Seizure (32 page)

“Score!” Gaetano happily said out loud. He looked at his
watch. It was a quarter past three. Suddenly, things seemed to be falling into place.

The Mercury Marquis started forward and passed directly in front of Gaetano. Gaetano fell in behind, close enough at first to commit the license plate to memory. He then dropped back.

 

“What did you think about my conversation with Father Maloney?” Stephanie asked.

“I'm just as confused about him as I was the day we left Turin.”

“Me too,” Stephanie agreed. “I was hoping he'd be a bit more forthcoming than he was back in Italy about divine intervention and his merely being the Good Lord's servant. But, hey, at least he's supposedly arranged for us to get our luggage. With us being fugitives and with what I know about lost luggage, that's got to be evidence of divine intervention.”

“Maybe so, but without having any idea when it might arrive, it's not much help in the short run.”

“Well, I'm going to think positively about it being soon, so my shopping is going to be restricted to a bathing suit and a few basics.”

Daniel pulled into the strip mall's parking area and drove along the storefronts, pausing in front of a woman's clothing store immediately adjacent to a men's shop. Both window displays were tastefully done. The clothes looked European.

“Isn't this convenient,” Daniel commented as he parked the car. He looked at his watch. “Let's meet back here at the car in half an hour.”

“Sounds good to me,” Stephanie said, as she stepped out of the vehicle.

 

With his heart rate back up to where it had been when he first saw the couple coming into the hotel, Gaetano nosed into a parking space that afforded a direct route back onto the street and hence directly over the bridge to Nassau. It was always important to provide a quick getaway in his line of work. He turned off the engine and looked back over his shoulder. He watched while the couple split up, with the professor going
toward a men's haberdashery, while Tony's sister headed for an adjacent woman's shop.

Gaetano couldn't believe his luck. The question of how to deal with the woman while he took care of business with the professor had been a nagging concern, since by decree, she was supposed to be left out of the action. Now she wouldn't be a problem, as long as the professor provided an appropriate opportunity while he was alone. Unsure how long he would be alone, Gaetano leaped out of the Cherokee. As he quickened his step to a jog, his anticipatory fervor soared. For him, the necessary maneuvering as he closed in on a mark was like foreplay in a self-fulfilling cycle of excitement, while the resulting violence was very nearly orgasmic. In fact, for him, the entire experience was similar to sex but better.

 

It was a relief for Daniel to be by himself, even for only thirty minutes. Stephanie's carping about her conscience was getting on his nerves. Finding out Spencer Wingate et al. were into questionable activities was hardly a surprise, especially after what she had reported learning during her Internet search. He hoped that her current bothersome self-righteousness wasn't going to cause her to lose sight of the big picture and get in the way. He could do without her, but he'd been truthful when he admitted she was better than he when it came to cellular manipulation.

Daniel did not like to shop, and as he entered the haberdashery, he intended to make the visit quick so he could go back out to the car and just sit and relax. All he wanted to buy was a few pairs of underpants, a bathing suit, and some appropriate clothes for work, such as khaki pants and short-sleeve shirts. In London, Stephanie had talked him into buying slacks, two dress shirts, and a tweed jacket, so he was fine in that arena.

The interior of the shop was surprisingly large, despite its modest storefront, since it was deep. Just inside the door was a sizable golf and smaller tennis section, while everyday apparel was farther back. The temperature was pleasantly cool. The air was scented with cologne mixed with the odor of new fabric. Classical music issued from a multitude of wall
speakers. The décor was decidedly clubby, with lots of dark red mahogany, horse prints, and dark green carpeting. There were a half dozen other shoppers, all of whom were in the golf area. Each was being helped by a salesperson.

No one came to greet Daniel, which he preferred. Officious haberdashers had always put him off with their condescending manner, as if they were paragons of good taste. When it came to clothes Daniel was Ivy League conservative. He essentially wore what he'd worn in college. Unaccosted and unaccompanied, he passed through the sports section and headed into the depths of the store.

