat up, Robert. No telling what they found when they opened her. I have to tell you though, these surgeons here are top notch.”
“Agreed. It’s just that I want to know what’s taking so long,” he muttered, more to himself and Monique.
Monique was thoughtful. “It’s pretty hard, isn’t it, being on the other side of the bed rail? Both of us have been docs for years, but rarely have we been patients or had loved ones sick, ill, or battered. It’s a different situation for us.”
Robert laughed. “You’re too much. Always the shrink. But, you’re right,” he agreed. “I’d rather be on my side, the side where I’m in control, than the family side where I have no control. That’s for sure,” Robert observed stubbornly.
Monique nodded, “I totally get it. In fact, I would prefer ….” She was interrupted when Dr. Eggleston entered their cubicle and took a seat. Robert’s heart cracked. He didn’t like the look on Eggleston’s face.
Dr. Eggleston looked at the expectant faces of Robert and Monique. Both were his colleagues. What had happened to them was tragic, each one surviving the pain of the potential loss of their significant other. He was silent for a moment and began, looking directly at Robert.
“She’s out of surgery and in the PACU. Her abdomen was a mess. She did have a ruptured spleen and some liver damage and had bled profusely into her abdominal cavity. We transfused her with four units of blood in the OR. She also has a damaged lung where her broken rib punctured it.”
Robert nodded as his face paled, “What else?”
“Well, we removed her spleen, repaired her liver and put her ribs back in place as best we could, but, I have to tell you, man …”
“Tell me what, what else?” Robert could feel the anxiety creeping up his back, and he wanted to forcibly shake Eggleston to get all of the information he needed out of the man.
“Nothing much, but I gotta tell you, she’s pretty sick. We almost lost her in the OR, but she’s stable now. I am a bit concerned about the frostbite in h
er lower legs. It’s severe, and we have to watch her carefully. I’ve called vascular surgery to see her.”
Monique interjected, her voice hesitant, “You do think she will be OK, right?” Her voice was anxious and she was trembling slightly. She reached for Robert’s hand to offer him comfort.
The silence was deafening and lasted over a minute or so.
Finally, Eggleston spoke. “I think so. She’ll be in ICU. She has a ventilator and we’re keeping her sedated for a few days, so we won’t be able to fully assess her head injury. She’s also shocky, so we’ll be watching that.”
“When can I see her,” Robert asked.
“Soon, let us get her settled in PACU,” Eggleston replied.
“Didn’t you say neuro wasn’t too concerned about her head injury,” Monique queried.
“Yes, but they’ll be following her as well. By the way, our ICUs are the best on the East Coast and our nurses are highly trained and specialized. They will take good care of her.”
“Visiting hours,” Robert inquired.
Eggleston gave him a sly smile. “There are none for either of you as long as you leave whenever the nurses ask. I’ll check with PACU and see if you can go in. I’ll be back shortly.”
Robert was grateful. “Thanks, man, I appreciate it,” he said as Eggleston left the waiting area.
Monique gave Robert a thoughtful look. ”What are you the most worried about?”
Robert shrugged his shoulders and pondered his response. “Don’t really know. All of it, I guess. We won’t know her neuro status or about her head injury until they take her off the ventilator, and it sounds like there’s a ton of things that could go wrong.” His voice was low and his tone cautious.
Monique stood and put her arm around his shoulders. “Well, one thing’s for sure, we can tease Alex and Jack about being roommates in the ICU. That’ll be a great laugh for years.”
Robert gave a short laugh. “Yeah, it will be. I guess I’d better call Kathryn and Adam and give them an update.
“OK, oh, there’s Eggleston. He’s waving for us to come. Let’s call her after you’ve seen Alex,” Monique suggested as she headed toward Dr. Eggleston.
Robert nodded and followed along, dreading his first glimpse of Alex with tubes everywhere in her body.
Chapter 44
Who in the hell is trying to kill me? I thought I was over that part of my life. Louis Destephano stared at the ceiling in his hospital room and contemplated who, or whom, was trying to off him and why. He turned over in bed and reached for the copy of The Times Picayune that Mrs. A. had brought him several hours ago. An article on the second page immediately set off the alarms on his heart monitor, and sent two nurses running into the room.
“I’m fine, I am OK. I was just moving around in my bed. Can you turn his thing down, or change the sensitivity on it,” he asked.
The nurse shook her head. “Nope, no way. You just got out of the ICU and there’s no way we’re sending you back. You’ll just have to live with it for a while,” she added as she offered him a smile.
Louis gave her a disgusted look and said, “I feel great. When can I go home? I’ll even hire a 24/7 nurse to come home and take care of me. Hell, I’ll even hire you!”
The nurse adjusted the volume on his infusion pump, grinned at him, and said, “Maybe a couple of days, and frankly Mr. Destephano, you’re a bit grumpy for me.”
Louis feigned a look of surprise. “Grumpy? I’ve been nice as pie, now just hand me my newspaper and get out. I’m gonna take a nap.”
She placed her hands on her hips and looked down at him. “OK, but wait until I get you your pills. I’ll be right back.” Stopping at the door, she turned her head and repeated, “I mean it, don’t go to sleep because then I’ll have to hear you fuss when I wake you up.”
“I’ll try not to,” Louis said as he watched her leave, and thought again of Alex. The woman was about Alex’s age, and was tall and graceful like his daughter. She had a great sense of humor and was, as far as he could tell, very competent. He smiled to himself. She certainly knows how to handle me. She’s got my number.
