Hope House

by Tracy L Carbone

  She opened and shut the files then looked at him. “Hope House. All the babies were born at Hope House in Windy Key, Florida.”

  “All of them?”

  “All of these at least.”

  “So the biological mothers are from all around the country, granted those addresses are probably bogus, but the births were all in Florida? Not just Florida but in the Keys all at the same clinic?”

  “That’s odd enough but the name Hope House. Sound familiar?”

  “No.”

  “Maison D’Espoir.”

  “The place in Haiti where Tad Boucher went to work. What about it?”

  “Maison D’Espoir is French for Hope House. House of Hope actually. There’s your common denominator. There’s no way Tad Boucher just happens to work in Haiti at a place whose name translates into Hope House; and then Mick, who owns the adoption agency, has all of his adoptees born in a place called Hope House in Florida.”

  The truck accelerated. “We’re going there right now.”

  “Where?”

  “Windy Key. It’s two hours if I keep up this speed. You oughta get some shut eye while I drive. Gonna be a busy day tomorrow.”

  “What do you think we’ll find there?”

  “I’m guessing a clinic and a bunch of pregnant girls. We’ll just storm the place and demand to know the girls’ real names.”

  “But how do we go about doing that?”

  “I’ll get pushy!”

  “Pushy? Not like at the hotel the other night, I hope.”

  He met her eyes. “I wasn’t given any choice outside your door.”

  “I know.”

  “Just be assured that by the end of tomorrow we’ll have answers. Maybe the doctors there won’t tell us a thing but we’ll get it out of the patients.”

  Gloria put her head down and tried to absorb the probable reality. “Maybe Alison isn’t my daughter. This is so much bigger than one little girl.”

  Kurt reached over and took her hand. In the dim light from the dash he was hard to see, but his eyes locked with hers. “No, I don’t think she is. But she is related to you and something, karma or God or whatever, brought you two together. And that’s the reason the Puglisis are trying to kill you.”

  “I know we’re both in this thing up to our collective necks,” she began, “like it or not.”

  “They’re doing something covert,” he agreed, nodding. “and we’re going to find out what. It’s not just about your single tragedy anymore, or wanting closure, or my working for a client. We’re bringing the Puglisis down once and for all, and shutting down this operation, whatever it is. We have to. Or die trying. It’s the right thing to do.”

  A thrill ran through her. She had always thought the archetype of a sexy, masculine hero who killed for the common good was just a symbol, that save for literature or in movies no one was really like that.

  But here he was in the flesh. “Thank you, Kurt. Thank you for believing me.”

  He pulled his hand back to shift and take an exit. She wished he was driving an automatic and could have held her hand longer. “You just go to sleep and tomorrow this will all be over,” he said with certainty.

  She closed her eyes and let herself believe him.

  2.

  Mick Puglisi’s home, Miami, very late evening

  “The end,” Mick said as he closed the book of nursery rhymes. Nothing like poems about farm animals to lull a child to sleep. Mick always skipped over Three Blind Mice. There were enough blind things around him without the song to remind him. Creepy. Luke didn’t seem to mind the black stitches where eyes should be. So long as the plush animals didn’t have cold parts, the boy loved them.

  Mick smiled at his son. His soft light hair feathered across the pillow and his tiny nose twitched in his sleep. Mick leaned down and softly kissed his cheek.

  At half past midnight Luke had screamed, “Daddy! Bad men get Luke!” Mick had run down the hall, gun drawn, but it had just been a nightmare. “Bad men go bang, bang, bang,” the boy sobbed in his father’s arms. Time to limit the TV that kid watched, Mick thought. Way too much violence on TV. Mick had snuggled him back under his covers, the sightless stuffed animals guarding him like sentinels. A half hour of reading later and the tyke was finally asleep again.

  Mick rubbed his own tired eyes then shut off the light by the racecar bed.

  On the way out he stopped by the crib. Boni’s baby lay in it, a thin white blanket over his tiny body. No, not Boni’s baby. My baby, he thought as he lit up inside.

