by Wally Duff
“This guy tried to kill us,” I said. “I shot him. He’s dead. We have to call the police.”
Frankie glanced at Rick before he replied. “It might be a problem if we call the cops.”
“I have to agree,” Rick said. “We should keep this in house, so to speak.”
“Guys, we have to call the cops,” I said.
“And say what?” Frankie asked.
“A man has been shot and killed,” I said.
“And who was the shooter?” Rick asked.
“I was.”
“You shot and killed a man you already shot twice before,” Frankie said. “And you called Janet the last time, so the police have a record of it.”
I am so screwed!
“This doesn’t look so good for me. What do we do?”
“We need to change things a little bit,” Frankie said.
“There are no security cameras in the garage or on this street, something we as shop owners constantly complain about,” Rick said.
“Unless someone was watching out a window, no one saw what happened,” I said. “What about the noise from the lupara?”
“Did you hear anything from the condo?” Frankie asked.
“No.”
“It’s been tricked up a little bit so it doesn’t sound like a shotgun, but the boys still need to remove the evidence.”
“The body?”
“The body, the van, and the body fluids evidence on the garage floor.”
“Where will you take them?” I asked.
“It’s harder to get rid of a vic’s body than you would think,” he said. “Best place is in new construction before they pour the cement.”
“Isn’t that what happened to Jimmy Hoffa?” I asked.
“I’m sayin’ this method has been used for years by my countrymen, and it works,” he said. “Now all we have to do is find a construction site.”
“I have one,” Rick said. “We’re remodeling a house on West Henderson in Lakeview. The basement will be the perfect place. We weren’t ready to pour cement for the floor, but now we can be.”
“What about the van?” I asked.
“The boys’ll leave it on the South Side with the keys in it,” Frankie said. “Won’t last long before it’s stolen and disappears in some neighborhood chop shop.”
Enzo drove the van up beside the body and stopped. Luca was in the passenger seat. Frankie walked over to tell them the plan. They got out and quickly moved the body and the RPG into the van.
“Rick, isn’t it going to be a little weird having a dead body buried underneath your home?” I asked.
“Personally, I think it’s kind of kinky, but then I’ve always been slightly bent.”
“What about David?” I asked.
Rick made a motion with his hand to zip his mouth shut. “Best not say anything, at least not yet. He doesn’t do well with blood, and I mean to tell you, a dead body buried under the washer and dryer in our basement would totally freak him out. I’ll tell him that part later, like a striptease, with a slow reveal.”
48
Rick called David on his cell phone and put him on speaker. We listened as he told David what happened. Rick didn’t mention specific details or what was going to happen to the body, but he told David to keep the girls way from the windows facing the parking garage.
David and the rest of the Irregulars sat in the family room when Rick and I returned to their condo. No one was talking or eating the food that had been prepared. The questions began before we could sit down to tell them what happened. I was afraid I was going to cry, but I didn’t have a chance.
“Do you think Diane Warren sent the guy?” Cas asked.
“That is a patently stupid question,” Linda said. “Obviously, she did. She hates you and Tina.”
“Gosh, I’m not so sure,” Molly said. “The guy was mad at Tina for shooting off his fingers, so maybe he did this on his own.”
“Then why didn’t he attack her at her home?” Linda asked. “Why did he include us in this rocket bomb fiasco? We could have been blown to bits.”
“Tina, you are kind of a bomb magnet,” Cas said, referring to the time I’d been blown up before.
I held my hands up. “Stop. This is not my fault.”
“Then whose fault it is?” Linda said. “It most certainly isn’t mine.”
“Ladies, please,” Rick said. “You were not ‘almost killed.’ Tina did a masterful job in handling this minor problem.”
“Thank you, Rick,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
“What exactly did happen over there?” Linda asked.
I opened my mouth to tell them, but Rick beat me to it. “Initially, we assumed the man had a rocket launcher of some type, but it proved to be a large telescope with a camera attached. By the time we arrived, Frankie and his crew had convinced the man to leave us alone forever.”
“And Tina didn’t shoot him again?” Linda asked.
“Do you see any evidence of that?” Rick asked. “Like shell casings for instance.” He stood up and waved his arms around the room. “Anywhere? Or the sound of a gunshot?”
“No, I don’t, but we were in the basement so we couldn’t hear anything,” she said. “And I thought I smelled gunpowder when we walked past the dining room.”
Rick peeked at David and raised his eyebrows. “Right,” David said. “That is the new furniture polish I found at Costco. Rick loathes it.”
