Chaos at Crescent City Medical Center (21 page)

"I don't think Landry much cares who he's with, at least most of the time.  Not particular about nobody or nothing once he hits the blackjack tables. 
He makes love to the roulette table.
You give him enough time and enough credit and he's yours forever."   Salvadal looked vaguely disgusted.

"Play's good part.  He's a charmer.  I don't give a shit who or what he screws, snorts, or gambles with as long as he gets me my land.  Need that land.  Boys in Chicago are losing patience.  I need the
deal finished soon.  Need that
casino
on the river.
  It’ll make us millions.
"  
Frederico
's good humor was gone.  His voice was ominous.  "You get it,
you bastard. That was the deal.
I need that land soon."   The gangster's small eyes glittered like those of a pig.  His face was close to Salvadal's and he
reeked
of bad b
reath, rotten teeth and tobacco.

Salvadal pushed the gangster back against the wall.
"Shut up,
Frederico
.
Fuck you and get o
ut of my face.  Don't need any noise out of you.  You and I both know what we want.
You get close to me like that again and I’ll kill you. I'm
handling things."  As he spoke, his voice was soft and melodious.

Frederico
watched him quietly.  A shiver came over him.  Damn, he's
a
weird
mother fucker
the mobster thought.  I've seen lots
of spooks
in my life, but there is something about this guy that just ain't right.  He
makes my blood run cold.  Those
were strange feelings for
Frederico
;
fear wasn't a common emotion for him.  He tried to remember what he'd had heard about the ponytail
man
.  Not much.  Only that
he had international experience and was the best around.
 
Frederico
didn't know why the evil one was interested in CCMC or Bonnet.
He just wanted the SOB out of his way.
The gangster continued to think about
the ponytailed man and became more and more uncomfortable.
Be glad when this one's over, he thought,
  Must be getting old.  He looked over at the ponytailed man
and thought about killing him himself.
  He’s a crazy bastard,
Frederico
thought.  He kills just for the fun of it.  I kill for money.  That makes us different.

Frederico
backed off.  "
Okay,
Okay, I got you.  Let's go to Impastata's for a pasta snack and then pay pretty boy Mitch a visit when he gets home from his fancy date." 
Frederico
watched the couple leave.  "Either he's the best actor I've ever seen, or he's fallen for her.
He’s such a sorry bastard.  He better get us our info.
"

The evil one tightened his grip on the leather
strap, and
stretched
it tautly from end to end.  He said, "If he's not, he's dead." 
Frederico
nodded and the two men headed for Impastata's.

As Alex and Mitch were leaving Cafe Volange, they looked like perfectly matched lovers. 
Both tall, well dressed and handsome, they were hugging and laughing as
they made their way to Mitch's car. 

As Mitch walked Alex t
o her door, she contemplated
inviting him in for a night cap.  She decided to wait.  She was too
tired.  As Mitch departed
, he whispered in her ear, "Know I care for you very much, Alex.  No matter what happens, I care." 

Alex smiled up at him and quietly closed the door. 

Mitch returned to his loft apartment in the warehouse district
feeling guilty and fearful about
his relationship with Alex.  Most of all, he was depressed about what he'd done and what he still had to do.  He hardly noticed the
celebration and conviviality of his beloved
neighborhood.

Mitch had lived in the warehouse district for about two years, and loved the neighborhood's "eclectic" flavor.  The warehouse district, frequently called the South's own Soho, was just steps from the French Quarter. 
The district was the artsy part of NOLA. 
It was filled with galleries, restaurants, and residences
.  T
he ambiance of the area matched Mitch's love of historic restoration and art, good
food
and nightlife.  The obvious downfall was its proximity to the New Orleans riverfront casinos
that
sang a siren song
for Mitch
. 

Mitch's gambling had placed him in trouble before.  His family, affluent in New Orleans for many years, had bailed him out of his gambling debts numerous times, but had finally drawn the line several years ago.  He'd entered treatment for his gambling addiction three times, only to fail.  His family had nearly disowned him, and he saw them only on holidays and at special family events.

He parked his car and entered the lobby of the renovated warehouse that housed his apartment. 
Frederico
and the man with the ponytail he recognized from the Cafe Volange appeared out of an alcove in the rear of the building.  Mitch casually reached to his belt and snapped on his tape recorder.

