Blood and Bone (33 page)

When Hannibal released him, Vernon “Killer” Nilson, now known as Nelson Johnson, dropped to his knees and silently wept. He could never be punished enough, Hannibal thought, but fate had certainly made a good start of it.

Kyle Mortimer looked up from his bed into Hannibal's hazel eyes. Kyle was shaved bald, emaciated and heavily sedated, but his eyes looked unnaturally clear and sharp. He was riding down a hospital hallway, pushed by an orderly, his mother Camille gripping his right hand as they traveled. His grandfather walked beside the orderly, watching the IV tubes and occasionally telling the orderly to be careful. On his way to surgery, Kyle's concern was for those walking along with him.

“You don't look too good,” he told Hannibal. “You getting enough sleep?”

“You kidding?” Hannibal said. “Never been more relaxed. Why, it's been almost a week since anybody took a shot at me.” He knew the deep circles under his eyes contradicted his words, but how could he claim to feel bad next to Kyle's weakened condition? When they reached the door to the operating room, Kyle said “I knew you'd come through. Thanks.”

“Thank me when it's over,” Hannibal said. The wide, white double doors bounced open and Kyle disappeared into the mouth of fate. The small group stood for a moment, each with their own private thoughts, then they turned together and walked back to the waiting room.

The room was way too white, with a large screen television speaking softly at one end and a coffee urn gurgling at the other. In between was a collection of the most uncomfortable chairs and couches Hannibal had ever seen in the United States. Stuck among them in a corner, the biggest visitor looked no less uncomfortable. Scooter Johnson, now again known as Barbie Robinson, kept looking around like she was guilty of something and was sure someone would suspect. Cindy, seated beside her, patted her arm occasionally, in a reflexive comforting motion. Even at six in the morning her hair was perfectly waved and she looked professional in heels and a tan suit. And while a new dress and shoes could not hide Barbie's girth, she clearly had worked at looking as nice as she could.

Malcolm Lippincott sat staring at the floor on the other side of the room. Hannibal was surprised to see Camille take the empty seat beside Barbie. He considered how much alike their bodies must have looked eighteen years ago, before Barbie left her own country and took up the most degrading profession she could think of. How much did she grow to hate herself, he wondered. Was that why she had gained so much weight? Or was Barbie Robinson hiding in there under the perfect disguise of Scooter Johnson's obesity?

The way Camille looked at Barbie, it seemed clear she saw nothing except another mother in pain. “What your daughter is doing for my son, there are no words,” she said. “Thank you just seems so inadequate. It was pure luck that her blood and bone marrow matched his, even though Kyle would tell you it had to be. Still, she didn't have to agree to the transplant.”

“Of course she did,” Barbie said. “After what she tried to do to you people. She knows how wrong she was. Just as wrong as I was for not telling her who she was. By keeping her away, I almost killed your little boy.”

Camille did not pull away, although she was obviously taken aback. “You never told her you were my husband's…” To her credit, Camille stopped and started again as if she had not made a major gaff, as if she was correcting her grammar. “You never told her who her father was? Then by what miracle did she find her way into our lives? Were we right the first time? Did Mister Jones provide our salvation?”

All eyes turned to Hannibal who was drawing a cup of coffee from the urn. “My mother used to say the Lord works in mysterious ways,” he said. “Actually, Pat Louis should get the credit. True, he's the real villain of this piece. He corrupted Gabe Nieswand, and drove Abby Nieswand over the edge. But he's also the reason Angela came face to face with her grandfather.”

Hannibal sat in one of the plastic covered, sponge rubber cushioned chairs. “You see, when Killer Nilson went south across the border, his house became known as a hideout for thugs on the run from up north. All his old buddies from Baltimore knew that, for a price, they could get a room there until the heat died down. Years ago, Pat Louis went down. Killer figured he got rid of the competition for Barbie, but Louis still held a grudge. Now I figure anybody could see the way things were between them, so the most disruptive thing he could do was to tell Angela that Killer wasn't her father. He knew who Bobby Newton really was and who killed him. So he came up with the scheme of scamming the Mortimers. He told Angela if
she'd come to Virginia with him and do what he said, she'd get rich. Of course, he would too.”

“But Angela was gone a long time before she came up here,” Barbie said.