Since he knew it would be easy, Daniel started with the bathing-suit quest. He found the appropriate section and then his size. After flipping through a few on the rack of dozens, he pulled out a solid, dark-blue, medium boxer. He thought that would do just fine. Immediately adjacent to the bathing suits was the underwear section. He was a classic brief man, and he found his size with ease.

With only a few of his thirty minutes of reprieve gone, Daniel went to the shirt section. He passed up the majority, which were flower prints in bright, tropical colors, and zeroed in on button-down oxfords with short sleeves. He found his size and took two in blue. With the bathing suit, underwear, and shirts in hand, he walked to the pants section. It was equally hard to find plain khakis, but he did, although with the pants, he wasn't sure of the size. Reluctantly, he took several of varying lengths and looked for the dressing rooms. He found them at the very back of the store beyond the deserted suits and sport jackets section.

There were four changing cubicles arranged along the back of a mahogany-paneled fitting room. The fitting room was reached by pushing through a pair of swinging doors. Three-way mirrors graced the end walls. Each cubicle had a paneled door that stood open. The first dressing room on the right was twice the size of the other three, and Daniel headed there.

Inside, he found a single upholstered chair, several clothes hooks, and a floor-to-ceiling mirror. Daniel closed and locked the door, put his intended purchases on the chair, and hung the pants on the hooks. After kicking off his shoes, he undid his
belt and slipped out of his slacks. Taking the first pair of pants, he was about to pull them on when a reverberating thud preceded the changing-room door being rudely kicked open with such force to cause it to smash against the wall hard enough to drive the doorknob through the plasterboard. Daniel's heart leaped into his throat as a feeble moan escaped from his lips.

Literally caught with his pants down, Daniel merely stared at the hulking intruder, who closed the door despite the splintered casing. The man then stepped over to the startled Daniel, who looked up into a pair of dark, metallic eyes peering out of an oversized head capped with black hair in a buzz cut. Before Daniel could respond, the pants he was holding were ripped from his grasp and tossed to the side.

At the exact moment Daniel found his voice to start to protest, a fist came out of nowhere and smashed into the side of his face, rupturing capillaries in his nose and crushing others in his lower right eyelid. Propelled backward, Daniel slammed against the mirror before collapsing to a sitting position with his legs crumpled beneath him. The image of the attacker swam before him. Only partially aware of what was happening and offering no resistance, Daniel was yanked upright before he was sent sprawling into the upholstered chair on top of the clothes he'd intended to buy. He could feel blood trickle out of his nose, and he could barely see out of his right eye.

“Listen, asshole,” Gaetano growled. He poked his head close to Daniel's face. “I'm going to make this short. My bosses, the Castigliano brothers, in the name of all stockholders in your freaking company, want you to get your ass back up north and put the company back on track. You hear me?”

Daniel tried to talk, but his vocal cords wouldn't respond. Instead, he nodded his head.

“It's not a complicated message,” Gaetano continued. “They feel it's disrespectful for you to be frolicking down here in the sun while their hundred-grand investment is on the rocks.”

“We're trying . . .” Daniel managed, but his voice was a high-pitched squeak.

“Yeah, sure you're trying,” Gaetano scoffed. “You and your hot-ticket girlfriend. But it doesn't look that way to my
bosses, who would much prefer you do your trying back in Beantown. And whether the company tanks or not, my bosses are going to expect their money back, no matter what kind of fancy lawyers you might employ. You understand?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“No buts,” Gaetano interrupted. “I'm making this crystal clear. You gotta tell me you understand! Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Daniel croaked.

“Good,” Gaetano said. “But just to be sure, I have something else I want you to think about.”

Without warning, Gaetano hit Daniel again. This time, it was on the left side of Daniel's head, but in contrast to the first blow, Gaetano used an open hand. Nonetheless, it was a powerful whack that landed with enough force to propel Daniel out of the chair like a ragdoll and onto the floor.