Frederico
's
voice was terse and ugly.  "Ta
lk
us up Mitchy
boy;
we need to do some serious talking."

It was obvious that
Frederico
had a gun, but the ponytailed stranger with
the
leather strap
was
more threatening.  Mitch pressed the button for the antique brass elevator.  The ride up to the top seemed endless since no one spoke. 
Frederico
entered the loft and centered himself on the sofa.  He relit his wet, slimy, cigar while the ponytailed man stood at the door.

"What do you got for us Mitchy?  We've been rea
l patient.  Is the broad singing
yet?" 
Frederico
spoke in his best Chicago tough guy voice. 

"Don't have much now, but I'll get it soon."

"You were supposed to have it by
now;
we gave you an extra week.  Going to deliver or
what?" 

Mitch felt desperate.  "It's been harder than I thought.  Alex has a lot of ethics.  She's also smart and doesn't talk as freely as I thought.  I've been playing it kind of low, so she wouldn't be suspicious.  Besides, you know what's happening over there.  Things are in chaos.  Things have to be going your way.  You
’re
responsible for all those 'accidents' at CCMC.  
Isn’t this what you want?
You guys are really low.  Murder, for God's sake.  You stop at nothing
.
" 

Frederico
rose from the sofa and came within inches of Mitch's face.  His face was ugly because his skin was greasy and porous.  He had big red veins in his nose and small, dark glittering eyes.  "Landry, you ain't got a clue about what we do.  You ain't got no idea about what we've done.  But to satisfy
your curiosity, yeah, m
e
and my buddy here been working the hospital over pretty good.  Couple of dead nurses, a dead doctor.  What the hell
!
  There's plenty of em
!
  Got a new one in tonight.  Betcha they don't even know it yet
!
" 
Frederico
laughed as he thought about his escapades.

The gangster
continued
with
his voice low and threatening. "But, Mitchy boy, more importantly, you don't know what we will do.  Fantasize
Mitchy;
it'll be your worst nightmare.  We need your info, got the picture?"  At that point
Frederico
grabbed Mitch's right arm and held it in an iron grasp while he burned his forearm with his lit cigar.  "Now, talk Mitchy.  Tell
Frederico
what you know."

Mitch gasped as the hot cigar seared his arm.  For a few moments he was unable to speak, as he was forced to concentrate on the pain.

"What
’s
up, spill your guts
, lover boy
?  Talk now or I'll match your other arm."  You're an architect.  You like things to match, right?" 
Frederico
was threatening as he reached for Mitch's left arm.

Mitch pulled back, raising both arms in a reflexive posture.  "Okay, okay.  I know Bonnet's under a lot of pressure.  All the patients that've been hurt are his.  But, you know that," Mitch sneered at them.   "The administration's messed up.  None of them are getting along.  They're also worried about media leaks.  Seems like everybody else knows what's going on as soon as it happens.   That's all I know."  Out of the corner of his eye Mitch caught a secretive smile on the ponytail's face and noticed that he was stroking his strap more aggressively and seductively. 
This man's evil, like a demon
he thought to himself. 
Wonder if he
hurt Mrs. Raccine?

"You ain't told us nothing.  You ain't delivering on the big one, Mitchy.  You gotta do better.  Spill the dirt." 
Frederico
took
another menacing step towards Mitch.  "Maybe a little pillow talk is what you need.  Never know what you can learn from pillow talk.  Wouldn't mind it myself." 
Frederico
leered at him.

Mitch was frantic
, and tried
to buy some time.  "I'm seeing Alex all weekend.  We're going to the Endymion Extravaganza
Ball
Saturday night and staying the night at the Fairmont.  The weekend after
,
we're going to an inn near my preservation project
in Lafayette
.  I'll know more then.  I promise
!
"

"Ain't good enough, Mitch.  You told me you'd have what we needed two weeks ago.  You got twenty-four hours and that's all.  After that, it's over if you don't deliver.
You and your girlfriend
both’ll be history.
Get my drift?"

Mitch was both terrified and desperate.  "Okay, you've got it."

"We'll meet tomorrow night so you can spill your guts.  I'll
call and tell
you where."

