Scarcity (Jack Randall #3) (35 page)

“I’m fine! Search the both of them and then bring them in.”

“Search them?”

Rico glared at his security man. “Yes, search them, and be thorough!” Carlos quickly left without a reply to do so.

Rico walked to the bar to fix himself another drink. He and Oscar had dealt with Pablo and Nestor for many years, and while they had proven to be loyal and trustworthy employees to his brother, they had made it clear to Rico that he was someone to be tolerated. Well, now he was in charge, and it was time to put the two men in their place. He had his own ideas on how to run things, and until his brother returned, the orders would come from him. It was something he aimed to establish quickly, and if they didn’t like it? Well, he had a plan for that, too.

Sipping his drink with one hand, he searched for and found his sunglasses with the other. He liked to think he looked more intimidating with them on, but they also served to let him watch things without them knowing.

The two men appeared through the door, closely followed by Carlos. Rico noticed the pissed off looks on both their faces. Nestor was still tucking his shirt back in. Rico ignored their looks and smiled a greeting as fake as the one on the girl who had just left.

“Hello, gentleman, come, sit.”

Rico gestured to the chairs opposite the table in front of him, both of them conveniently in the hot sun while Rico’s sat in the shade of the umbrella. They glowered but sat without comment and Carlos took up a position behind them, not close, but his enormous shadow advertised his presence as it fell across the table.

Rico watched it all happen with the faintest of smiles before shaking the ice in his glass and setting the drink down in front of him.

“Where are my manners? Carlos, drinks all around.”

Carlos left to do as ordered and Rico watched again as the eyes of his guests took in the bodyguard’s bulk, as well as the large handgun hanging under his arm. It looked like a small cannon. They exchanged a look before turning back to Rico, who was now making them wait some more while he lit a cigarette. He waved the match out and blew smoke across the table before addressing them.

“So, you asked for this meeting. What is it you want?”

Pablo spoke first. “We wish to know your brother’s condition, and when he might be expected to return?”

Rico sat back as if to consider whether or not to respond. He drew the moment out a while as he watched Carlos place a glass of vodka in front of Nestor, and a cold beer in front of Pablo. Neither of them made a move to touch them. When he felt they had waited long enough Rico spoke.

“I arranged for a new heart to be delivered for my brother last night.” He checked his watch. “He should have it soon. As for getting him out after he recovers? I . . . am moving some things into place.”

“And Angel?”

“Dead. I sent Manuel and Jimmy to take care of it. They fixed that problem this morning as well. Angel is done talking.”

“I see. How?”

“Manuel will be returning soon. You can ask him yourself when he gets here.”

“He is returning without Jimmy?”

“He is
dispensing
with Jimmy! The bastard lied to me and forgot his place! Manuel is taking care of it. I put him in charge.”

Rico gulped his drink after the outburst while Nestor and Pablo traded a look. Carlos’s lurking shadow grew slowly longer as the sun made a rapid descent. They waited for Rico to calm down. Their drinks continued to sweat untouched on the table.

“But the hell with all of that. I’m making some changes.”

Pablo spoke up. “We have to replace what Angel cost us.”

“You think I don’t know that? Now shut the fuck up for a moment and listen.”

Neither Nestor or Pablo flinched at the rebuke. Pablo leaned forward and placed his hands next to his beer. His fingers drummed a beat on the glass table top.

“Very well . . . we’re listening.”

New Kidney Transplant Policy Would Favor Younger Patients
February 24, 2011—New York Times
 
 

—TWENTY-SEVEN—

D
r. Fong raised himself up in his chair and confirmed the presence of the pathologist through the glass window of the OR room. The man gave him a thumb’s up before sitting down in his chair to wait. Fong caught sight of a tablet computer in the man’s hands and briefly wondered what video game he was playing.

There was nothing stopping the transplant from moving forward, and while he was well within the estimated time allowed for such a procedure, it was always beneficial to keep the patient under anesthesia for as little time as possible. It was time for the next step.

“Heart’s coming off,” he informed the room.

Kye checked the time and made a quick notation on her chart. Dr. Fong released the safety mechanism, and throwing a series of switches, shut down the POPS machine. Tony approached with a tray of saline that had been chilled to 4 degrees Celsius. Dr. Fong methodically disconnected the heart from the machine connections one by one and gave it a gentle squeeze to decompress it before unceremoniously dropping it in the saline. Tony carefully carried the tray to the foot of the bed and parked it between the girl’s legs. Before the invention of the POPS machine, the heart would have spent hours at this cold temperature, kept on ice from the time it was excised, throughout the hours of transport time, and still longer as the team removed the old heart on arrival of the new one. Referred to as cold ischemic time, it was something to be minimized as much as possible. Now it was not even a factor. The bad heart would be excised in a matter of minutes, and its replacement would be implanted within an hour of that. They would even start re-warming the new heart before the transplant was complete. Everything that could be done to lessen the stress to the new organ had been addressed.

Tony placed a tray of sterile ice next to the one holding the new heart while Dr. Fong resumed his place next to the table.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Kye scribbled the time once again on her chart as Dr. Fong sought out and grasped the girl’s aorta. Holding it firmly, he held out his other hand.

“Potts.”

Tony handed the 45-degree angled scissors to the surgeon and watched intently as he maneuvered them around the cross-clamp. He measured carefully before severing the great vessel.