  After carrying the orphaned infant against him in the car and then smuggling him back to the states, he didn’t have the heart to just leave him on the steps of the hospital like discarded trash. He wasn’t trash. He was a treasure. All children were. Luke had fallen in love with him right away and hell, so had Mick.

  When they all got back to Miami, the family doctor gave the baby a clean bill of health, so screw it; Mick decided to adopt him. Why should someone else get such a great kid? After all, Mick had rescued him. If he had been left out there in the woods, surely he would have died. Anyway, he was Mick Puglisi. No one would dare question him if he asked for bogus papers.

  After poring over a baby name website for hours, Mick had come up with the name Donovon. Supposedly it meant, “dark warrior.” Donovon Puglisi.

  Mick touched the baby’s face. Soft as a rose petal. He wanted to kiss him but he’d wake up. Then Luke would wake up again. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d hug and kiss little Donovon as much as the kid would let him.

  Daddy Puglisi wasn’t too happy about having a “darkie” in the family, but he’d get over it. He’d have to. Angie had almost married a black man a few years ago but Daddy put an end to that quick. The old man had the guy, Jackson something or other, shot in the parking lot of a flower shop. Jackson had been carrying a bouquet of red roses with an I Love You card made out to Angie, and the police found an engagement ring in his glove compartment. Angela was crushed of course and furious at Daddy for killing the man she was going to marry. Mick felt bad for Angela but never said anything to Daddy. He didn’t dare. Not after what had happened to Mama.

  Angela stood up to him though. Taunted him. Told him that she was pregnant. “What are you gonna do now, Daddy? Kill me?”

  He hadn’t killed her, but had bound her hands and feet with duct tape and carried her screaming into the office of a doctor friend of his, after hours. And that was the end of that pregnancy.

  Angela didn’t speak to Daddy for two years. Mick was the only one in the family she wanted anything to do with. Last year Daddy gave her a convertible Corvette and apologized. She never forgave him. How could she? But at least she was back in the family and had a nice set of wheels.

  When Mick called Daddy back home in Providence to tell him about Donovon, then emailed him pictures, Daddy yelled and hung up. But then he cooled off and calmed down. He said God must be some kind of trickster and that it must be his fate to “have a darkie for a grandkid.” Mick didn’t like all that “darkie” talk but Daddy lived far enough away so Donovon wouldn’t have to see him very often and be exposed to the old man’s prejudice.

  Too bad Daddy was a bigot because Donovon was going to be a great kid.

  “Oh well, his loss.” Mick leaned down and kissed the baby’s fingertips. He couldn’t help himself.

  He thought of his sister and smiled. Angie was bursting at the seams she was so happy about this new addition to the Puglisi clan. She loved Luke of course but he knew Donovon would always be her special nephew.

  Mick tip-toed out of the room and into the hall where thoughts of his job flowed back to him.

  Despite the lateness of hour, he owed Tad a phone call. In his office he dialed the number to Tad’s house in Haiti.

  “Hello?”

  Boy he picked up that phone quick. Why’s he up so late? “Hiya, Tad.”

  “Where are you?” Tad yelled. There was accusation in his voice.

  “I’m in Miami. At my h
ouse. Why? What’s going on?”

  Silence.

  “Tad?”

  “Nothing. What is it, Mick, I’m tired.”

  “I wanted to follow up with you. Tommy talked to Gloria and she’s accepted that nothing is going on. He persuaded her she’s just running into a lot of coincidences. She’s on her way back to Boston.”

  “Whatever.”

  “What’s up with you?”

  “I’ve got things going on in my own life, okay?”

  “What?”

  “Personal.”

  “If it involves the clinic, one of the girls . . . If any of them are sneaking—”

  “Goddamn it! Last time I checked, I wasn’t under contract to you twenty-four hours a day. What I do on my personal time, not that I have much, is my business. No, none of the girls are fooling around. Boni was; I found out about it too late, and I sent her off. But no, nothing else is going on and I am allowed to keep parts of my life to myself.”

