Chaos at Crescent City Medical Center
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Authors: Judith Townsend Rocchiccioli
Chaos at Crescent City Medical Center
By Judith Townsend Rocchiccioli
Text Copyright © 2012
by
Judith Townsend Rocchiccioli
All Rights Reserved
This novel is dedicated to the thousands of practicing nurses around the world who care endlessly for patients who are critically, terminally and chronically ill. The significance of their work, their tireless spirits and boundless knowledge of mankind, their experiential wisdom and the complex care they offer can never be quantified, nor can its impact be understood unless you are their patient.
Seeing this novel in print will be the culmination of many years of dreaming and hard work. I could write 300 pages simply listing and thanking the people who have helped me pursue this dream. First of all, I would like to thank my huge circle of family, friends and former and current students for their support of my writing and their reassurances that
Chaos at Crescent City Medical
Center
was a great novel and would be published. I would like to thank Dr. Sherry Sandkam of Richmond, VA who encouraged me many years ago to pursue my dream of writing and spent many hours reviewing my work. I would like to recognize and thank Dr. Anne Horrigan, an awesome emergency department nurse who was a technical advisor for me during the emergency department shoot-out, Dr. Julie Strunk, a faculty member at James Madison University who assisted me with the final editing of the novel and Captain Bill Lange (ret) of the Henrico County Fire Department who consulted with me about electrical fires and injuries.
Additionally, I want to express my sincere gratitude to all of my wonderful friends who have encouraged me over the years.
I would also like to thank my good friend Eric Blumensen for his encouragement and assistance throughout this process. With Eric's assistance and editing, this book is finally a reality.
Judith Townsend Rocchiccioli is a native Virginian and holds graduate and doctoral degrees from Virginia Commonwealth University and the University of Virginia. She has been a practicing clinical nurse for over 25 years and is currently a professor of Nursing at James Madison University and the author of numerous academic and health-related articles and documents. Her first novel is based on her experiences living and teaching in New Orleans. When not teaching or writing, Judith is an avid silk painter and multi-media artist. She lives in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia with her family and six dogs.
The pungent smell of Cajun spices pe
rmeated the
February
New Orleans
air
. With only one week before Carnival,
the French Quarter was blazing with activity. Ornate iron balconies bowed under the weight of dozens of people, pressed together tightly for a better look at the street below. Being "up" on a balcony during Mardi Gras was prestigious, giving one an immense sense of power and control over the crowd below. You could get people in the streets to do just about anything for a Mardi Gras "throw" -- a string of plastic beads or an aluminum doubloon.
Raoul Dupree, a waiter at
Tuja
gu
e
'
s
Restaurant, was smoking outside the door of the European-styled bistro. His eyes were riveted on a gorgeous man hanging over a balcony a few doors down. The man was teasing a lovely but drunk young woman in the street. The man fingered a string of gold beads in front of her and repeated "show your tits" continuously. Others on the balcony picked up the chant, and it became louder and louder, almost deafening. The young woman kept reaching for the gold beads, just to have them snatched from her grasp each time. She looked around and smiled drunkenly and benignly at the large crowds gathered nearby and above on the balconies. The man was smiling at her, taunting her and luring her to grab the beads. The chant had become louder and frenzied. Crowds on the street and adjoining balconies were wildly excited and picked up the rhythm, hollering, clapping and stamping their feet. Finally, in the flick of an instant, the young woman pulled up her white T-shirt exposing her perfectly shaped breasts. The crowd went wild, clapping and shouting with approval. The woman grabbed her beads held them up for the crowd and quickly disappeared into an alley.
Raoul smiled to himself, shaking his head. Mardi Gras still amazed him. After a lifetime of Carnival seasons, he still wasn't used to the heavy partying, drunken and lewd behavior so common during the season. People would do anything for a Mardi Gras trinket. He shook his head and shrugged his frail shoulders as his eyes again located the handsome man just as a hand reached out and roughly grabbed his blonde hair and shoulder. Raoul startled and looked around quickly and saw the flushed face of the frowning
Tujague’s
maitre d'/bouncer.
"Your boys in the private booth are getting anxious, Raoul. Better get your skinny ass up there and keep ‘em happy. We don't want any of those sons of bitches on our bad side," said
the burly maitre d' said as he gestured toward the door.
Raoul stamped out his cigarette butt, grimaced and ran up two flights of steps to a private dining room where three men sat smoking after a long lunch.
Tujague’s
, the oldest restaurant in the French Quarter, had a reputation for privacy and discretion and was a meeting place for prominent New Orleanians engaged in all sorts of business legal and illegal. Privacy, circumspect service and seven-course prix fixe dinners made the restaurant a favorite.