He closed his eyes and remembered back to the days of his youth, the days when he was a two-bit hood and lawyer for the Carlos Marcello crime family in New Orleans. His dad and Carlos Marcello had emigrated together from Sicily, and his father had been in charge of Marcello’s pin ball business operation. Louis’s father had always excused Marcello’s problems with the law and time in jail as the fault of the NOPD.
Marcello and his brother were twice deported by President Kennedy and his brother, U.S. Attorney General Robert Kennedy, for illegal activity and racketeering. After Kennedy’s death, the House Select Committee on Assassinations concluded that Marcello and his mob associates were part of the conspiracy and killing of John Kennedy.
Louis was ashamed as he recounted his part in the defense of Marcello, but he was a young, smart-assed lawyer back then. He’d left New Orleans and the employ of the Carlos Marcello family after he’d met Alex’s mother and moved to Virginia. No wonder Adam Lee hated me. I was nothing but a two bit crook, working for the New Orleans crime family. I’d act like Adam if someone did the same to Alex.
However, before Louis left for good, he’d gotten in a two bit pissing contest with Sonny Costello and threatened his life in a drunken argument. Unfortunately, Sonny had been shot and killed the same night. Joey Costello, Sonny’s older brother, had accused Louis and sworn to ‘get even’. True to his word, Joey tried to kill Louis in Virginia, but was unsuccessful. Louis believed this is what caused a downward spiral in Alex’s mother’s frail mental health, a spiral from which she never recovered.
He picked up his newspaper and read, for the fourth time, the investigative series in The Times Picayune on Organized Crime in New Orleans. His eyes focused on the first paragraph.
New Orleans Has a New Boss
Joey Andretti seems to have taken control of the New Orleans Mafia along with his brother Sonny. The Andretti brothers have a five decade family history in the New Orleans Mob. They also have family ties to the New York Colombo Family that go back to the 80's as well as connections to mob families abroad. Joey had pledged to carry out revenge to every known enemy known of the Family, dating back as long as fifty years.
Louis had reread the article a dozen times. Surely Joey hadn’t been carrying a grudge against him for forty years. Of course, now that Joey was running the family, he’d have to honor every threat he’d ever made.
Louis lay back on his pillow and considered his options. As he contemplated the potential reality of the situation, he pulled his address book from the packet his assistant had retrieved from his home safe and brought to the hospital. He still had a few connections with the Colombo New York crime family, and they might know something. In fact, they may have arranged the hit … had someone poison him. Not good. Maybe I’d better think this through a bit more carefully.
He made a decision to leave his New York contact alone – at least for now, as there was too much risk. One of his old associates, Fredrico Petrelli, was a former mob boss in the Andretti family. Petrelli had a grown son, Shooter, a war hero, who had ditched the mob and opened several legitimate businesses on the Gulf Coast.
Shooter Petrelli had worked with the oil rigs and was Louis’s godson. Louis had treated the boy like his own kid, remembering birthdays, holidays and Christmas even when Shooter’s own father had not.
Louis thought for a moment and made a decision. He reached for his cell phone and dialed the number.
“Yeah, who’s this?” The voice was harsh and rude.
Louis didn’t flinch. “Need to talk with Fredrico.”
The voice didn’t waver. “So do lots of people, asshole. Whatdaya want.”
Louis shook his head and sighed. He hated doing business with smart-assed gangsters and hadn’t for ages. He’d been clean, legal, and above board for close to forty years. His fortune was his own, worked and paid for through sweat, tea
rs, loss, and blood.
Louis adopted his best tough, insolent, crime voice. “Gimme Fredrico. Tell ‘em it’s Luigi. NOW, asshole.” Louis’s tone was as nasty as he could muster.
“Hang on,” the mobster said with grudging respect.
Louis could hear the pay phone dangling against and hitting the wall. Things never change with these idiots. He shook his head.
Finally Fredrico Petrelli came to the phone. “Luigi Destephano, a blast from the past.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice. “What up. Hell must’ve frozen over for you to be calling a scum bag like me, you being so clean, upright, and fine.” His voice was crude and tinged with cynicism.
Louis could hear the arrogance and disrespect in his voice. “How you been, Petrelli? How’s things in NOLA and on the coast? Gambling going OK?”
Petrelli grunted and said, “Yeah, and so are the women.”
Louis ignored the bait. Petrelli knew Louis hated prostitution and trafficking. This man was such a loser. He couldn’t believe they’d been best friends in their youth. “Wanted to get in touch with Shooter. The number I have is no good.”
Petrelli laughed uncontrollably. “That’s a joke. You want me to help you contact my son, the son that doesn’t speak to me because you convinced him to go legal, right?”
Louis was silent and let Petrelli continue. It was the same conversation they’d had twenty years ago, the last time they’d spoken. Shooter had decided to join the Army and was in Ranger school, and Petrelli was convinced he’d die in Iraq or somewhere in a Middle Eastern hell hole. He was mad as hell at Louis for supporting his boy’s decision.
Petrelli continued to rant and rave while Louis lay silently in his bed. I hope to hell my cardiac alarm doesn’t go off and that SOB figures out I’m sick.
“What do you want him for,” Petrelli demanded, his tone boorish and foul.
“Need to talk to him about business. That’s all.”
“Yeah,” Petrelli answered, “What else?”