“I do, indeed,” Rick said. “If Tina shot him, where is his body? Except for Zhukov, dead people don’t get up and walk away.”
“And you can call Frankie and ask him,” I said. “He’ll tell you exactly the same thing.”
Linda glanced down at her hands. “I’m sorry. Guns scare me, and I don’t even have words to describe how much a rocket would terrify me.”
“If I’d known the guy was going to be taking pictures of us, I would’ve worn something hot,” Molly said. “Do you think he’ll tell us next time so I can be prepared?”
“Honey, that’s one thing I can assure you of,” Rick said. “For him, Frankie told us there won’t be a next time.”
“I think we need to address this problem with Diane Warren,” I said. “We have to assume the guy worked for her.”
“Worked?” Linda asked.
This was the problem with having a smart lawyer for a friend. She didn’t miss a thing.
“Who cares?” I retorted. “He was here and now he’s gone, but she isn’t going anywhere, at least not that I know of. And we’re all safe.”
“I agree with Tina,” David said. “From what Diane’s hairstylist, Leslie, said, I feel certain that her dislike for all of you is genuine, and the sooner we do something to stop her, the better.”
The room was silent. Linda stood up and began pacing back and forth. “Diane Warren owns MidAmerica Hospital. Fertig, her major moneymaker, died. Now she’s having financial problems, which she blames on us. I think we need to investigate the severity of these problems and see what she’s doing to solve them.”
“And why she’s even bothering to do it,” Cas added.
“Do you think it’s something illegal?” Molly asked.
“She’s capable of it,” Cas said. “She won’t let breaking a few little laws stop her.”
“We need to research her hospital’s present cash flow and see where it’s coming from,” I said. “Any ideas where we begin?”
“How about visiting MidAmerica Hospital?” Linda asked. “Let’s go directly to the source.”
“Linda’s right,” Cas said. “Employees and nurses love to gossip.”
“Then we need to be there to listen,” I said.
49
Saturday morning, Linda and I stood in front of the double doors of the Medical ICU at MidAmerica Hospital. We were dressed as members of the janitorial company that serviced the hospital and the building where the Warren Law Offices, Peter’s family’s firm, were located. The office was attached to t
he MidAmerica Hospital.
Frankie’s friend owns the cleaning firm. The man had previously helped Linda and me do this before when we broke into those same offices while working on another story, so we already had picture IDs to open all the hospital’s locked doors. All we needed this time were the clean green uniforms which we now wore.
“Why do I always have to be a janitor?” Linda asked. “Why can’t I be nurse or, better, a doctor?”
“You’ve had experience at being a janitor,” I said.
“Doesn’t this company have any other color uniforms?” she continued. “Forest green isn’t good for me.” She held up her ID badge. “And I want a new picture. This one makes me look fat.”
“Do you always have to complain when we do something like this?”
“I’m good at it. That’s why I became a lawyer.” She paused. “By the way, you look tired.”
Almost being blown up and then killing the man who tried to do it didn’t do anything to help me sleep last night. When I arrived home from the David and Rick’s, all I wanted to do was hug my two girls. Carter noticed but, thankfully, didn’t ask me what was wrong. But I had to leave them again on Saturday morning because Diane’s story — and our safety — demanded it.
Working on stories and daily journaling had been my way to push through tough times before. I was doing the “work” part now. The journaling would come tonight after my family was asleep.
We pushed through the double doors and entered the ICU. Medicinal odors immediately attacked my previously injured PTSD brain. I had to stop and close my eyes as the memories of being blown up and near death in an ICU like this washed over me. Other scents, like gunpowder, I can handle, but hospital smells still bother me.
“Are you okay?” Linda whispered.
“Give me a second,” I said. “I don’t do well in an ICU.”
“I guess almost getting killed while chasing a story will do that to you.”
“Tell me.” I took in a deep breath and opened my eyes. “I’ll take the nurse’s station. Where are you going?”
“Not the bathroom. I don’t do bathrooms.” She turned her cart around. “I’m thinking the break room. The nurses will be relaxed and be more likely to talk.”
“And there might be some free snacks from drug companies.”
“There is that, but I’m back on my diet, so that’s not a problem.”
I began emptying wastebaskets at the nurse’s station. A doctor stood at the nurse’s desk.
“I’m sorry, Doctor,” one of the nurses sitting down behind the counter said. “Would you repeat that?”
