Authors: Keith Gilman
The lobby looked more like a hotel’s lobby than a hospital’s. There were people sitting around on brand-new furniture, reading newspapers and talking on cell phones. There was a receptionist in a glass cubicle, behind a glass partition and glass desk, speaking into a headset. It wasn’t actually glass she was encircled by. It was plastic but it held one hell of a shine. Lou pictured her with a paper towel and a bottle of Windex, wiping away fingerprints all day, when she wasn’t on the phone or pushing a pencil. Enough prints to fill an FBI file.
Lou walked up in front of her as though he was there to pay an overdue medical bill. She didn’t look up immediately. She couldn’t hear him through the thick glass. There was a round
hole cut in the center where he assumed his face should be if he wanted to be heard. It looked more like an air hole, like the ones he’d punched into a plastic jug after catching a bug. He was tempted to order a cheeseburger. Her fingers pounded away at a keyboard, the clicking like a vague Morse code, like piano keys hitting dead strings.
“I’m looking for Sarah Blackwell, or Trafficante. I’m not sure what name she’s under. Came in by ambulance last night.”
“You a relative?”
“No, a friend.”
“Have a seat.”
“Look, can you at least tell me if she’s alive?”
“I’m sorry but that’s confidential information.”
“Well, when can I see her?”
“Visiting hours begin at ten.”
“Thanks.”
A red-haired kid with a cast on his arm came through the emergency room doors. Mitch caught it before it closed. There was a buzz inside. Nurses in white and doctors in green scrubs, bounced from room to room, stopping to fill out charts and wash their hands. All of the beds were full. A woman screamed as a nurse tried to insert a needle into her arm. Two other nurses and a security guard held her arms and legs and once the drip started down the line, the thrashing stopped. They walked down the aisle, glancing behind drawn curtains and closed doors. If they’d wheeled Sarah out of there on a gurney with a white sheet over her face, it would’ve been just another statistic, a suicide, another person with nothing to live for, survived by a husband she didn’t like.
“Since when did they start locking hospitals up like fortresses?”
“Since people started thinking babies were puppies and hospitals were the pound, adopting them right out of their incubators.
And since the popular attitude was that the rules applied to everyone else, but not to you. So now they lock the patients in and the public out.”
“What if you’re really sick and you need help?”
“What are you, a wiseguy?”
At the nurse’s station, a group of women in white passed around a set of baby pictures, fawning over someone’s new grandchild. They did their best to ignore the fax machine groaning behind them and a doctor scribbling notes onto a clipboard. A gray-haired witch spied them from her perch. She slid a pencil behind her ear and leaned over the counter with a sardonic glance, her thick glasses magnifying the size of her eyes.
“Can I help you boys?”
Her tone was only mildly antagonistic. She pulled back her lips, showed Mitch her teeth. He didn’t like her attitude.
“We’re looking for a lady, came in last night. Her name is Trafficante.”
“Trafficante . . . Trafficante,” she kept repeating the name under her breadth while she rummaged through a stack of papers. “You’re sure that’s her name. What did she come in for?”
“She’s going to have a baby. He’s the father. I’m the grandfather. You could be the wicked step-mother if you’d like.”
The angel of mercy behind the desk stared at Mitch over the top of her glasses and pursed her lips as if she were trying to keep her new choppers in her mouth. If she smiled, she would have crumbled like a stone statue. Another nurse came over and rested a hand on her arm as if she was taking her pulse.
“Lou Klein, you old dog. I thought that was you. Still rescuing damsels in distress?”
“No more, Betty. I’m retired. Couldn’t deal with the rejection.”
“You always were a wiseguy.”
“I was a cop, Betty. Nothing more.”
“Was, is, and always will be. I don’t think that’s something you grow out of, Lou. You were born a cop.”
“And you were born beautiful, Betty, and still are.”
“Are you romancing me, Lou?”
“I’m not that naive.”
“Pretend.”
“Okay, finally something I’m good at. Is Pete still keeping you guys safe around here?”
“Yep. Do you want me to call him and tell him you’re here?”
“Yeah, would you, please.”
“Why have you stayed away so long, Lou?”
“I didn’t know I was welcome. I won’t be a stranger anymore. I promise.”