  Jeez Louise. Where did that come from, Mick wondered.

  Where did that come from? Stupid question. Tad was locked in a compound with seventy-five virgins and spent his day looking at vaginas. Look but don’t touch. Mick whacked himself on the forehead for being such an idiot.

  Of course Tad was uptight. He probably spent half his days having fantasies about getting laid. Mick did whenever he went there. How could you not? Poor pent up guy. Shit, maybe Mick should just let Tad have Martine. Pull her off the breeding line and let her just be his nurse or whatever proper name he wanted to call a concubine. Maison could get another girl to breed. Tad and Martine could have sex until they couldn’t walk and even their own kid if that’s what they wanted. That’s all Tad needed. A release and maybe a girlfriend. Hell, he’d even let them get married. Tad was a stand up guy. He’d probably want to marry Martine. Maybe it would be good for the morale over there.

  Mick grinned as he thought of it. They could have a wedding right in the compound. Mick would pay for it. They’d have a minister come in and Mick would order one of those multi-layer cakes he’d seen at the hotel weddings. Four layers, adorned with tropical flowers and a hint of nutmeg. They’d get a band to play Haitian songs . . . Martine would look hot in a wedding dress.

  “Mick, are you listening?”

  “What? Yeah. You know, I was thinking—”

  “I don’t care. I honestly don’t care what you fuckin’ think anymore.”

  That was an unwelcome jolt back to reality.

  Tad continued. “You got us into this Gloria mess. You get us out.”

  “You found her in the first place, Tad,” Mick defended. “You had a crush on her and pointed her out to me. She was in your English class.”

  “I pointed her out but I didn’t say, ‘Hey, in eight years let’s take her baby.’ ”

  “Obviously. None of us knew about the technology then. It wasn’t until we were what? Twenty-six or so?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Daddy's men were looking to get paid on a debt that medical student from Israel couldn't cover. He claimed he had a background in—what was it?”

  “Uterine cancer research,” Tad said dryly.

  “Yeah. Poor bugger pleaded for his life, offered up some secret procedure.”

  “And the leg breaking boneheads called me because they said the kid seemed smart and maybe he was onto something.”

  Mick's dander rose at that little comment. “Well, they called me. Daddy was out of town so they asked me what to do. Then I told you about it.”

  “Okay, fine. Let's leave it at that. They called you.”

  Mick smiled. “And I invited you to sit and talk to the guy.”

  Tad fell in step and told the story like it was yesterday. Earth changing moments were like that though. You remembered everything fresh as the day it happened. “I came over after my shift at the hospital and met with the two of you at your uncle's restaurant.”

  “And?” Mick goaded him, knowing Tad wouldn't be able to retell the story without feeling at least a sliver of his old enthusiasm.

  “And we talked,” Tad continued. “You called me in and we sat down with the young Jewish intern and he outlined this amazing idea that didn’t seem like it could work. But he said his father’s company had successfully done it with mice, sheep, and a handful of women. He said if we could just get past the morality issues—”

  Mick interjected. “And I said morals shmorals.” He laughed.

  “Right. You did,” Tad said.

  Mick envisioned Tad raising his eyebrow in judgment as he had back then. Most likely he was doing it now.

  Tad finished. “The man said if we could do it on a large scale we’d change the face of science. That’s what he said, remember? We’d change the face of science?”

  Mick warmed. He heard in Tad’s voice the same wonderment he’d had all those years ago in the restaurant when the man had handed them the write ups over plates of linguini and garlic bread. Tad had leafed through the paperwork wide-eyed and excited. The adult, stiff Tad could blame whomever he wanted on his current moral dilemmas, but he was as excited about this new science back then as anyone.

  “So you learned the science as best you could while you finished your residency at New York Hospital, then when Gloria came to you as a patient it was fate. You said that, Tad. Not me.”

  A sigh in the other end. “I guess I did.”

  “I had to push you to actually do it. Got friends in there to help you with the procedure. And when the injection you gave Gloria to slow its heart and retard its movement didn’t take, I suggested showing Gloria a tape of someone else’s ultrasound of a dead baby. Remember?”