The side of Daniel's face was stinging, and a high-pitched ringing sounded in his ear. He felt Gaetano nudge him with his foot before grabbing a handful of his hair and yanking his head off the carpet. Daniel opened his eyes. He squinted at the backlit image of his assailant hovering over him.

“Can I feel confident you have gotten the message?” Gaetano demanded. “Because I want you to know I could have hurt you bad. I hope you understand that. But at the moment, we don't want you hurt so bad that you can't get your company back on its feet. Of course, that might change if I have to fly the hell back down here from Boston. You catch my drift?”

“I get the message,” Daniel squeaked.

Gaetano let Daniel's hair go, and his head bounced down on the carpet. Daniel kept his eyes closed.

“That's all for now,” Gaetano said. “I hope I don't have to come and visit you again.”

A moment later, Daniel heard the door to the changing room creak open and then shut again. All was quiet.

3:20
P
.
M
., Friday, March 1, 2002

 

Daniel opened his
eyes after lying perfectly still for a few minutes. He was alone in the changing cubicle, but he heard muffled voices beyond the door. It sounded as if a salesperson was directing a customer into one of the other cubicles. Daniel pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked at himself in the mirror. The left side of his face was beet red, and a trickle of blood went from his nose to the corner of his mouth before running down to the edge of his jaw. His right eye was beginning to swell shut and had a slightly bluish cast.

Gingerly, Daniel felt his nose and his right cheekbone with the tip of his index finger. Everything was tender, but there was neither pinpoint pain nor suspicious bony edges to suggest he had suffered a fracture. He got to his feet and, after a fleeting moment of dizziness, he felt reasonably well, except for a dull headache, wobbly legs, and a pervading sense of nervousness, as if he'd just drunk five cups of coffee. He held out his hand; he had a tremor to beat the band. The episode had terrified him; he'd never felt quite so vulnerable in his life.

Despite uncertain balance, Daniel managed to pull on his
pants. He then wiped away the blood from his face with the back of his hand. In the process, he realized he'd suffered a gash inside his cheek. Carefully, he explored the area with his tongue. Luckily, it wasn't large enough for him to believe he needed any stitches. Then he smoothed out the thinning hair on top of his head by raking it with his fingers. He opened the door and stepped out into the fitting room.

“Good afternoon,” a snappily dressed, African-Bahamian salesman said with a strong English drawl. He was dressed in a pinstriped suit accented with a colorful silk pocket square that appeared to have exploded out of his breast pocket. He was leaning against the wall with his arms folded awaiting his client to emerge from his changing room. He gave Daniel a quizzical look with arched eyebrows but said nothing more.

Afraid of how his voice might sound, Daniel merely nodded in reply while managing a tentative smile. He started forward on unsteady legs, acutely aware of his tremor. He was afraid he might appear intoxicated. But the more he walked, the easier it became. He was relieved when the salesperson didn't confront him. Daniel wanted to avoid any conversation. He merely wanted to get out of the store.

By the time Daniel got to the door to the street, he was confident he was walking normally. He opened the door and stuck his head out into the sunny afternoon heat. A quick glance around the parking area convinced him that his muscular attacker had long since departed. He peeked through the window of the women's store and caught a glimpse of Stephanie happily shopping. Confident she was okay, Daniel made a beeline for the Mercury Marquis.

Once inside the car, Daniel rolled down the windows to allow the breeze to siphon off the ovenlike heat that had developed during the short time he'd been in the store. He sighed; it felt good to be sitting down within the familiar surroundings of his rent-a-car. Bending the rearview mirror in his direction, he examined himself more closely. He was particularly worried about his right eye, which was now practically shut. Still, he could tell the cornea was clear and there was no blood in the anterior chamber, although there were some petechial hemorrhages on the sclera. Having spent time in the emergency room as a medical resident, he knew something about
facial trauma—in particular, a problem called a blowout fracture of the orbit. To make sure that hadn't happened, he checked to see if he saw double, especially when he looked up and down. Thankfully, he didn't. So he repositioned the rearview mirror and sat back to wait for Stephanie.