She sat down at a desk, picked up a phone, and dialed a three-digit extension. Lou had dated Betty enough years ago for them both to forget any indiscretions he might have committed under the influence. They’d both been recently divorced when they met. It hadn’t been love at first sight. It was more like a car crash and they had agreed to remain friends after the wreck got towed away.
“Pete, the prodigal son has returned and he needs a favor.” Lou heard his old pal shouting into the phone.
“You tell Lou Klein he still owes me fifty bucks on the Holy-field fight.”
Lou winked at Betty.
“Tell him gambling is against the law.”
Pete responded with that bullhorn voice he was known for. He broke up fights with that big mouth and scared small children. He’d taken the job as director of security for Lankenau Hospital after retiring from the Philadelphia Police Department. He and Mitch had worked together in Homicide and he was one of the few people Lou had managed not to offend.
“Go get a warrant or go to hell.”
Betty feigned impatience.
“Just like old times. I’m passing messages between you two when you could just as easily be in the same room.”
“We like it better that way, less confusion and no confirmation.”
“And I don’t have to smell his breath.”
“I’ll be right down.”
Pete Kryeski hadn’t changed much. He still had a bushy brown mustache with a dark red tint and a full head of hair. His eyebrows were thick and ran in a unbroken line across his broad forehead. His nickname in the squad was hammerhead and he hadn’t lost his bite. Lou filled him in on the case.
“This guy Vincent, I heard of him. I think they’re his trucks picking up the garbage here, not to mention the medical waste, the linen, the food service. They’re in and out of here all day. I wouldn’t doubt if he was on the god-damn board of directors of this place. And that’s his wife in there, huh?”
“Keep your eye on her if you can, Pete. But don’t stick your neck out too far on this one. If there’s a problem, call me first. Then call Mitch.”
He slapped Lou’s back, almost breaking two ribs, and told him to stay in touch. Pete took Mitch down to the cafeteria for coffee. Betty circled her arm in his and walked with him down the hall.
“Am I still on the back burner?”
“I think I’ll turn up the heat a bit.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Lou knocked gently on the door and pushed it slowly open. He didn’t get an answer, stuck his head in, and took a few hesitant steps into the room. Sarah’s eyes were closed, her face framed
by the white pillow. He walked quietly past her to the window. Thick gray clouds still dominated the sky and the freezing rain from that morning had turned to sleet. He heard the tiny pellets of ice tap against the glass.
From the ninth-floor window he could see most of West Philly. Brown tenement buildings sprawled in every direction, connected by a maze of intersecting streets. Cars and buses were navigating the streets in what appeared to be a very orderly fashion. But he knew it was an illusion, a pattern that could only be seen from a distance, from a great height. From inside it, immersed in it, all perspective was lost. He wondered how he expected to find anyone in all that chaos.
Sarah opened her eyes, obviously struggling to focus on the blurred image of the man leaning against the window with his back to her. She blinked and opened her eyes wider, as though she was swimming inside a glass bubble filled with water, fighting her way to the light at the surface.
“Lou, is that you?”
“It’s me, Sarah. Welcome back.”
He sat at the edge of her bed and held her hand. She closed her eyes again, held them shut, as though she was waiting for her mind to catch up with her senses. When she opened them, she could see him, his soft brown eyes, a day’s growth on his face.
“I’m still a little groggy.”
“It’s called a hangover.”
“I’m so ashamed of myself, Lou. God, what did I do?”
“You tried to kill yourself. Took a handful of sleeping pills.”
“I was scared. I didn’t see any other way out.”
“There’s always another way. Are you really that scared of Tommy Ahearn?”
“I told you about him?”
“You don’t remember?”
“I remember him following me into the diner.”
“You told me he worked for your husband. I figured there’s more to the story.”
“There is.”
“I’m listening.”
“My mouth is so dry, Lou. Would you mind getting me a cup of water?”