  “I remember,” Tad said quietly.

  “But at the end of the day, Tad, you were the one who chose Gloria.”

  Silence.

  “Tad? You okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m okay. You’re right. I’ve been blaming you for everything, but I was there too wasn’t I?”

  “You were. But hey, want to hear now what I was thinking?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  Mick smirked. The wedding plan would cheer him up for sure.

  “Well, I had this idea—”

  The doorbell rang downstairs. Who the hell would be here this time of night? “Listen, I’ll call you tomorrow. Someone’s at the door. Must be business.” Mick ran to the door before whoever it was rang again and woke the boys.

  It was Joey Manetti and his brother Vin. “This had better be really important for you two to come here this late.”

  “We got some bad news.”

  Mick led them in and shut the door behind them. He walked into his living room and they followed. “Go ahead. What did you mess up now? And keep your voices down, the kids are sleeping.”

  “You got another kid?” Joey asked.

  “Now is not the time, Joey. Just tell me why you’re here.”

  Joey looked at Vin. Vin looked back and shrugged so Joey explained.

  “We didn’t know where Ms. Hanes went after she checked out of the hotel so we couldn’t really follow her. The only place we knew she might show up, except the airport, was your office. Vin and me camped out in the lobby of your building. We were talking to the guy at the desk. He was all alone, wanted to chat. No big deal, you know. All of a sudden he says he has to go check something out. Says someone came into the loading dock wearing a black hat, keeping his face down. The guard said the guy put something over the camera.”

  “And?”

  “We knew it must be that Kurt Malone, the PI who killed those fill ins you contracted. So we finished off the guard and ran to the loading dock through the building to get him,” Joey said.

  “We took the stairs,” Vin added in. “So as not to be seen.”

  “Right,” Mick said sarcastically, “But you had your faces plastered all over the cameras in the main lobby.”

  Vin lowered his head in shame and let Joey finish.

  “So we went up the stairs. Seven fr
eakin’ flights.”

  “I know what floor I work on, thanks,” Mick said. These two bumbling idiots remind me of the morons who stole the puppies in 101 Dalmatians.

  “So we got up there and Malone was just leaving the office. Turns out Ms. Hanes was waiting for him outside at the loading dock and she must have signaled him. Must have heard us or something. He ran into an elevator and we lost him.”

  “So what else is new?”

  “He was carrying a bunch of files, Boss. He must have gotten them from the inside.”

  “Well, where the hell else do you think he could have gotten them? The outside? Which files? What drawer?”

  “We didn’t look,” Vin said. “We took the stairs and tried to cut him off before he got to the bottom.”

  Mick leaned against the couch to steady himself. They thought taking the stairs would be quicker than an elevator? Why’re all the people who work for me so stupid?

  “We got in some good shots though,” Vin said. “I was driving but Joey got off a few good rounds.” The cheerleader of the group.

  “But none hit?”

  “He must have special glass or something. I know Joey hit the truck. He must have.”

  “Well, he probably just grabbed some random files,” Mick said. “It was just a minute or two from the time he got in till you caught up with him at New Age right?”

  The bumblers looked at each other.

  “What?”

  “It took us a little while to take care of the guard. There was the body to dispose of.”

  “Get out. Both of you. Get out right now. You’re lucky your father is Daddy Puglisi’s best friend that’s all I have to say.”

  “We’re sorry, Mick.”

  “Just please get out before I forget my manners and do something stupid.”

  The men walked out and Mick locked the door again. Idiots.

  Mick sat on his couch and closed his eyes. No matter what files Malone grabbed, if he got more than one, he’d see a pattern. All he could hope was that Malone had taken some from the DM drawers, from Donna Mallory’s, or another donor’s cabinet. If he opened the one labeled GH, Mick was in trouble.

  He ran his fingers through his hair. Had to think positive. Maybe it wasn’t folders they stole at all but just a brochure about the agency. The advertising flyers had a tan background. Maybe Joey and Vin mistook that for files.