by Tom Fowler
“Calvin does, and I'm sure Iris will want to know her grandma. Speaking of all this, how's your health?”
“I told you not to worry about me.” Denise tried to give her voice a hard edge, but she didn't have the strength for it. It sounded depressing, and despite her protests, I would maintain my level of concern.
“Not much of an answer,” I said.
She remained quiet for a minute. I waited her out. Most people don't do silence well, and they'll fill in the gaps once the conversation gets too awkward for them. Denise proved to be no exception. “I'm all right. Doing better than a few months ago when Calvin got involved in all this mess.” She sighed, and it came through my phone as a weak hiss. “I'll need another round of the immunotherapy I'm in. It's a chemo alternative. I have an appointment at Hopkins soon.”
This didn't sound good, and it also didn't sound cheap. “Does Calvin know?”
“No, and don't you tell him, neither.”
“I won't,” I said. “It's your place.”
“I know.” She paused. “Maybe I’ll tell him. I probably need him to drive me there. I'm just worried he'll stay in college another year and keep dealing with Eddie.”
I didn't think this likely. If Calvin were an early NBA draft choice, he'd have the money to afford the therapy without needing to deal with an asshole like Eddie Ferrugia. He'd need to wait a few months for the process to play out, though. If Denise required the money sooner, Calvin might go running to his banker. None of us wanted this outcome. “I'll get him out,” I said. I still had no idea how I would make this happen.
“Good. You worry about Calvin, Iris, and Tamika. Don’t lose sleep over me.”
I would try to work things out for everyone, including Denise. Damn her objections—if I could solve her problems, too, I'd do it.
After breakfast at a much more reasonable hour, Calvin texted me. Hey. I’m taking my mom to the doctor soon. Maybe we can talk after?
“Finally,” I said aloud. Gloria looked up from reading something on her phone and shot me a quizzical look. “I think Calvin is ready to talk to me.”
“Wow, that’s great.” She smiled and squeezed my hand. “I knew you’d wear him down eventually.”
“I think the situation got to him more than anything. I’ll take it, though.” I replied to his message. Sounds good. When and where?
While I waited for him to respond, I brewed a second carafe of coffee. Once it finished, I poured myself a cup, stirred it, carried the elixir back to my small kitchen table, and sat. No reply. I fixed Gloria a second mug. Still nothing. For someone who seemed eager to talk to me, Calvin clammed up in a hurry. I went upstairs, put on actual clothes, and came back down. Silence. I frowned at my phone.
“You think he ghosted you?” Gloria said.
“I’m not sure. He seemed sincere . . . as far as I can tell from a short message at least. He certainly needs the help.”
“I’m sure it’ll work out.”
I didn’t share her optimism, so I sent Calvin another message. Hey, you there? While helping clients in my job has been something I’ve enjoyed more than I expected, some people made the process into an ordeal. I remembered what Denise said earlier: she had an appointment at Hopkins soon. Maybe even today.
Health information like this is surprisingly easy to get. Hacking Hopkins would be time-consuming, so I opted for good old-fashioned social engineering. I called the oncology department, said I was Calvin, and wanted to confirm my mother’s appointment time. The helpful receptionist told me Denise was due in at twelve-thirty, about three hours from now. I thanked her and hung up. These tactics work because people want to be helpful. Far less scrupulous hackers than I have exploited similar situations to disastrous ends.
“I’ll talk to him later whether he wants to or not,” I said.
“Using your powers for good?” asked Gloria with a grin.
“Mostly.” I checked for messages and found none.
A few minutes later, I left to run an errand. The Caprice sat on the parking pad, and Gloria’s coupe took up the other spot. I walked out the front door toward my S4 a few houses down. I’ve lived on this street for almost two years. By now, I knew most of the neighbors’ cars. A gray BMW SUV I didn’t recognize stood out. Its engine fired up, and the driver steered it away from the curb.