Mitch nodded.

“Don’t screw with me
...
bastard,” the gangster threatened.

The ponytailed man spoke for the first time.  His voice was quiet but cold.  "Maybe you better get over there tonight and start that pillow talk.  You're about out of time, pretty boy."  Salvadal gestured
menacingly
towards Mitch's throat with his leather strap.

When Mitch was sure they were gone, he went to his bar and poured himself a double scotch. Thoughts crossed his mind and all ran together.  He felt guilty about using his relationship with Alex
, pumping her for information
to repay his gambling debt to the mob. 
His love affair was the black box.
I've fallen in love with her.  I can't do this
, he thought
. 

After about a half an hour of disjointed irrational thinking, only one thought became comforting to him.  He picked up his coat, got in his Lexus, and drove out I-10 towards the Gulfport-Biloxi Casinos.  I still have a credit line at Casino Magic and the Biloxi Belle.  I can make enough to get out of New Orleans.  Alex and I can escap
e to Switzerland or New Zealand, maybe even Australia where
they'd never find us.  Mitch continued to have these irrational thoughts th
roughout the hour
drive to the coast.

***

The St. Charles Inn, a late night hot spot on St. Charles, was host to all walks of life.  The
Cajun food was good,
cheap, and the coffee was usually fresh.  Raoul DuPree
had just gotten
off
work at
Tujague's
and
saw the evil one and
Frederico
as they came in.  They sat in a
booth several down from his.  Raoul was facing
Frederico
and
slumped down in his chair
and tried to
avoid recognition. 

Tonight the St. Charles Inn provided a watering hole for
Frederico
and Salvadal.  Each
was
drinking heavily to offset their displeasure with Mitch.
  They were both
obviously
pissed.

"Don't like the pretty boy,
Frederico
.  I don't think he's gonna come
through for us.  What're you going to do?
”

“The son of a bitch will pull it off.  He’s scared.  Just needs a good night with the broad.  Don’t wo
rry,” the gangster tried to lie
to shrug off Salvadal’s
words.

  “You stupid fucker.  Do you think y
o
u can blow me off? 
My
bosses
are getting restless and want to move.  I'm sick of waiting
for the
Ivy League
snitch
to come through
."  Salvadal
was impatient and becoming more and more agitated
the longer he spoke
.  The liquor seemed t
o irritate
and aggravate
him rather than calm
him. 
Frederico
noticed his companion was again stroking his leather strap.

"Landry'll get us the goods, th
e
shit on Bonnet and the hospital.  Too scared not to.  We'll know soon.  He's only got 'til tomorrow night." 
Frederico
spoke with more confidence than he felt.  "Beside
s, what other choice do we have
? T
he hit on Bonnet is already set up.
"

"I have lots of choices.
I got freedom to make lotsa
choices and one of
those choices is
to kill you if you don’t deliver
.  Make sure your boy delivers
what I need
.  You and the choir boy came to me, remember.
I never would have sought out two assholes like you.
No later than midnight tomorrow."  

   Salvadal took a last sip of his drink, slammed th
e glass on the table, and left abruptly.

Frederico
sat and contemplated
his dilemma, wishing over and over he had more information on Salvadal's connections.  The more he
drank
the more paranoid he became.  Bastard's crazy, he thought.  You'd think that damn strap was his lover the way he rubs it all the time. 
Frederico
's most constant and comforting thought was that Salvadal's connections couldn't be more
powerful
than those of the mob.  Besides, he could always have his man snuff the ponytail.  Hell, he was just one man, wasn't he?  The mob had plenty of talent he could call to get the job done.   After several more drinks
,
Frederico
felt better, made a phone call and staggered drunkenly out of the St. Charles Inn. 

Raoul DuPre
e watched him leaving, and searched
his consci
ence about whether he
should warn Dr. Bonnet.

***

Alex
again slept fitfully, dreaming of Mitch, dark strangers with ponytails, and a Voodooist attacking Robert. 
Her phone ringing at six a.m. was almost a welcome respite from the nightmare.  "Hello," she said sleepily.

"Get in here,
" bellowed Don Montgomery.  "W
e have another one."  Before she could ask any questions, Don hung up.