Lonesome Point (17 page)

Leo busied himself replenishing patients’ charts with forms. He sat listening to the paper-shuffling, keyboard clicking under Rose’s long red fingernails, Martin occasionally clearing his throat. The ringing phone jolted him and he grabbed it, knowing who it was before he even looked at the caller ID. “Jefferson Memorial, Annex Three, may I help you?”

“Evening, Leo,” Patrick said. “Sorry I didn’t call you earlier.”

“Hey.” Leo easing back in his seat, tight smile on his face, bracing for the lies.

“It’s been a helluva busy day for me. And I thought now would be a better time to speak with you anyway.” A pause. “Listen, about our patient. We need to get this situation resolved. I’ve
been doing some thinking, spoke to my campaign adviser, and we determined: This thing is no threat to me. Freddy Robinson’s people want this patient? Let them have him.”

“Wow.” Leo unable to rein in the sarcasm. “This is a complete one-eighty shift for you.”

“I know that, but Freddy has nothing on me. I’d slap him with a defamation-of-character suit so fast it would wipe his memory clean.”

“Just a coupla days ago you said—”

“I know what I said then, but are you understanding what I’m telling you now?”

Leo stood and walked outside the room, stretching the cord around the corner. Keeping his voice down, he said, “Well, the man, Mr. M., was attacked last night. Didn’t you hear?”

“How would I have heard about that?”

“Yeah, well, he was assaulted by another patient and was hurt. He’s not doing too good. He’s … he’s in bed, actually, nurses checking him ’round the clock. I’m kinda surprised, to tell you the truth, he wasn’t transferred to the medical side.”

After a few seconds, Patrick said, “So what are you telling me?”

Leo leaned against the wall. “Tonight might not be the best night for a move but if we do it, we’ve got to change the hour.”

Patrick breathed hard into the phone. “And when would be a better hour?”

Leo glanced down both sides of the empty hallway. “Judging from how this place is unusually busy at the moment, I plan to tell Freddy we shoot for four-thirty, the place is really quiet then. Maybe even five.”

“But it’ll be tonight.”

“Yes.” Leo held the phone tight. “Patrick, they broke my fin-gers. They broke my fucking fingers, man.”

“What … ?
Who?”

“One of Freddy’s thugs.”

“Christ, are you all right?”

“I am
now
. Hurt like hell when it happened, but I’ll survive. You know why they did it, right?”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I owe you big time.”

“Patrick. What’s going on? I need to know.”

“What’s going on? I’ll be damned if I know, Leo, really.”

“Bullshit.”

“Hey, now, you gotta believe me. Don’t do this, don’t turn on me in the middle of the game. Let’s get this show over with, Leo. I’ll find out what this is all about, I will. Then we’ll talk. They’re not gonna get away with this shit, I promise you that, but just don’t back out on me now.”

“Who is this old man Massani? You have any idea?”

There was a silence. “Leo. Buddy. I’ll find out. I will. Now help me. Them hurting you like this? This is getting way, way outta hand. Let’s turn him over tonight and put this shit behind us. Freddy’s day will come, believe you me. Can you do it tonight? Come on, buddy.”

Leo said, “Yeah, I can do it,” thinking how he must look like a fool to Patrick. Thinking, We’ll see soon who the fool is in this game, Patrick.

“Call me when it’s over. Anytime. I probably won’t get much sleep anyway.”

Leo said, “Okay,” thinking that this might be one of the last
times he spoke to his brother. And how did he feel about that? He felt empty. “One last thing, one question I have. Why’d you tell me not to let him out last night?”

“Look, I was being cautious. I consulted with my adviser, my staff, and we thought we needed to know more about who Freddy Robinson is working for before we just, well, reacted. We needed to arrive at a smart, informed response.”

“Is that what we’re doing now?”

“I’d say so. Let’s end this tonight, Leo. I’m not putting my career or your safety on the line anymore.”

Ever the politician.

Leo said, “I understand.” Only too well.

“Good, Leo. When it’s over, when this all goes away, we’ll have to go out, have dinner together, just me and you. Let me make it up to you.”

AFTER THE call, Leo felt on edge and needed to walk it off. He grabbed the rounds board and headed down the darkened hallway, turned at the door, and started back. All the patients safely in their rooms on the women’s side, one patient in the bathroom on the men’s. He’d spied a figure shuffling in but it was too dark to make out the person. He waited near the door for the man to exit to see who it was. Frankie, the masturbator from Room 318, emerged wiping his hands on his pajama pants and reared back. “Jesus Christ!”

