Scarcity (Jack Randall #3) (29 page)

“If Oscar dies, Rico won’t last long.”

Manuel just shrugged. “You’re probably right. He’s pissed off a lot of people. Unless he takes care of them first, but I don’t see him doing that.”

“Has he called you?”

“No, you?”

“No . . . he probably thinks Oscar is going to make it and hasn’t even considered what will happen if he doesn’t.”

“So who do you think then? Pablo?”

“Most likely. Either him or Nestor, but I’d put my money on Pablo.”

They both fell silent while they considered cartel politics for a moment. Jimmy looked for ways it could effect his decision. Whatever happened, it was going to be a mess. He would have to be very careful.

Regardless, he had a phone call to make and there was no use putting it off. He thumbed the appropriate buttons and waited while the call went through. It rang several times and Jimmy patiently waited, it was nothing new. Undoubtedly there was some minion scrambling to get the phone to Rico. No one but Rico or his brother was allowed to answer it. Jimmy counted nine rings before it was picked up.

“Yes?”

“I believe we’re done here.”

“Jimmy! Is that your work I saw on the TV this morning?”

Jimmy shook his head in disgust. Not only had Rico used his name, he had attached him to the bombing as well. All in one sentence. Jimmy knew there was no such thing as a 100% secure phone, but evidently Rico thought he was untouchable. He was also speaking loud enough that Manuel could hear every word. He probably had someone in the room with him and was showing off. Excuse me while I take a call from my hit-man. Idiot.

“We think the fourth man is the Interpol man. The others were eliminated.”

“Good man. My brother will be pleased to hear this.”

“He lives?”

“We sent him a new heart last night.” Rico laughed.

“You sent it?” Jimmy was confused. Rico obviously had a few drinks in him already so Jimmy threw out the question.

“One of the gangs we deal with in Mexico City has a kidnapping operation. They’ve branched out into black market organs, you could say. They checked their inventory and found one that would fit. So we had them ship it out last night.” He laughed again and they heard the sound of ice moving back and forth in a glass.

Jimmy exchanged a look with his partner. Manuel had a look of disgust on his face and shook his head at Jimmy’s silent question. It was the first he had heard of it, also.

“Just like that, huh?” Jimmy fished some more.

“Just like that,” Rico echoed. “They have to match it up and do some tests and shit, but it works, they found one. A younger model, too! Some fifteen-year-old girl they were holding. But there’s actually two hearts going, I think that one is for him . . . Anyway, you want to know the sweet part?” More ice in the glass.

“What’s that?”

“They still got the parents on the line for the ransom, and the negotiator is one of their people! Clever, no?” He laughed louder.

“Yeah . . . real clever.”

“Hey . . . hey. So listen. About this cop. If I know you, you’re sitting on a pile of information about this guy, right? We may need you to go after him, too. Maybe his family. You know, loose ends. Make an example to the judge and this . . . what they call it . . . grand jury? He has family, does he?”

Jimmy looked at his partner, but his face was impassive.

“An ex-wife, that’s all.”

Manuel was shocked by the answer, but did nothing other than raise an eyebrow. Jimmy had just committed himself to a dangerous game. If Rico found out Jimmy was lying, the result would not be good. They heard the ice rattle again, the drink was obviously empty.

“Okay then. The cop. Be ready for that. I . . . I will call you soon.”

“All right.”

Jimmy thumbed the phone off and sat quietly before suddenly throwing it across the room. It impacted a door frame and shattered before falling to the floor. Manuel watched without moving or saying a word.

Jimmy got control of himself quickly. He spoke without turning his head.

“I work for Oscar, not his asshole brother.”

“I understand.”

“A fifteen-year-old girl? Fucking animal.”

“He is.”

Jimmy launched himself off the couch.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Manuel rose without a word and followed his partner out.

Death-row inmates ‘main source of organs in China’
July 7, 2012—The Bangkok Post
 
 

—TWENTY-TWO—

O
scar watched the nurses carefully as they moved around his bed. They were both his caregivers and his captors, but he had no choice but to trust them. He had already answered a number of questions verifying his name, what he was allergic to, what procedure he was having, even how much he had peed the night before. The telemetry unit was removed from his chest for the first time in weeks, and when the signal faded from the screen, the phone immediately rang. The nurse paused briefly to assure the tech watching the screen that the patient wasn’t dying before quickly going back to her work. The one who had shaved his chest had refused to make eye contact, as did the other who filled out a never ending pile of forms. The work progressed at a rapid but paced rate, and items were marked off the pre-op checklist.

He slowly raised a hand to scratch his nose. The antibiotic ointment they had swabbed his nostrils with was irritating. The cherry flavor of the blood pressure medication lingered in his mouth, but he had only been offered a small sip of water to wash down a pill and nothing more. He eyeballed the nurse as she approached with a cup of fluid in one hand and a syringe in another.

“What is this?”

“Mouthwash, it’s strong, like Listerine. I need you to rinse your mouth thoroughly and spit it out. It’s important that you don’t swallow it.”

“Why?”

“It’s to help prevent infection.”

“So I . . . don’t die?” he teased her. It was obvious she loathed her patient, but she was too professional to let it show too much.

“Yes,” she replied curtly.

He nodded at her blunt answer. “And the syringe?”

“The start of your anesthesia.”

He simply nodded and she held the small paper cup to his lips. He took the fluid in and swished it around as best he could before the foul taste and lack of air forced him to spit it out. She expertly caught it in the cup and disposed of it while her patient took several deep breaths. She then uncapped the syringe.

“I’ll need you to roll over on your side.”