Lou filled a paper cup with water from the bathroom. He let the water run first, waited for it to get cold. He tested it with his finger and pulled a few paper towels from the dispenser. He looked at his face in the small mirror over the sink. He saw the same face he’d seen in the mirror at Charlie Melvyn’s barber shop, a childlike face, or so he thought. It was the face of a man who’d seen too much, more than any man should have to, and yet he still hadn’t grown up, not fully, not if growing up meant giving up all those adolescent dreams that persisted into adulthood, dreams of success, of happiness, of love. There were still things he believed in, kept him going, kept him in his mother’s house, in the old neighborhood, same as Charlie Melvyn. Even without the badge and the gun, it made him want to help Sarah Blackwell or whatever her name was.
“You were going to tell me about Tommy Ahearn.”
“You must think I’m crazy.”
“I think you’re in trouble. I think your daughter could be in more trouble than you. That’s why you need to tell me the truth. Richie Mazzino is dead, Sarah. They found his body in Richland Quarry. I can’t help if you won’t confide in me.”
“Oh god, Lou. I think I am going crazy. Did Tommy kill him?”
“I don’t doubt it. I don’t doubt Mazzino was trying to protect your daughter from him.”
“He’s dangerous, Lou, more dangerous than you can imagine.”
“I’ve got a pretty good imagination. Try me.”
“One night, last year, these three guys show up at the house,
ring the doorbell about eleven o’clock at night. They worked at one of Vince’s factories, at least they did until Tommy fired them. I heard he caught them stealing checks and found out they’d been cashing them at this check cashing place right around the corner from the factory. That night, they showed up pissed off and drunk, looking to get paid for their last week of work. Tommy went outside. I heard them arguing, yelling back and forth. I watched from the window. Tommy had a gun. He just shot them. Just like that, all of them, right where they stood. He backed up his truck and threw them in the back like they were trash and drove away. He came back about an hour later and got rid of their car, probably parked it on some street in the city.”
“Did you call the police?”
“I was too scared. I did ask him about it the next day. He laughed and said, ‘A few more dead Philly homeboys. No one’ll miss ’em.’ That’s all he had to say.”
“You didn’t wake up one morning and find Tommy Ahearn on your doorstep. What’s his story?”
“Tommy came around about three, four years ago. Vince had got a girl pregnant, a young girl, a long time ago, and paid her to stay away. He’d see her every once in a while, when he got the urge, and he’d take care of her, give her money, anything she needed, as long as she didn’t make a stink. She had the baby and her parents took care of it. It was like the baby was her little brother.”
“But she still wanted to be Mrs. Vincent Trafficante.”
“And that was impossible at the time, yes.”
“Let me guess. Vince was already married.”
“Vince hated his first wife. She was a horrible drunk with a violent temper and would threaten to take him for everything he’s worth. She ended up dead in a car crash, a head-on collision on the Ben Franklin Bridge.”
“And that opened the door for wife number two. That was
you, but you were married to Sam Blackwell, a city cop. It’s an interesting story. I can’t wait to hear how it ends.”
“It all got so mixed up, Lou. There’s a lot you don’t know. Vince helped Sam, got him his first promotion, got him choice assignments, whatever he wanted. And Sam did things for Vince in return.”
“What kind of things?”
“He collected debts. Gambling debts mostly. He’d take bets, too. Sometimes he’d drive Vince around, like a chauffeur.”
“It takes money to be married to you.”
“That’s not fair, Lou.”
“You were the girl Vincent got pregnant. Weren’t you? Tommy Ahearn is your son. How old were you when you had him?”
“Sixteen.”
“Did Sam know about Tommy?”
“He found out about him.”
“And he conveniently committed suicide. So, why didn’t you all live happily ever after?”
“I don’t like the way you make that sound, Lou.”
“I don’t like it myself. It raises a lot of questions that a lot of people wouldn’t want to see answered.”
“Tommy was never the type to be satisfied with taking orders. He thought he was entitled to more money than Vince gave him. He knew the whole story, knew he was Vincent’s son and wanted to go into business for himself.”
“Vincent wasn’t crazy about the idea, I bet.”
“Vince said he wasn’t ready.”
“Anything else I need to know about Tommy Ahearn?”
“He wanted Carol Ann, Lou. He wanted my daughter. I should have seen it coming. I could have prevented it. I knew the kind of person Tommy was. He was brutal. Women were like toys to him, something he could abuse, physically, sexually. I tried everything to keep him away from her. I would have given
myself to him a thousand times, if he had just stayed away from my daughter.”