“That's because on their way back to the states, Louis got busted,” Hannibal said. “That's when Angela got herself adopted by a nice man in Corpus Cristi and got her education. When Louis got out he found her, and figured all she had done during that time was build herself a stronger back story. His scheme would go forward, even easier.”

Cindy nodded. “And to cement things, he seduced Abby Nieswand, got her to go to Atlantic City with him, and then called Gabe Nieswand to come get her. I guess it wasn't that hard for him to get Mister Nieswand into the plot.”

“He had the poor girl masquerading as herself,” Camille said. “Never let on the truth.”

“He couldn't,” Hannibal said. “If she knew she really was the girl she was pretending to be, she'd have no use for him. That would have done Louis out of any money. As it is, Nieswand cut him out anyway, permanently.”

Cindy checked her watch. “Afraid you've got to get a move on, lover.”

“Okay,” Hannibal said, “but I'll be back in an hour at the most. Take care of Scooter, I mean Barbie, okay?”

Harlan Mortimer's voice rumbled up from the seat by the door, and he stood to face Hannibal. “You don't have to worry about Miss Robinson. I'll make sure she's well cared for. She's family now. After all, she's the mother of my granddaughter. My granddaughter who, right now, is in there sharing her blood and bone with my grandson. Can't get any closer than that.”

“And I'll take care of Angela,” Malcolm said from his corner. “I know she's confused right now, but we'll work that all out. Even if I have to fight my old man.”

“Don't worry about Larry,” Harlan said. “He knows what's in the girl's heart. “He's in there assisting with the operation, isn't he? He'll see her different after this.”

“We're fine here,” Cindy added. “You just hurry back, lover.”

Hannibal crossed the room again to drop a kiss on Cindy's cheek, then headed out. Downstairs he was greeted by lark songs and the first rays of dawn. The cloudless sky was a shade of blue he had only seen once or twice except in dreams. He filled his lungs with a great gulp of air and jogged into the parking lot to his car. No one could tell it had ever been damaged. He would have to remember to send that repair shop a Christmas card.

He pulled his door open and peered inside. Jewel sat nodding in the passenger seat, looking fresher and younger than he had ever seen her. Her straight black hair gently embraced her dark face, the face of a Nubian princess, Nefertiti or Cleopatra. At first her face seemed incongruous resting above an oversize flannel shirt. But as he looked more closely, it seemed perfect there, much more natural than the leather and miniskirts he was used to seeing her in.

He sat without waking her, but she stirred when he shut his door. She offered him a relaxed smile which he accepted gratefully. “You ready?” he asked.

“I think so,” Jewel said. “Never thought I'd be nervous about a plane flight.”

He started the engine and pointed his car toward Reagan National Airport. “I wouldn't worry. No one on earth has the capacity to forgive and forget like your
mother does. Just keep thinking that tonight, for the first time in years, when you lay your head down, you'll be home.”

Jewel leaned back and closed her eyes, conjuring a scene Hannibal could only imagine. “Home,” she said.

Austin S. Camacho is a public affairs specialist for the Department of Defense. America's military people overseas know him because for more than a decade his radio and television news reports were transmitted to them daily on the American Forces Network.

He was born in New York City but grew up in Saratoga Springs, New York. He majored in psychology at Union College in Schenectady, New York. Dwindling finances and escalating costs brought his college days to an end after three years. He enlisted in the Army as a weapons repairman but soon moved into a more appropriate field. The Army trained him to be a broadcast journalist. Disc jockey time alternated with news writing, video camera and editing work, public affairs assignments and news anchor duties.

During his years as a soldier, Austin lived in Missouri, California, Maryland, Georgia and Belgium. While enlisted he finished his Bachelor's Degree at night and started his Master's, and rose to the rank of Sergeant First Class. In his spare time, he began writing adventure and mystery novels set in some of the exotic places he'd visited.

After leaving the Army he continued to write military news for the Defense Department as a civilian. Today he handles media relations for a division of the DoD. He has settled in Maryland with his family, including Princess the wonder cat.

Austin is a voracious reader of just about any kind of nonfiction, plus mysteries, adventures and thrillers. When he isn't working or reading, he's writing.

Keep up with all of Austin S. Camacho's latest accomplishments at
www.ascamacho.com

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