NANOVISION: What Would You Do With X-ray Vision? (8 page)

Chapter 5

"Happy birthday to you.

Happy birthday to you.

Happy birthday dear Daniel.

Happy birthday to you!"

Daniel had
arrived. He was finally twenty-one and the house was decorated with balloons
and crepe paper along with the rest of the trappings that make for a momentous
occasion. For the young man it was the crowning finale to the last four years.
His life had changed so much, tumultuous at first, but finally easing into a
reign of peace and tranquility. He and the Santini family had come together,
their lives boring to the point of routine and stability−and Daniel’s
salvation. Katie was twelve and turning into a beautiful young lady and Ethyl,
well, she was a little more gray and carried a few more wrinkles, but still on
top of her game.

Unfortunately,
life is like a roller coaster filled with ups and downs that take us to places
we never thought we could imagine. And this was the case for Daniel.

“So you feel any
older?” asked Ethyl, as she and Daniel cleared the paper plates from the table.

Daniel chuckled.
“I’m not sure−but thank you very much for the party. I don’t think I’ve
had one of those in... well, actually I can’t remember when I ever had a
surprise party.” 

“Well, I’m glad
you enjoyed it,” said Ethyl. She looked at Daniel with pride−he’d grown
at least three inches since moving in with them.
Where had the last four
years gone?
“Oh, I almost forgot.” She reached into her apron pocket. “I do
have one other thing... here, it’s from Katie and me.” She handed him a small
present wrapped in bright paper.

Daniel smiled.
“You didn’t need to get me anything.”

She laughed. They
both knew that wasn’t true and he quickly opened the gift, examining it with
his fingers, instantly recognizing the gift.

“A phone!” he
exclaimed.

“Not just any
phone,” she quickly noted. “It’s special, made for people like you whose sight
is impaired. It has GPS and Braille lettering on the key pad−you can also
program it for voice commands. And it’s sight intuitive. It can provide a description
of your immediate surroundings.”

“Wow!” proclaimed
Daniel. “Aunt Ethyl − What can I say? Thank you.” He felt her presence
next to him. Turning, he leaned over to give her a kiss when the moment was
broken by a sudden jolt of pain hitting his temple. Daniel grabbed the side of
his head and cried out.

“Daniel, what is
it?” asked Ethyl. “Another headache?”

Daniel held his head,
massaging his temple. “Yeah,” he answered.

“What’s the
matter?” asked Katie, wandering into the room. 

“Daniel’s having
another headache.”

“Geeze, again.”

The two helped
Daniel to a chair.

“I think we need
to call Dr. Muller,” said Ethyl.

“No, I’ll be all
right,” Daniel replied. “It’ll pass.”

“No, not this
time young man. You’ve been getting these for two weeks now. Something’s wrong
and we need to have it checked out.”

*   *   *   *

Everyone thinks
Vegas is hot because it’s in the middle of the desert, but come December it can
be downright cold. The wind whips down from the north hitting the snow atop the
Charleston Mountain Range, sending freezing temperatures down onto sin city,
forcing even the hookers to wear coats. Today was one of those days and Sid and
Bruno weren’t especially happy to be standing outside. It was four o’clock with
the sun low and the temperature falling fast. The two henchmen pressed
themselves against one of the concrete columns of Sunrise Hospital’s parking
garage for shelter. It was the best they could do to keep out of the wind while
watching the employee entrance to the hospital. Huddled there, they smoked
while Mickey waited in the car. Their job was to snag the mark Mickey was
looking for. His name was Brad and he owed Mickey money.

It took about
fifteen minutes, but Brad finally exited the hospital. He was a young,
overweight security guard, still dressed in his uniform. Zipping up his
grey-blue work coat the young man slipped on a pair of gloves and crossed the
parking lot making his way to his car. He was unaware of anyone waiting for him
and Sid and Bruno did their best to remain unseen. Hiding behind the concrete
column they waited patiently as he approached. When the young man passed they
grabbed him, each goon snagging one of his arms. Brad almost had a heart attack
as the two thugs bounced him across the lot toward Mickey’s car. His mouth ran
a mile a minute as he pleaded with the two.

“Hey−guys!
What the fuck? Ahh, come on guys. Come on. I have the money. Let me go. I have
it really.”

“Shut-up!”
ordered Bruno.

“Mickey wants to
talk,” said Sid.

Arriving at
Mickey’s car, the henchmen opened the rear door and threw Brad inside. He
stumbled and collapsed onto the floor, his face kissing the leather. Sid kicked
him in the ass, shoving him fully inside. They slammed the door and stood guard
while Mickey took over, greeting Brad with knife in hand.

Brad looked up to
see Mickey’s wicked grin. At first he almost didn’t recognize the mobster. His
hair was cut short and his face was covered now by a reddish brown
beard−something he had grown for the winter to keep his face warm and
hide his scar.

“Brad, me lad...
‘ow are yah?” Mickey greeted, sardonically.

 Instantly, Brad began to
beg. “Mickey, please, I have part of the money. It’s here in my pocket.” He
reached into his pants struggling to pull out his cash. Out popped a wad of
bills which he dropped on the seat next to Mickey. The mobster snickered as he
looked over the scrunched wad of tattered bills.

He snarled at Brad.
“Part of the money that’s not whut we agreed upon−now is it?”

“I know Mickey, I
know, but listen... my luck’s gonna change. I can get yah the rest.”

Mickey leaned
down and placed his knife against Brad’s neck. “Aye donna know, lad. Aye be
thinkin’ yur luck’s taken a turn for the worse.

“Wait!” begged
Brad, sweat pouring off him. “I’ve got something, something better.” He gulped.
“Something you can use... information.”

“And whut would a
low life like yah ‘ave tae teel me?”asked Mickey.