“Sorry, Frankie. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Frankie had backed up, palms flat on the door, eyes huge.

“Hey, it’s me. Leo. What’s wrong with you? It’s all right, now. Come, let’s go back to your room.”

“I needed to take a shit.”

“Good for you. You’re allowed. Let’s go, now.”

“It was a good shit. A healthy shit.”

“Hurray.” Leo led Frankie to his room door. “You have a good night, okay?”

“I’ll try. I been trying but all the rats in there keeping me awake, thumping and bumping and jumping.”

“Rats, huh?” Leo frowned with feigned thoughtfulness. This was like a dozen other conversations he’d had over the years with patients who had been spitting out meds on the sly or who needed dosages increased. “Let’s go inside, see if we can find any of these rats, then.”

Leo tapped on the room light. Two beds, no sheets on one because Frankie’s roommate, Reynaldo Rivera, had been transferred. Just thinking about that man chilled Leo to his stomach. He stood in the middle of the room, between the two beds. “You’re keeping your room nice and clean, Frankie. I’m looking around here and, man, I can’t see no rats. You see any?”

Frankie pointed to the ceiling. “They up there. I hear them.”

Leo pointed to the ceiling. “Up there.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I assure you, you don’t have rats in your ceiling, but just to be sure, I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll make a note and when the exterminator’s here next time we’ll get him on it first thing, how’s that sound?”

“Good. Then maybe I’ll get some sleep.” Frankie pulled back his sheets and climbed in.

“Good night, Frankie.” Leo hit the lights. He walked back to the nurses’ station thinking, Thumping, bumping rats, yeah,
right. Frankie probably knew well enough he was being humored but how else to respond to a complaint like that? The phone in the nurses’ station was ringing and he heard Martin say, “Hello, Annex Three,” and Leo stopped and turned around and looked down toward Frankie’s room.

Could it be? Yesterday Dolores, the patient, had told him she’d seen Reynaldo with a cell phone. When patients hid phones in their rooms, what did they do to keep them from being confiscated? Put them on vibrate.

He strode back, opened Frankie’s door, and said, “Sorry to bug you so soon but the exterminator’s here.” He put on the lights and Frankie sat up in bed. Leo closed the door and set the rounds board on the dresser. “Where’d you say the rats were hiding? About here?” Pointing to the ceiling above Reynaldo Rivera’s old bed. Frankie nodded.

Leo heeled off his shoes and stood on the bed. He reached up with both hands, pushed up a ceiling panel. It gave easily. Fiber dust dropped into his eyes and he stopped to wipe them with his shoulder sleeves. He stood on tiptoe and peered into the ceiling space, couldn’t see a damn thing. He reached a hand and felt around. His fingers brushed something solid. He took a latex glove from his pocket, pulled it on. Holding up the panel with one hand, he stretched his gloved hand as far as he could, and right … there … got it. His hand came down grasping a silver cell phone.

Frankie craned his neck. “What’s that there?”

“A big rat.” Leo flipped the phone open. Time and date accurate, two bars of power left. He went into the Names option: blank. He pressed the Menu option and selected Call History
and scrolled through outgoing and incoming and missed calls. All incoming calls were from one number. All outoing calls, the same. Missed calls, ditto.

The phone was there to serve one purpose. Leo felt his neck tensing. He thumbed off the phone’s power. Pushed the phone into a pants pocket, replaced the ceiling panel, and hopped off the bed.

He put on his shoes and said to Frankie, “The rat is officially dead. Sleep tight, now.” He flipped the lights off and walked out.

Back in the nurses’ station, the cold war between Martin and Rose was continuing. When he dropped the rounds board on the wall hook with a deliberate clatter, they hardly looked up. He cleared his throat. Martin smiled thinly at him, then went back to his paperwork. Leo thought, Good, and left.

When he returned to Herman’s room, the old man was still awake, sitting by the window in the darkness, blanket around his shoulders, tennis shoes on. He rose halfway. “Ready?
Estoy listo.
” A drawstring plastic bag stuffed with clothes sat in his lap.

“Not yet,” Leo said. He took a seat on the bed. “Herman, I have a phone number to ask about,” and he recited the number. “You familiar with it, by any chance?”