He mumbled something, but she didn’t react. They stared at each other until he moved to one of the computer terminals and typed in what he needed.
His orders flashed up on her screen. “Right away, Doctor,” she said.
When she stood up, I caught her eye and nodded toward the man’s back as he walked away. “They’re hard to understand,” I said. “A lot of them seem to have accents.”
“Almost all of the FMGs are like that.”
“What’s that?”
“Foreign Medical Graduates. Makes for long days for the nursing staff, especially with all the low sick patients we’ve been seeing lately.”
“Aren’t they all sick in here?” I asked.
She took a sip from a can of Coke. “They are, but recently there have been all kinds of weird autoimmune admits. It would be easier on all of us if these doctors could at least communicate with us in English.”
“Where’s he from?”
“Who knows? India, Pakistan, maybe Russia, some place where he didn’t learn our language.” She went to the medicine cabinet and unlocked it. “It’s not like the old days.”
“I’ve only been here a month. What happened to the doctors who speak English?”
“No one will say, but I heard they got fired.”
There was a commotion in the hallway. I turned around to see what was going on. Two security guards walked out of the break room. Linda was between them.
Each guard held one of her elbows as they pushed her toward the elevators. My gun was jammed underneath the trash in my cart. Pushing my cart in front of me, I quickly followed, trying to catch them while at the same time rummaging around in the trash hunting for my gun.
They stepped on the elevator and the door slid shut before I could get there. I stood in front of the closed doors pounding on the down button.
“Finally,” a nurse said, who had walked up next to me.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“They caught the person who’s been stealing our free snacks.”
50
The elevator doors opened, and I shoved the cart on. The nurse entered behind me and pushed the button for the main floor.
“Where’s the security office?” I asked.
She stared me. “Don’t you know where it is?”
“I’m new here. The lady they busted was showing me around.”
“Was she teaching you how to steal our food too?”
“No way. Did you see how big her butt is? I was the one doing all the work while she ate.”
“Security’s on the ground floor, near the pharmacy.”
She pushed “G” for me and then exited on the first floor. I pushed my cart off on the ground floor and parked it in front of the first women’s bathroom I came to. I dug the gun out of the trash, put it in the back of my pants, and pulled my top down to cover it up. Then I entered the bathroom and speed-dialed Frankie on my cell phone.
“We’re in trouble,” I said. “The security guards at the hospital made us.”
“How?” Frankie asked.
“Linda ate some food that was intended for the nursing staff. I think they saw her do it by using a surveillance camera hidden in the break room.”
“Better ditch the janitor outfit.”
“I can’t. I dressed at home and don’t have any other clothes.”
“Got your gun?”
“I do.”
“Maybe you can shoot your way out.”
“I have a better idea, but your guy needs to shut down the security cameras.”
“I’ll call him, pronto, but you gotta give me five.”
“Better make it three.”
51
I had to do something in a big hurry.
Fertig.
When I worked on his story, I accessed the male doctor’s locker room using the same picture ID card Frankie’s guy had made for me that I was now wearing again. This time, the female locker room was my answer.
My heart pounded against my sternum as I rushed toward that door. I prayed the security cameras had been disabled as I ran my ID card over the lock. The green light flashed on. There was a click, and I pulled open the door.
Several nurses and a couple of female doctors were in there changing clothes, but I wore my janitor’s outfit and no one looked up when I walked in.
I took a blue scrub suit into the bathroom and changed as quickly as I could, transferring the Glock into the back of my pants and again covering it with my top. I walked out wearing my scrub suit and left the janitor’s suit in a laundry basket.
By the exit door into the OR, I found paper scrub hats in a box on a shelf along with the paper surgical masks and paper booties. I slid on the paper booties over my ASICs. I put on the hat which covered my hair, but even better, except for my eyes, the mask hid the rest of my face.
I saw a long white lab coat hanging on a hook. There was a stethoscope in the pocket of the coat. I put it on and hung the scope around my neck. I grabbed a pair of disposable protective plastic eyeglasses and slipped them on too.
When I stepped back into the main hallway, two security men ran past me. They pulled out their guns when they saw my janitor’s cart in front of the bathroom.
One of them yanked out a handheld radio. “We found her cart in front of the women’s bathroom on the ground floor,” he said. “What do you want us to do?”
“Go
in and get her,” the voice said over the radio.
With their guns held in front of them, they slammed the bathroom door open and barged in. The noise of them banging the stall doors open echoed out into the hallway, followed by a “She’s not here…” call on the radio.