He grunted at the request but made the effort. She pushed him up and quickly sank the needle into his buttock before pushing the plunger. She let him fall back into place before disposing of the syringe in the sharps box. She returned to her paperwork and Oscar switched his gaze to another nurse as she placed a pair of bright red socks on his cold feet. Socks for surgery? He didn’t bother asking. He rested and listened as the nurses completed their list.

“Consents all signed?”

“Yes and . . . yes.”

“ID band?”

“Left side.”

“Allergies?”

“Codeine and sulfa. Left side.”

“Jewelry, dentures?”

“None.”

“Ancef?”

“I hung it on the chart.”

“Okay . . . that oxygen tank full?”

“It’s good.”

“All right, let’s roll.”

Oscar was quickly surrounded by staff members on both sides of the bed. All of his wires and tubing were gathered and accounted for. He felt the cold stream of oxygen in his nostrils fade for a moment only to come back a second later. His nurse took his arms and placed them on his chest as the sheet under him was pulled free and gathered up in multiple hands.

“On three . . . two . . . three.”

The sheet became a hammock as he found himself quickly hoisted in the air and placed on the transport gurney in one fluid motion. He reflexively reached out for something solid but it was over before his hand found anything. The staff quickly dispersed and he was soon left with five. The brake on the bed was released with a loud crack and he found himself finally leaving the room he had called home for the last three weeks. One nurse followed, pushing the IV pole and another led with the balloon pump in front of her while yet another toted the thick chart as she helped steer from the front end. The fourth simply pushed and the procession moved out of the ICU. Oscar found himself the subject of numerous hostile looks. He ignored them. They were worker bees, trained to do one skill well. Soon he would have only one man to worry about.

They moved out of the unit and down the hallway to an elevator. The ride down was short as they only dropped one floor. When the door parted they were met with the stern gaze of a hospital security guard and an armed police officer. The guard turned his key, locking the elevator in place before he waved them forward. The nursing team found themselves all alone in what was normally a busy hallway. The guard offered no explanation and the nurses wisely chose not to inquire. He silently led them down the hall and after punching a button on the wall, they entered the pre-op area. Oscar felt the temperature drop drastically and his body responded with an involuntary shiver. His nurse pretended not to notice while the doors swung shut behind them and the guard took up his new post on the opposite side. Rolling past several empty beds, he was deposited in the corner where he was approached by another nurse. He picked up the chart from where it had been left and scrutinized it. The transport team left without a word.

Oscar sized the man up while he waited. He was older, with an air about him that said he had seen it all before. He asked his questions without looking Oscar in the eye.

“Can you tell me your name?”

“Oscar . . . Hernandez.”

“And what are you allergic to?”

“Codeine . . . and sulfa.”

“And what surgery are you having today?”

“A new heart.”

Oscar watched as the man read his wristbands and confirmed what he was being told. He then checked the man’s IVs before pulling the small bag of fluid from the chart and hanging it on a nearby pole. He flushed it with a practiced skill before connecting it to Oscar’s arm.

“You’ll be going back in a few minutes.”

Oscar did not bother to answer as the man turned and walked back to his desk. He was only there a moment when the doors opened again and a young girl was wheeled past his bed. She was surrounded by staff and equipment just as he had been and he couldn’t help but smile as she disappeared behind the curtains.

•      •      •

The man occupying Oscar’s mind was forty feet away, scrubbing his fingers with a stiff sponge. Dr. Dayo worked methodically, ensuring each finger got equal attention. His thoughts were clouded and he didn’t notice his colleague approach. Dr. Fong nudged him over without a word before turning on the water and reaching for a sponge of his own. He unwrapped it quickly and began scrubbing his own hands before he addressed his partner.

“Wanna trade?”

“Funny guy.”

“I try.”

They scrubbed in silence for a while until Dayo finished. He slowed his pace while he watched his partner scrub, rinsing his hands over and over.

“What would you do?” he asked.

Dr. Fong stopped scrubbing and examined the face of his fellow surgeon. Self confidence and the projection of it were repeatedly emphasized in medical school. A surgeon never let his doubts be known to anyone on his team and rarely to a fellow surgeon. Dr. Dayo was widely known and respected as one of the top cardiac surgeons in the country. It was an unusual question.

“I would treat the patient in front of me.”

Dayo just nodded before raising his hands and walking toward the O.R.

Dr. Fong stopped scrubbing long enough to watch his friend walk away. He caught his eye as he turned to push his way backward into the operating room.

“Grab a smoke when we’re done?”

“Deal.”

Dayo offered a lopsided smile before disappearing into the room.

Dr. Fong gazed at the closed door for a moment before shaking his thoughts off and returning to the sink.

•      •      •

Luis parked his car by the front door and surveyed the house and grounds before finishing his cigarette and opening the door. The grass was much taller than before, and the wind had deposited trash on the drive and walkway. He frowned at it, but it served to tell him of his targets’ state of mind. Some of his victims kept up appearances, keeping the gardeners, maids, and other staff around while the process played out. Others shut down and ignored the decay they were allowing to happen around them. The current couple were obviously one of the latter and he was glad to see it. Time was short and he would have to push them to make the money come. He felt sure that the box in his hand would work to serve that purpose.

He once again ignored the front entrance and instead walked around the house and past the pool. More leaves covered the surface of the water and the deck, and he had to kick some free of his shoes before entering via the back door. There was no one on site, but he knew where he would most likely find them. Making no effort to hide his arrival, he let his footsteps echo loudly on the tile as he approached the kitchen. Days ago they would have rushed to meet him, asking for anything he may have learned. Now he found them as he usually did, sitting at the kitchen table.