“But of course.”

Leo waited.

“You mean you don’t know whose number it is?”

“Tell me.”

“That number,
es de tu hermano
.”

“My brother’s? That’s not my brother’s number.”

“Yes. Is the number for the campaign manager, the adviser. Señor Oscar.”

Leo sat up and took a deep breath. He’d been having doubts; he’d been telling himself, No second-guessing, but he’d been having misgivings about tonight. Because this was his brother, his
blood
, and what could Leo really prove? But Herman had just helped him refocus. The firm connection between Patrick and the man who had tried to kill Herman was this phone right here in his pocket.

MARTIN SAW him coming out of Herman’s room. Leo pretended to be too busy closing the door to notice. Martin met him halfway down the hall. “Everything fine with the old guy?”

Leo walked toward him. “A bit shaken up, but he’ll be okay.”

Martin fidgeted with his watch. “Hey, you want to put together some extra patients’ charts with me tonight?”

Leo said he could do that, just let him grab something to drink and get some progress notes squared away. Still putting on the busy act. Martin said sure, no rush, but he followed him down the hall and stood there scratching an ear while Leo opened the kitchen door with a key. Inside, Leo got a plastic container of apple juice from the fridge and leaned against the counter, watching Martin standing there by the door, looking awkward.

“Something on your mind, Martin?”

The young man adjusted his watchband, buried both hands in his pockets. “Hey, you know Rose and I, well, we’re kinda dating?”

Leo nodded, gestured for him to continue.

“Well, I heard that you and she kinda dated way back, and, uh, I don’t know, so I was thinking you might know her better?”

Leo sipped his juice. “What’re you asking me?”

Martin cleared his throat, shifted his feet, eyes on the floor. “For advice? You went out with her, you know her. Before she broke up with you, was she ever moody or, like, temperamental?”

Broke up with you?
Leo wanted to say, Actually, we went on two dates, which in hindsight were completely uncalled-for. He was about to ask Martin if she was the one who’d handed him this version when it occurred to him that an opportunity had just appeared. Stay on your toes, Lee, that’s right, stay alert. So he sidled up to Martin. Put a hand on his shoulder. “She’s giving you a hard time already, huh? Blowing something minor way out of proportion, I bet?”

Martin gazed at him, looking childlike. “Yes, exactly, it’s ridiculous. We were at Shoney’s and I was just being nice to the waitress and, man—”

“Listen, listen,” Leo nodding, giving the guy’s shoulder a squeeze, “it’s all right, it’s all right. It’s not your fault,” a part of him suddenly wanting to laugh at his own bullshit. “That’s how she is—but there’s a way.” He lifted a finger, gaining control over himself.

“A way? ”

Leo nodded. “Yes,” keeping the finger raised, then pointing to Martin’s chest. “You have the power to change the course of the relationship. You can change it”—he snapped his fingers—“like that.”

“You think so?”

Leo stayed quiet.

Martin said, “Why’s that?”

Leo knew this wouldn’t work with someone older or more experienced than Martin, so he forged on, like he was stating the obvious: “Because of who she is, Martin, the kind of woman Rose is.”

“What do you mean?”

Leo sighed. Put a hand on Martin’s shoulder, commiserating with the fellow. “She’s complicated, isn’t she? Sweet one minute, demanding the next. But the one thing, the one constant—she likes, no: she
needs
your attention. No half measures for Rose, that’s what I learned.” Leo’s hand fell away from Martin’s shoulder and he gazed wistfully into the middle distance, like a lover overcome by sad memories. At the same time, he was trying hard to force out of his head the images of the graffiti Rose had sprayed on his car when he’d backed out of the relationship:
Worthless user !
He said to Martin, “If you like her, Martin, and I think you do—show her. Give her a pleasant surprise. I think she’d cherish that. You should do it tonight.”

“Tonight? How?”

Leo picked up his juice and drank, taking his time for dramatic effect. “Rose goes on break in a few minutes, am I right? So here’s what you can do. It’s romantic and spontaneous, and she’ll love it.” He leaned in, dropped his voice. “When she goes into the conference room, give her about five minutes after she closes that door, time to pull out the bed and spread the linen. Then you go and you knock on the door. Firmly.”

Martin made a face. “Oh, I don’t know if I want to do that, you know, it’s—”