Brad swallowed
hard. “Remember that kid... that kid... Daniel Raye. He ain’t dead.”

Mickey may as
well have been shot−he was stunned. Thinking he was being played, he
pressed the knife hard against Brad’s neck.

“Whut do yah mean
‘e’s not dead. That wuz over four years ago. Nae, yur tryin’ me patience, lad.”

“No!” countered
Brad, quickly. “Listen... me and my girlfriend we was watchin’ television two
nights ago − Unsolved Murder Mysteries. They had this story about this
kid and his father − their house being burnt down an all, and them dying.
My girlfriend tells me it didn’t happen like that... she worked at Rose de Lima
back then... a nurse... on grave. She says they took the kid to California. The
UCLA Medical Center.”

“So why’d yah
wait until now tae teel me?” responded Mickey, pressing his knife harder into
Brad’s throat.

“Oh God, please!
I just found out. I swear to God, Mickey ...on my mother’s grave.”

Satisfied that
Brad was telling the truth, Mickey relaxed. He pulled his knife back, then
snatched the money from the seat.

“Aye’ll teel yah
whut lad,” he offered in brief countenance. “Tah shooe whut a generous man aye
am, aye’ll give yah won more week ... but yah better ‘ave the rest. Now get yur
fat, poxy arse outta ‘ere.”

Brad needed no
other invitation. He scrambled from the car like a lizard jumping off a hot
rock, his feet dancing across the pavement as he ran for dear life.

*    *    *    *

It was late
January and a new year, the time Ethyl dreaded most. It was her company’s
annual review with the venture capitalists that backed her company−in
this case Paul Gregan. Today, he was here with his attorney, Tyrone Waters, and
the two were asking questions, some Ethyl wanted to avoid. For several years
now Ethyl had fudged the books ever so slightly to hide the research she was
doing for Daniel. It wasn’t much, only a million dollars, but it was money she
cherry-picked from other departments with Lance’s help−while he looked
the other way. It wasn’t the best way to do business and had it not been her
personal quest it never would have happened. Still, Lance was getting
nervous−he always did when January rolled around.

As Ethyl
expected, the meeting with Paul and Tyrone was tenuous at best. The two men,
dressed in their expensive suits, were sharks seeking blood. And who could
blame them? Paul, along with others, had sunk millions into her company. They
did have a right to expect something in return.

“Ethyl, we’re
trying to do the right thing,” Paul said, “but you’ve got to understand. It’s
been almost seven years now, and the backers are not seeing a real return on
their investment. We seriously need this company to go public and that means
changes need to be made. 

            “Such as?” asked Ethyl.

Tyrone jumped in.
“Dr. Santini, I’ve had my accountants looking over your books and there are a
couple of things that seem, shall we say, out of place. Your research of late
seems unfocused, scattered, and the accounting − well, quite frankly,
money seems to be going out the window for the strangest things...”

“And this animal
testing moratorium,” interjected Paul, “it’s killing product development. For
God’s sake Ethyl, every medical lab in the country uses rats and mice to test
their products. Why can’t we?”

Ethyl always
hated it when Paul brought up his ridiculous hypotheses and she fired right
back. “Because its unnecessary and cruel. We make products that are designed to
cure, not torture animals first to see if they work. I thought you understood
that?”

Tyrone sighed in
exasperation. “Doctor Santini, as you may or may not be aware, there are
provisions in the contract between you and the investors, allowing for a
majority consensus to appoint a new head for this company. Now understand, Mr.
Gregan doesn’t want to lose you, you have been an incredible asset in building this
company, but we must insist that some sort of compromise be reached.”

Ethyl understood
her position, but she was defiant. Rising from her chair, she took them both on
issuing her own declaration. 

“Gentlemen, I
won’t be painted into a corner. Remember, I still hold the patents on my
research and those patents are the cornerstone of this company. I will not be
dictated to.”

Paul was about to
explode. Pissed off by Ethyl’s unyielding compromise, he stood abruptly and
straightened his suit. “Think about it, Ethyl,” he snapped. “You have my
number.” He turned and headed for the door, warning her as he walked away. “But
I’m not going to wait forever.” He yanked open her office door and stomped out
with Tyrone following a few feet behind.

“We’ll be in
touch,” Tyrone advised, as he closed the door behind them.

Ethyl took a deep
breath.
Well, that didn’t go very well
. She walked to the window and
looked out.
What was she going to do?

Her thoughts were
interrupted by a soft knock on the door. Alice, her secretary, popped her head
in. “Ms. Santini?” she queried.

“Yes?”

“Ms. Santini... I
just wanted to let you know... I overheard Mr. Gregan as he was getting on the
elevator. He mentioned something about a court order and getting the team
ready.”

“Thank-you
Alice.”

“Would you like
me to call anyone?”

Ethyl didn’t
respond. She was facing the window again, lost in thought. From her vantage
point she had a full view of the parking lot and the grounds below. She could
see Paul and Tyrone leaving, their limo pulling up. To her surprise, a third
man joined the two. It was Lance Kets. She watched as he limped over to the
limo and got in.

Holding her
breath, Ethyl muttered to herself, “Lance, Lance, Lance, Why?” From behind,
Alice questioned her boss’s aloofness, “Ms. Santini, are you okay? Can I do
anything?”

“No, thank you.
I’m fine.”

The phone rang.

“Would you like
me to get that?” inquired Alice.

Ethyl turned from
the curtains. “No, it’s my cell. I’m expecting a call.”

She crossed over
to her desk and answered it. 

“Hello. Yes,
Doctor Muller. I’ve been expecting your call.”

 There was a
pause as Ethyl listened to Daniel’s eye doctor−her face paling as he told
her of his diagnosis.

“Oh, no...” she
exclaimed.

Alice took note.