The men were talking quietly as Raoul loitered outside the dining room. One glance at the group convinced him not to interrupt. He recognized one man, but he'd never seen the others and wondered how they were connected. From what he'd observed, he didn’t think they knew each other well and doubted if they'd ever been together before. They didn't seem to mix. After cocktails and several bottles of wine, the tone of their conversation had moved from strained politeness to menacing. The maitre d' had wasted no words when he'd told Raoul to stay out of the room except to serve. Each time he'd entered the private booth conversation stopped.
The man Raoul recognized was
Frederico
Petrelli, better known as “Rico”, reputedly a mob boss from Chicago who'd recently moved to New Orleans to oversee the "Dixie Mafia's" activities in the Riverboat and land gambling operations. Raoul knew Rico because he often dined at
Tujague’s
and usually had his special waiter, Matthew. Unfortunately, Matthew was off today due to injuries he'd received last week.
Ra
oul kept his distance as he eyed
the group and decided he never wanted to run up against
Frederico
. He was in his mid-fifties, balding and at least 40 pounds overweight. He had a long irregular scar on his right forearm, and dark beady eyes. He glared at his companions with distrust and impatience. His thick pursed lips moved back and forth over a wet cigar in his mouth. Frederico was a classic picture of a vicious Chicago mafia boss.
The second man was also distinctive but in a different manner than the gangster. This man was tall, with a swarthy complexion. His dark oiled hair was pulled back into a ponytail. He had a long face with an aquiline nose and thin lips that seemed to curl in a permanent smirk. His eyes were strange, the color somewhere between a blackish-yellow
,
and they gave the man a sinister appearance. It was impossible to tell his age. He could be anywhere between 30 and 60. His body was big, well-proportioned and in perfect shape. Raoul was pretty sure about this because he spent most of his time visually undressing men and he could easily imagine the
man’s six pack abs. His clothes were expensive, as was the gold medallion hanging around his neck. He wore dark trousers and a custom-designed dark shirt opened at the neck. He caressed a leather strap in his lap as if it were his lover as he alternately tapped his well-manicured nails against the hand-rubbed walnut table. His dark eyes moved side to side as he followed the conversation between the other two men. His eyes were unreadable and gave him a menacing and evil appearance. Raoul's attention was drawn again to the leather strap in the ponytailed man's lap as he continued to stroke the strap. The ponytailed stranger said little, instead following the conversation between
Frederico
and the third man. The ponytailed man
gave Raoul the creeps, and Raoul rubbed away the chill bumps that had appeared on his arms. Raoul shuddered, thinking the man looked like the devil with those yellow-black eyes and dubbed him “the evil one”.
The third man was less distinctive. Raoul wouldn't have paid much attention to him had his companions not been so macabre. The third man was about 40 years old with brown hair and an honest face. He spoke with a
Midwest
accent and seemed ordinary. The ordinary man was speaking when
Frederico
summoned Raoul into the dining room.
Frederico
rudely interrupted him.
"Give us sambukas all the way around. Also, a pot of espresso, and get the fuck out of here,"
Frederico
barked at Raoul.
Raoul left quickly but heard the ordinary man say,
don’t
care what you do. I want Robert Bonnet ruined and dead. I don't know what your interests are in the Bonnets and the medical center, but I want the man dead. He killed my wife and baby three years ago. Kill him. He had a wild look in his eyes, and was shaking. He appeared unstable.
Raoul's ears picked up at the mention of Robert Bonnet. He knew Dr. Bonnet from the medical center where he worked as a volunteer on the AIDS floor. Dr. Bonnet had operated on his lover last year when no other surgeon had been willing to. Dr. Bonnet hadn't cared that Josh had AIDS and would probably die anyway but had pulled strings to give Josh a chance to get a new liver and live longer. He'd given Josh a lot of comfort before he had died. Hearing threats against Dr. Bonnet encouraged Raoul to take a risk, and he paused for a moment, eavesdropping outside the room.
Frederico
glared at the third man with a bored expression and said harshly, "Shut up, choir boy. No time for emotions. They get in the way of business and cause mistakes. No
mistakes, you hear?" The gangster’s voice had become low and threatening as he glared at the ordinary man. "You make a mistake, you pay."
The ordinary man, frantic, stared at him. The evil one with the ponytail simply nodded his head, said "Salute" and raised his cup in a toast.
Rico continued to glare at the ordinary man and said "Get it choir boy, no mistakes. You know what to do."
The ordinary man nodded.
Raoul returned to the serving area, his heart thudding heavily in his chest.