•      •      •

Jimmy drove the loaded minivan through the crowded parking lot of the marina twice before selecting a spot and carefully backing in. The restaurant crowd was just starting to arrive at the outdoor Tiki hut bar, and boats were still returning from a day spent out on the water. To her credit, Jessica stayed silent and watched as he craned his head in all directions before putting the transmission in park.

The door behind them opened and the dog scampered over Cody’s lap and out of the van to explore the marina. Before Jimmy could say anything, the boy was hot on his heels. Jimmy moved to follow, but she stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Calm down, he’s just excited. He won’t go far.”

“I know, but . . .”

“We need to hurry,” she finished for him.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, so what do I do?”

He smiled and kissed her before replying, and she felt the tension in the muscular shoulder lessen a bit.

“Take this key. It’s that dock over there, slip 42. The blue and white sailboat. Just open everything up and let the heat out first. Maybe turn the fans on. The panel with all the switches is at the bottom of the ladder and around the corner on the right. You and I are in the rear cabin, and Cody can have the forward room to himself.”

“On the right. Anything else?”

“No, I’ll grab the handcart from the office and start unloading the van.”

“Want Cody to help?”

Jimmy grimaced as he watched the boy and his dog explore the dock. He was an inquisitive kid and always full of questions. Questions Jimmy just didn’t have time to indulge at the moment.

“No, probably better if you take him with you.”

“Okay.”

“And Jess . . .”

“Yeah?”

“Just stay below for now okay?”

“Okay.”

She took the key from him and grabbed their two small bags before calling to Cody as she crossed the lot. Seeing where she was headed, the boy made two attempts to get the dog to follow before giving up and scrambling after her. The dog was more interested in the plethora of new smells assaulting his nose at the moment. Jimmy put him out of his mind as he had more pressing matters. The dog never went too far from the boy anyway.

As Jimmy walked toward the office, he watched them walk the dock. Seeing them locate the boat, he turned his attention to the small building. Like most marinas, this one provided a few wheeled carts for its residents’ use. There were a few parked on the side of the building and he selected one he knew rolled without too much trouble. The carts hauled everything from groceries to engine parts, and their surfaces reflected the marks and stains of years of use in the Florida sun.

Rolling the cart back to the minivan, he examined the boat again. No windows open, but they were probably exploring the boat and hadn’t gotten to it yet. He reviewed the list in his head. He had compiled it on the flight down, and they had made a stop at the local warehouse store for the needed supplies. As a result, the van’s suspension was taxed more than usual. They were missing a few items, but nothing they couldn’t do without for awhile. Jimmy eyeballed the pile and estimated three trips to get it all transferred to the boat. He lost no time in getting started, and soon case after case of supplies landed on the cart as he bent his back to the task.

Water.

Canned food.

Rice.

A majority of the items necessary were on the boat already, just not in the quantities needed to support three people for an extended sail. Not to mention a dog. The boat had always been more than just a pleasurable diversion. It was one of Jimmy’s two bolt holes. A moving safehouse should the need ever rise and he had to disappear quickly. He could live on it for months if need be without ever having to visit a port. It held much more than just food and water. A few secret compartments held cash in three different denominations, an assault rifle and a stainless steel shotgun. A few passports. The keys to a few safety deposit boxes scattered across the Caribbean. A makeup kit with hair dye. Everything needed to sail away and arrive somewhere else a totally different person. He had a van that was similarly stocked at a storage unit two towns to the east.

Fruit.

Nuts.

Dog food.

He glanced back down the dock to see the lights on in the boat. Evidently she had found the main circuit breaker okay.

The cart was full and with a whistle toward the dog he set off down the dock. He eyeballed the setting sun. If he wanted to be clear of the jetty by dark, they would have to hurry.

•      •      •

Dr. Dayo was back on autopilot. Despite the brief terror of the bypass machine fire he had managed to pull his mind, and those of his team, back into the task at hand. His hands moved within the chest cavity and performed the necessary steps of the procedure like a well-practiced dance, accepting the visiting partners of Raina and Jennifer as they came and went. Instruments appeared in his hands without asking, and his gloves were rinsed clean without a stop in their progress.

He was currently working around “the hand,” otherwise known as Jake. Jake was one of their surgical techs. His main job was to prep the room prior to everyone’s arrival, but on occasion he was called on to hold the heart up while the surgeon worked underneath it. So at the moment he was in his usual awkward position standing next to the surgeon, yet facing the wall, his arm trapped behind him between the surgeon’s belly and the chest of the patient. He rarely even saw the heart he was holding. Dr. Dayo would simply guide his hand where he wanted it to go and say “Hold.”

Jake was an excellent hand.

It was actually a harder job than one would think. Holding a position like he was in for as long as he was asked to hold it, without moving the slightest, took some discipline. He had to put out of his mind the fact that there were numerous sharp instruments and needles moving around his hand. But Dr. Dayo was a skilled surgeon, and Jake trusted him not to cut or poke him. So far it had never happened.

He may have been a little more afraid today if he knew the surgeon’s current level of concentration. Normally talkative during surgery, today he was unusually quiet. The team had all noticed, and most had just chalked it up to the identity of the man on the table, and the unusual number of people in the gallery—people wearing suits, not the usual scrubs. Evidently, there were quite a few people interested in the outcome of this surgery. Fortunately, Jake also knew his way around sound systems, and had quietly worked out a way to kill the microphones in the room if Dayo gave him the signal. Today was such a day. So while the gallery was full of the prying eyes of VIPs, at least the surgical team could all speak without being heard. Not that there was much conversation going on. The room was unusually quiet, and since Jake was the one with the least amount of distractions, he addressed it first.