Cowboy Gangster 02 - Gunnin' for Love (CMS) (MM) (18 page)

They were met by a man in a white lab coat, and Anthony said thickly, “Can we see Shay O’Riley? He was just brought in tonight.”

The man nodded and led them into a larger room. Four mobile exam tables were positioned in a row, a few feet apart. Three of the tables were empty –the fourth containing a sheet-covered body.

Angelo hesitated as the man motioned them over. This was his moment of truth…the final straw that would break him; seeing Shay’s lifeless body with his own eyes. Witnessing the truth for himself.

“Angelo?” Anthony murmured, his throat tight. The man looked at them, sympathy softening his eyes. He remained silent and didn’t rush them. Angelo moved forward, his steps unsteady and breath quickening as he approached the table.

The man looked at the two of them, waiting for them to indicate he should fold back the sheet.

Swallowing hard, Angelo nodded.

Anthony’s own legs weakened as Shay’s tender young face was revealed. It didn’t hit until that moment that he hadn’t yet grasped the reality of the boy’s death –until now.

Tremors swept through Angelo and he moved closer, Anthony right beside him, hand on his back. He raised wet eyes to the man standing at the head of the table. “Could we…have a moment alone with him?” Warm rivers ran down his cheeks and he slid his arm around Angelo’s shoulders.

“Of course,” the man said softly. “Take all the time you need.” He left them and disappeared into a small adjoining office and closed the door.

Angelo’s hand shook as he reached out and tentatively touched the boy’s brow, his thumb grazing the small wound between his eyes. His fingers combed through Shay’s hair slowly, numbly.

Anthony rubbed his hand over his mouth and held, tears draining over his fingers.

“The last thing he said to me…before he left…” Angelo’s breath came quick, beginning to break. “He said…I’ll see you later, Papa Jo, don’t wait up for me.” His chin trembled and the wall of tears began to weaken, one after another escaping down his cheeks. “He thought it was funny…calling me Papa Jo…because I always scowled at him, but…” he shuddered and softly caressed the back of his fingers down Shay’s cheek. “…I liked it. I liked being…Papa Jo.” He began to shake as sobs caught in his throat. “Now I’m just…Angelo.”

Anthony pulled him into his arms and held him tight, crying softly against his hair as the man clung to him and shook beneath the weight of his loss.

Angelo pressed his face deep into Anthony’s neck and whispered on a broken sob, “I’ll never be Papa Jo again.”

♦

Clint was pacing the corridor, staying to the side and out of the way of traffic but unable to sit down. His thought process increased when he became immobile and he didn’t want to think right now. When Cory came out of surgery and they could speak with him, then maybe Cory would know the identity of his shooter –and Shay’s killer.

Officer Park’s remark about Cory still seethed his brain. The cop surely
hadn’t
meant it the way it sounded, but that didn’t matter –Clint had still wanted to put his fist through the little fucker’s head.

His boots halted on the hard floor when he spotted Anthony and Angelo at the far end of the corridor and headed his way. Anthony’s arm wrapped around the other man’s shoulders, their bodies brushing against one another. Clint watched as Angelo slowly slipped his arm around Anthony’s waist and leaned against him a little, his face wet. The tears had finally won the battle.

There was the presence of an “emotional closeness” between the two men that hadn’t been there when they’d left for the morgue earlier. They had always been close, like brothers…but something had shifted in the short time they’d been gone.

Or maybe it was just Clint’s heightened emotions. It was probable that all he was witnessing was one friend comforting another –and nothing more. As far as he knew, Anthony had no tendency to be attracted to men. He’d been married to Cory’s mother and had loved her deeply.

Get your head together and stop jumping to wild conclusions.

He walked forward, meeting up with the two men. “Are you all right?” He glanced between them, understanding that Shay’s death wasn’t Angelo’s loss alone. Anthony had quickly bonded with the boy as well and viewed him as a son. They had all become attached to Shay from the day he became a part of their
family
.

Angelo cleared his throat and, rather than answer his question, asked one of his own. “Do you think Carlo Venetti set them up?”

Clint tightened his lips, his hands clamped to his hips. “I do.”