About a quarter of an hour later, Stephanie emerged from the women's clothing store with several shopping bags in tow. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she looked in Daniel's direction. Daniel responded by sticking his hand out his open window and waving. She waved back and came running. He watched as she approached. Now that he'd had a few minutes to think about his assault and its probable origin, his mental state had changed from anxiety to anger, and a significant portion of it was directed at Stephanie and her screwed-up family. Although he'd not had his knees smashed, the modus operandi smelled suspiciously Mob-related, which immediately brought to mind Stephanie's indicted brother. Who the Castiglianos were he had no idea, but he was going to find out.

Stephanie came first to the passenger-side back door, opened it, and tossed her bundles onto the backseat. “How'd you make out?” she questioned happily. “I have to say, I did better than I expected.” She slammed the back door and proceeded to get into the front while babbling about her purchases. She closed her door and grabbed her seat belt before she looked at Daniel. When she did, she stopped her ramblings in midsentence. “My God! What happened to your eye?” she blurted.

“It's good of you to notice,” Daniel said scornfully. “Obviously, I got beat up. But before we get into the distasteful details, I have a question to ask. Who are the Castigliano brothers?”

Stephanie stared at Daniel, taking in not only the puffy eye, but also the red swelling on the side of his face and the crusted blood along the edges of his nostrils. She wanted to reach out and touch him empathically, but she held back. She could see the anger reflected in the one visible eye and heard it in his tone of voice. Besides, the Castigliano name and the significance it engendered momentarily paralyzed her. She looked down at her hands, limp in her lap.

“Is there some other little important tidbit you didn't feel
like talking to me about?” Daniel continued, with equal sarcasm. “I mean, in addition to your brother being indicted for racketeering after becoming an investor. I repeat, who the hell are the Castiglianos?”

Stephanie's mind was racing. It was true that she'd not shared the news that her brother had farmed out half of his investment. She had no excuse for not being more forthcoming, especially since the news had disturbed her, and this second and related lapse made her feel like a thief caught twice in the same felonious act.

“I was hoping we could at least have a conversation,” Daniel said, when Stephanie didn't respond.

“We can, and we will,” Stephanie said suddenly. She looked at Daniel. She'd never felt quite so guilty in her life. He'd been hurt, and she had to accept that a significant amount of the responsibility was hers. “But first, tell me if you are okay.”

“As well as can be expected, under the circumstances.” Daniel started the car and backed out of the parking place.

“Should we go to a hospital or see a doctor?” Stephanie asked.

“No! There's no need. I'm going to live.”

“What about the police?”

“An even more emphatic no! Going to the police, who might actually investigate, would risk derailing our plans to treat Butler.” Daniel drove to the parking area exit.

“Maybe this is another omen about this whole affair. Are you sure you don't want to give up on this Faustian quest?”

Daniel flashed Stephanie an angry, scornful look. “I can't believe you'd even suggest such a thing. Absolutely not! I'm not about to roll over and give up everything we've worked for because a couple of lowlifes send down their Neanderthal henchman to give me a message.”

“He talked with you?”

“In between blows.”

“What exactly was the message?”

“To quote the muscleman, I'm supposed to ‘get my ass back to Boston and get the company back on track.' ” Daniel pulled out into the road and accelerated. “Some of our
stockholders, having learned we're in Nassau, believe we're on vacation down here.”

“Are we going back to the hotel?”

“Seeing as I've lost my enthusiasm for shopping, I want to get some ice on this eye of mine.”

“Are you sure we shouldn't go to a doctor? Your eye looks pretty bad.”

“It will probably come as a surprise if I remind you that I'm a doctor myself.”

“I'm talking about a real, practicing doctor.”

“Very funny, but excuse me if I don't laugh!”

They drove in silence the short distance back to the hotel. Daniel parked the car in the parking lot. They got out. Stephanie collected her parcels from the backseat. She didn't quite know what to say.

“The Castigliano brothers are acquaintances of my brother, Tony,” Stephanie finally admitted, as they walked toward their building.

“How come I'm not surprised?”