I moved behind a pickup truck, standing behind the engine as I slid my 9MM out of its holster. The SUV crept toward me. I held the gun in front of my midsection, hidden by the truck’s hood. The BMW’s windows were already down. The driver and someone behind him both glowered at me. I recognized the fellow in the back as one of the men I tangled with at Hanson. I raised the gun to the point they could see it. The vehicle sped away.
I watched it drive up the street and make a right turn before I walked back inside.
I felt like I’d been talking on the phone more than usual with this case. Like most millennials, I preferred to text. The world doesn’t always cooperate, however. I needed to make another call after the goonmobile did its slow cruise up Riverside Avenue.
“Been a little while,” Rollins said when he picked up. I first worked with him when I hired him as a bodyguard about a year ago. A particularly tough case saw a couple attempts on my life, and I needed someone to watch my back. A family friend and retired colonel recommended Rollins. We’ve worked together a few times since. He’s retired Army, knocking on the door of forty, and very capable.
“Sometimes, I wear my big boy pants and solve cases on my own,” I said.
“And other times, you come running to me?”
“I don’t think I’m running . . . more of a stroll at this point.” Rollins didn’t say anything. I could picture him rolling his eyes. He didn’t find me nearly as funny as I actually was. His loss. “I’m working something, and it’s taken a serious turn recently.”
“Fill me in,” he said. I did. When I finished, he asked, “These guys know who you are now.”
“A hazard of being in the phone book.” I wondered who put the BMW crew on to me. I didn’t tell everyone who I was. Word got around, however. Would Calvin dime me out? What about Coach Baker? If he gave me up, it meant he was also in league with Eddie Ferrugia on some level. This got worse the more I thought about it.
“You want me to hang around for a couple days?”
“I think it’d be prudent. I don’t know a lot about the guy I’m ultimately going after yet. He’s something of a wild card.”
“What’s your next move?”
“Our next move. Calvin is supposed to take his mother to the doctor later. He said he wanted to talk to me, but then he fell off the face of the earth.”
“You want to crash the woman’s cancer appointment?”
“Not crash,” I said. “It’ll be a polite interruption. If we can leave her out of it, I’d like to. Maybe Calvin doesn’t go back with her. If he’s in the waiting room, we can get to him.”
“You don’t think the mom will recognize you?” Rollins said.
“Let’s worry about it when we’re there. The appointment is at twelve-thirty. They’ll be driving from Waverly. You know it?”
“A little.”
“Same here. I think I know the route they’ll take, so we can tail them after they leave.”
We made arrangements for Rollins to pick me up in his obnoxious pickup truck, which would go unrecognized by Denise, Calvin, and the goon squad. We would then tail mother and son to the former’s appointment. If this worked, maybe I could make some ground in this case for once.
I couldn’t summon the optimism.
"You sure they're going to come this way?" Rollins asked as we sat in his truck. I much preferred cars, but this monster featured a nice interior, tinted windows, and enough horsepower to turn heads on the street racing circuit.
"No," I admitted, "but it's the most direct route."
"You assume the kid's driving?"
I nodded. "Probably using a GPS, too. If he does, it should take him this way." We were parked
in a lot off Harford Road, more or less around the corner from where Denise Murray lived. If they drove past us, they would continue past Lake Montebello and Clifton Park Golf Course, then head into downtown and the hospital via either Wolfe or Broadway. "Either way, we know where he's headed."
"Why are we following him, then?"
"I presume he'll go in with his mother. Considering he ghosted me after saying he wanted to talk, though, I'd like to have eyes on him in case he doesn't."
"All right." We lapsed into silence. I glanced at my watch. They should be passing us any moment now. About a minute later, we watched a silver Hyundai Elantra drive past. The driver looked crammed into the front seat.
"There they are," I said, even though Rollins had already put the truck into gear and pulled out. I told him the color, make, and model of the car when we began our vigil. He probably saw it a hundred yards before I did. We settled in behind Calvin and Denise, always keeping at least one vehicle as a buffer. They rode in the left lane all the way; Rollins changed lanes periodically, even getting ahead of them at one point before falling back. If Calvin were paranoid enough to think he might be tailed, he wouldn't suspect the pickup.