“Before we run with that conclusion,” Anthony spoke up. “Let’s wait for Cory to get out of surgery. He would know better if it was a setup…or just a job gone wrong. I have no love for Carlo Venetti, but neither do I believe he should be held accountable for something he isn’t guilty of.” He stared at Clint. “
If
he isn’t guilty.”

“Whoever did this…” Angelo murmured, his dark eyes boring into Clint. “Whoever pulled the trigger that took Shay’s life…when you find him –you bring him to me with enough life left in him to experience the fucking pain that will be inflicted on him. You hear me?”

“Of course,” Clint nodded. These days, Angelo had settled into a rather docile man –much the opposite of his younger self of years ago. It might be easy to forget how dangerous these two men truly were when it had been quite a space since either had laid violent hands on another soul –but Clint remembered and knew that when they found the motherfucker who had shot Cory and Shay…their “creativity” would surpass even that of Clint’s own.

Though not much older than Clint himself, Anthony and Angelo were nonetheless what Clint referred to as “old school” gangsters. With their intended prey in hand, they would teach Clint a thing or two about torture.

Like an attentive student –Clint eagerly awaited the lessons.

♦

Anthony followed Angelo into the restroom and locked the door. When Angelo grabbed some towels and ran them under the faucet, Anthony took them, squeezed out the excess water and washed the man’s face even as a fresh wall of tears started to reform.

“I feel like a five year old.” A weak smile touched his lips but made it no higher as he stared at Anthony.

“I wish you were,” Anthony murmured with an audible thickness in his voice. “Then I could just kiss the hurt and make it go away.” His throat worked as his thumb slid off the edge of the damp towel and stroked Angelo’s cheek. “So simple.”

Angelo trembled, the glassy sheen in his eyes thickening. “Maybe it works on adults, too…we just don’t know it.”

Discarding the towels, Anthony’s heart pounded as he whispered unsteadily, “Show me where it hurts.”

Angelo swallowed hard and placed a trembling hand over his heart. “Right here.” His hand slipped away slowly as Anthony cupped his neck, gripping gently, then lowered his head and pressed his lips to Angelo’s chest. A shuddered breath broke in the man’s throat and his fingers slid through Anthony’s hair, then his face was against Anthony’s shoulder, sobs swelling up inside him.

Anthony was hardly aware he had shifted at all when his lips touched Angelo’s neck, caressing his skin as the man held his head, pulling Anthony against him, clinging to him and crying.

“Tell me Cory with be okay,” Angelo choked softly. His lips brushed against Anthony’s ear and lingered, his warm breath unsteady. “We can’t lose him, too…we can’t…”

“Cory will make it,” Anthony trembled, struggling to take comfort in the words as well. He lost one son today –he couldn’t lose another. Not Cory. Not his baby boy. His palms rubbed down Angelo’s chest and his tears smeared the man’s neck, draining under the collar of his shirt. “He’ll come back to us.”

A flurry of small sobs tumbled out of Angelo and he shoved his fingers deeper into Anthony’s hair, his lips pressing harder against his ear –then grabbed at his earlobe tentatively. Anthony shuddered hard and squeezed fistfuls of Angelo’s shirt as deeply repressed feelings and emotions struggled to surface. He knew he should fight them, resist…but his defenses were down, his heart breaking apart.

His breath quickening, shaking, Anthony slowly lifted his head, his cheek brushing against Angelo’s face as his mouth dragged along the man’s jawline. Shivers rushed through Angelo’s body and his face shifted gently, head ducking just a little as his lips parted, trembling in anticipation.

A solid rap on the door halted the men, freezing them in place, hearts pounding wildly.

“Anthony?” Clint’s deep voice pushed through the door, slightly muffled –and tinged with urgency. “The doctor’s here.”

Anthony drew away from his friend, his body shaking. Neither met the other’s eyes as they quickly exited the restroom.

♦

“My son…” Anthony approached the doctor, visibly tense. “How is he?”

Doctor Morgan was an older man, fiftyish, with sable brown hair graying at the temples. Though radiating staunch professionalism, there was a notable warmth in his light brown eyes. He stood at equal height with Clint but with a much leaner frame.

Clint had called Cochise back inside and the Egyptian now hovered near Anthony and Angelo, body rigid and eyes like stone as he stared at the man who alone held the news of Cory’s fate.