“Other than that, I don't know them, nor have I ever met them.”

They keyed open the door to their suite. Stephanie tossed her shopping bags to the side. As guilty as she felt, she didn't know how to handle Daniel's rightful anger. “Why don't you go in and sit down,” she offered solicitously. “I'll get the ice.”

Daniel stretched out on the couch in the sitting room but quickly sat upright again. Lying down made his head throb. Stephanie came in with a towel, which she wrapped around a handful of ice cubes she got from the ice bucket on the counter over the minibar. She handed a makeshift ice pack to Daniel, who gingerly placed it against his swollen eye.

“How about some ibuprofen?” Stephanie asked.

Daniel nodded, and Stephanie got several tablets, along with a glass of water.

While Daniel took the pain reliever, Stephanie sat on the couch and tucked her feet underneath herself. She then told Daniel the details of her conversation with Tony the afternoon of the day they left for Turin. She concluded by abjectly apologizing for not having mentioned it. She explained that with
everything else that was happening at the time, it seemed to be of minor importance. “I was going to tell you when we got back from Nassau and when the second-round financing came through, because I want to treat the two hundred thousand from my brother as a loan and return it with interest. I don't want him or any of his associates involved with CURE in the future.”

“Well, at least we agree on something.”

“Are you going to accept my apology?”

“I suppose,” Daniel said, without a lot of enthusiasm. “So, your brother warned you about coming here?”

“He did,” Stephanie admitted, “because I couldn't tell him why. But it was just a generic warning, and certainly without threats. I have to say, it's still hard for me to believe he's involved with your assault.”

“Oh, really?” Daniel said sarcastically. “Start believing it, because he has to have been involved! I mean, other than your brother telling these Castiglianos, how would they know we are here in Nassau? It can't be a coincidence this thug appeared here the day after we arrived. Obviously, after you called your mom last evening, she called your brother, and he called his pals. And I don't suppose I have to remind you how mad you got when I brought up the issue of possible violence when dealing with people involved in racketeering?”

Stephanie blushed at the recollection. It was true; she'd been furious. With sudden determination, she reached for her cell phone, flipped it open, and began dialing. Daniel grabbed her arm. “Who are you calling?”

“My brother,” Stephanie said hotly. She sat back with the phone against her ear. Her lips were pressed together in angered determination.

Daniel leaned toward Stephanie and took the phone. Despite Stephanie's flash of anger and apparent resolve, she didn't offer any resistance. Daniel closed the phone and tossed it onto the coffee table. “At the moment, calling your brother is the last thing we should do.” He sat back upright, keeping the ice pack pressed against his eye.

“But I want to confront him. If he was truly involved, I'm not going to let him get away with it. I feel betrayed by my own family.”

“You're angry?”

“Of course I'm angry,” Stephanie retorted.

“So am I,” Daniel snapped. “But I'm the one who got beat up, not you.”

She lowered her eyes. “You're right. You're the one who deserves to be a lot more upset than I.”

“I need to ask you a question,” Daniel said. He adjusted his ice pack. “An hour or so ago, you said you'd been thinking about possibly going home to appease your conscience about working with the likes of Paul Saunders and Spencer Wingate. With this new development, I have to know now if you intend to or not.”

Stephanie glanced back up at Daniel. She shook her head and gave a short, embarrassed laugh. “After what's happened, and as guilty as I feel about it, there's no way I could leave.”

“Well, that's a relief,” Daniel commented. “Maybe there's good in everything, even getting beaten to a pulp.”

“I really am sorry you were hurt,” Stephanie said. “I truly am. More than you know.”

“All right, all right,” Daniel repeated. He gave Stephanie's knee a reassuring squeeze. “Now that I know you are staying, here's what I think we should do. I think we should pretend this little episode of me being pummeled never happened, meaning no nasty calls to your brother or even your mother, for that matter. Future calls to your mother will emphasize that you and I are not vacationing here but rather hard at work on a job to save CURE. Tell her it's going to take three weeks and then we'll be home.”