They turned down Broadway. After a few blocks, it became obvious they weren't veering off, stopping, or doubling back as a counter to being followed. Rollins zoomed around the Elantra, and we made good time on the way to the hospital. "I'll wait in the garage," he said as I got out. I walked in and scanned the lobby. Hopkins is a terrific hospital with many of the finest doctors in the world, and their facilities are above par, but the budget didn't extend to improving the lobby. I watched a video about the oncology department, which helpfully provided a list of the doctors working in it.
When it was my turn at the desk, I said, "I'm here to see Doctor Cheng" to the receptionist. She didn't ask any other questions and printed me a guest badge showing my destination as the cancer wing and Cheng as the doctor I would see. For a major hospital operating in a violent city, this struck me as lax security. Considering how easy it made what I needed to do, however, I saved my complaints for another day.
I rode the elevator to the fourth floor and veered left to the oncology area. Once I stepped off, the familiar smells of hospitals filled my nose. Antiseptic, cleaner, and general sickness made for an unpleasant mix. Once I walked into the cancer wing, I added malaise to the mix. Some of the people in here had already received the worst news of their lives. Some were about to hear it today. I wondered how many of them wouldn't survive to see their next visit. The whole place made me morose. I didn't have a lot of good memories of hospitals--I figured few people did--so I picked up a random copy of Sports Illustrated. I faced away from the entrance and made sure I could see it reflected when I held up my phone.
A few minutes later, Denise Murray opened the door, followed by her much taller son. I covered my features entirely, shifted in the chair, and eyed them from the side as they walked past. Denise exchanged pleasantries with the receptionist, who told her Dr. Cheng would be out to see her shortly. They sat behind me and to my left. "You need me to go back with you?" Calvin asked.
"I'll be fine," Denise said, though the words didn't match the lack of strength in her voice. I hoped she would.
I glanced over my shoulder to see Calvin watching basketball film on a tablet. At least he possessed good study habits. A short while later, Denise was summoned behind another door. After she left, I put the magazine down again, walked around to the next row of chairs, and plopped down beside Calvin. He spared me a brief glance. Plenty of open seats remained. I wondered if he would notice and look at me again.
He did.
I said, "Hi, Calvin."
His eyes widened, and he scooted back as much as the chair would allow him. "Who are you? Did Eddie send you?"
"No. We were talking about me helping you with your Eddie problem, and then you fell silent."
Calvin's posture eased as recognition dawned in his eyes. Our first meeting had been contentious. This one didn’t shape up to be much better. "Yeah. I'm busy, man. Got a game to prep for."
"You've got a lot more to prep for. We need to have a chat."
"So chat."
I rolled my eyes. "Not here. Let's go downstairs. We can be back before your mother comes out."
Calvin sat in silence. He seemed like he remembered me, so he must have also recalled the part of our conversation covering the fate of three football players turned goons. He powered off his tablet. "Fine. I'll talk to you."
"It's the first good decision you've made in a while."
Calvin didn't respond. He probably knew he deserved it.
Chapter 15
We sat at a table in the vast hospital cafeteria. The lunch crowd complicated matters, but I found us a secluded spot. I drank a mediocre coffee while Calvin chowed down on a turkey sandwich. I’d considered making a crack about buying him lunch affecting his college eligibility. The reality, of course, was news of his arrangement with Eddie would torpedo his college career anyway, not to mention damage his NBA prospects. This was another complication in the case. Guaranteeing the young man’s present couldn’t come at the expense of his future. I walked a tightrope, and the wind blew from many directions at once.
“What are we doing here?” Calvin said between bites.
“You’re eating the most expensive shitty-looking sandwich I’ve ever bought,” I said. “Take your time, but we need to get down to brass tacks. This is important. It’s not just your neck in the noose.”