“Stable,” Morgan said and the relief that swept through Anthony nearly wilted the man. “He’s in the ICU ward, but I anticipate being able to move him to a regular room in the morning.”

“Thank God,” he shuddered and Angelo gripped his shoulder, breathing a little easier himself.

It seemed that Clint’s heart had stopped the moment he received Cory’s call –and just now began to beat again.

“It was touch and go there for a while,” Morgan said. “The bullet played pinball inside him, ricocheting off his ribs, down to his hip bone then up again, skipping off his sternum to lodge in soft tissue next to his heart.” The man shook his head slowly. “As much of a mess as the bullet path left inside him…count it a miracle that the bullet ricocheted downward rather than up, which would have embedded it in his heart. He would have been dead in minutes, if not instantly.”

Anthony trembled. “Trust me, sir. I count it a solid gold miracle.”

“Actually,” Morgan added. “It was a double miracle. With a fraction more momentum…the bullet would have still entered his heart from the ricochet off his sternum. It was, in fact, touching his heart. But simply resting against the organ, no damage done.” He cleared his throat. “He also sustained a bullet wound on his upper right arm. The bullet nicked the bone, which along with the extensive damage to his bicep, will cause some temporary hindrance to the use of that arm. But again, the fact that he is alive is a miracle in itself.”

Clint had never put much stock in to miracles, figured mankind made their own fate without much help from some higher power. That changed tonight.

“Can I see him?” Anthony asked thickly.

“Yes, but only for a few minutes,” the doctor said. “He isn’t awake yet.” He glanced at the small group. “I’d prefer that no more than two of you go in at this time. In the morning, he should be awake and alert. You can all visit then.”

Anthony looked at Clint and Cochise, then addressed the doctor. “Can they at least come to the door of his room? We lost one of our own tonight,” his voice strained. “We all need to see with our own eyes that Cory is still with us.”

Morgan nodded slowly, understanding in his eyes. “Of course,” he said. “And you should know, there was extensive damage done to your son’s hip bone. Possible nerve damage, but that is yet to be determined. He will need physical therapy to learn to compensate for the nerve damage in his hip, if there proves to be some.”

“I understand,” Anthony said. “I’ll make sure he gets whatever help he needs.”

“When the times comes,” Morgan told him. “I can give you some references for physical therapists if that would help.”

“Yes, thank you.” Anthony shook his hand. “Thank you for everything.”

The rest of them shook the doctor’s hand, offering their gratitude, before the man left them.

The four men rode the elevator up to the ICU ward in silence. Anthony buzzed them in and when the doors opened, Clint and Cochise lingered back as Anthony and Angelo entered and spoke with a nurse. She directed them to Cory’s cubicle, visible from the doorway. The boy lay slightly propped up, eyes closed and face serene, as if he were simply sleeping off an exhausting day.

The most beautiful sight in the world.

But it was more than just an “exhausting day”.

I loved him.

Maybe the bullet hadn’t found its mark…but Cory’s heart hadn’t escaped undamaged.

♦

Cochise didn’t stop when they made it back to the waiting room and shoved through the exit doors. Clint followed, catching up to him at the car. “Give me the keys,” Cochise demanded.

“Where are you going?” Clint made no move to hand over the keys.

“Where the fuck do you think?” the Egyptian snapped. Deep grooves fissured his thick brow, his eyes chipped ice. “That motherfucker Venetti set up this job. Whether or not he
setup
Cory and Shay remains to be seen, but he knows
something
. And he’s going to fucking tell us.”

Clint frowned. “On the drive up here, you argued against it being the Albanian’s.”

“I’m still not convinced it’s them,” Cochise said tightly. “But it was
Venetti’s
job. And he fucking knows something. Now give me the fucking keys.”

Clint handed them over then walked around to the passenger side. “We’re both going. If it turns out he did set them up –I want a fucking piece of him.”

Cochise stared across the top of the car at him, his face hard with a look Clint wasn’t certain how to decipher. For an instant, he thought the man would insist Clint stay behind, but finally he muttered low and jerked open the driver door and climbed inside.

His frown deepening, Clint took the passenger seat and glanced at the Egyptian. The man was enraged, and rightfully so. The icy chill wafting off the man wasn’t wholly conjured up by Venetti.

Clint was getting a little frostbitten himself.