“You think Eddie will go after people I know?”
I sipped my java. Cream and sugar did not improve it. Mediocrity can only be elevated so far. “He can’t very well go after you, can he? You’re not much good to him with a broken leg. Maybe he can get another guy or two on the team, but without you, the lines are going to be different . . . harder to manipulate.”
“Wow,” he said, “you’ve really thought about this.”
“Good thing one of us is.”
Calvin winced. “Ain’t cool.”
“What ‘ain’t cool’ is your entire arrangement.” He scowled, but I pressed on. “I get why you did it. But you had to know where this was going to end up. Someone like Eddie doesn’t just let you go once he’s got the hooks into you.”
“I can’t lose my mom, man.” Calvin punctuated this point with an angry chomp of his sandwich. “Can’t.”
“We need to figure out how to get you away from Eddie.”
“Good luck.” Calvin sighed and set his lunch down. “I thought I’d be done by now. Eddie said he’d cover the treatment, and I owed him some games. He told me about ten or twelve if the action was good.” This jibed with what I discovered going through the results of JHC’s games. “Early on, I asked how things was going. He told me it’s all good. Money’s coming in. So I figured I’m out after ten games or so, like the man said.” He shook his head. “Turns out Eddie likes the money. He don’t want to let me go.”
“And now your mother might need another round of this treatment.”
His thin brows pulled down. “She told you?” I replied with a single nod. “Yeah. Some new immunotherapy. It’s working well. She’s still kinda weak, but she’s a lot better than she was a few months ago.” Calvin showed a small smile. “They told us it could take two rounds.”
“You’re going pro,” I said. “A portion of your signing bonus would pay for the next round.”
“It would . . . if we had time to wait. The draft ain’t for a while. I’d be looking at months until I got paid.”
“But Eddie could give you the money now.”
“Yeah. I’d owe him another year.”
“Then what?”
“What do you mean?”
“After another year, you’ll graduate. Does he think his scheme is going to work in the pros?” Calvin could simply write Eddie a check out of his bonus if he went pro this summer. He probably understood this, but I didn’t want to push him to defy the man funding his mother’s
climb toward good health.
“I don’t know,” he said. A few nurses walked by, and we paused our conversation as they passed. One of them eyed Calvin like she recognized him, but they didn’t say anything as they sat a few tables away.
“There’s a lot more visibility in the NBA,” I said, keeping my voice lower and hoping Calvin would follow suit. “Local and national media, all the sports shows, talk shows, Twitter analysts . . . it’s going to be a lot harder to pull this off at the next level. You’re in a small conference now. Fewer eyes on you. Even in the tournament, fixing a game becomes a lot harder.”
“I tried to tell Eddie this,” Calvin said. “He’s determined to try. He says he’s got analysts who can get us past all the attention.”
“You believe him?”
“He’s been pretty smart so far.”
“Maybe he’s been pretty lucky, too. So have you. If word of this got out, you’d be cooked. You may not even get drafted.”
“I know.” Calvin couldn’t take his eyes off the tabletop as his head bobbed. Maybe he’d already explored the depths of his situation and found them hopeless. “So how do we get Eddie out of the picture without exposing everything?”
“It’s tough. I think I need to talk to him.”
“Talking ain’t gonna get it done.”
“It works for diplomats.” While I didn’t think I possessed a great deal of diplomacy—especially when seated across from parasites like Eddie Ferrugia—I needed to try.
“I’m worried about my daughter, too,” Calvin said. “It ain’t just my mom.”
“I know. There are a lot of moving parts here.”
“Can you juggle them all?”
“I’m sure gonna try,” I said. We fell silent while Calvin went back to his sandwich. I stared at my coffee as if compelling it to taste better. I took another sip. It didn’t. Something about Coach Baker jumped into my mind. My offensive line welcoming committee only visited after I talked to him. “Does your coach know what’s going on?”