Scarcity (Jack Randall #3) (12 page)

“You two just don’t get it do you? Follow the damn money, it’s that simple. You work for the government. That means you get paid by the American taxpayer, the same taxpayer that spends billions on drugs every year. You think I make money selling drugs in Mexico? Honduras? Hell no. It’s
all
American money, guys. Your government spends forty billion dollars a year pissing in the wind trying to stop it. Excuse me for picking the profit side of the business. I’m a fucking millionaire several times over, and you’re pulling down a lousy sixty k a year? You can look down your nose all you want, but you both know I’m right. We’re all working for the same people.”

“You’re not so rich anymore,” Charlie pointed out.

“You think so?” Angel shot back. “Only if you guys find it all, and I can make in one week what you’ll make in your whole wasted life!”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you?” Angel laughed. “Is that all you got? Come on, you can do better than that. You should be thanking me for showing you the light! Congratulations! You work in the drug trade! Welcome to the club!”

Jake turned back to his football game. “I don’t see it that way. You’re peddling poison to kids. I’m on the right side.”

“You think so? You gonna tell me that there’s all these people out there that have no idea that drugs are bad for them and against the law? I’m not buying that. What about alcohol? How about cigarettes? They all know and they choose to do it anyway. There’s not one person in this whole country that didn’t know and did it anyway. People spend forty billion a year on drugs. They want them. Nobody’s innocent. They’re
all
guilty.”

Charlie tossed down the remainder of his food and swept it up into a ball before standing.

“You need to shut the fuck up.”

“Or what? I’m your only tie to the Cali cartel. You’re just a damn babysitter. Kiss my ass.”

The Marshal bit his tongue until he walked past, before turning and kicking the chair out from under Angel. He was about to follow it with a kick to the ribs when Jake engulfed him in a bear hug and walked him back.

“Run your mouth some more, asshole!”

“Let it go, Charlie, he ain’t worth it. Just cool off. He’s just trying to push your buttons. Don’t let him get to you.”

Charlie let himself be pushed down the hallway before Jake let him go. He spun on a heel and stalked into the bedroom he had chosen before slamming the door. Jake waited till he heard the bedsprings creak before turning and walking back into the kitchen. Angel had picked himself off the floor and was rubbing his shoulder.

“Your partner’s a real ass.”

Jake was across the room in two strides and quickly had Angel up against the wall, with a forearm across his throat. Angel struggled, but Jake just increased the pressure.

“Look at me, motherfucker,” Jake said quietly.

Angel stopped struggling and did as he was told. Jake’s face was inches from his and he could feel his breath on his face.

“If you ever run your mouth like that again, you’re gonna have a little accident. You hear me?”

Angel saw the look in the man’s eyes. He meant what he was saying. He managed a small nod. Jake held the pressure a couple seconds longer to drive the point home before releasing him. Angel slid to the floor and coughed until he regained his breath. Jake had already dismissed him and returned to his chair to watch the rest of the game. Angel rubbed his neck and hobbled to the kitchen table. Eventually his stomach won out and he gathered his food and took it to the microwave. Once it was warm, he found a spot in the chair across from Jake. They watched the game in silence, each ignoring the other.

Police: Accused drug lord moved tons of cocaine to U.S.
August 31, 2010—CNN
 
 

—EIGHT—

R
ita Lamar sat in the chair and watched her daughter’s chest rise and fall with each cycle of the ventilator. Tessa’s swollen eyes were taped shut and the bruising on her face had regressed to a yellow-blue stain along her jaw line. Her legs were propped up with pillows and traction was provided to one leg to aid the pins holding her femur together. The ugly stitches and bandages covering her chest could be seen peeking out from behind the collar of the hospital gown, and Rita reached out to adjust the garment, being careful not to touch any of the many wires that crossed her chest. The pumps and IVs constantly dripped bag after bag of fluids into her daughter’s bruised arms, and she had lost count of the many changes in their names. The fluids went in, and the catheter in her bladder showed a steady output. Something the nurses in attendance constantly monitored.

She had come to view them as angels. They constantly hovered nearby, keeping a quiet distance and intruding only when necessary. Most had taken the time to get to know Rita, and they had provided a comfortable chair that extended out into a sleeper so she could spend the nights with her daughter as well. It had been decided by Dr. Fong that visiting hours did not apply in this case. Rita was grateful.

She paused to grasp her daughter’s hand again and applied a slight squeeze, hoping to get one in return, but it did not come. She fought back the tears and pulled herself together. Her husband was on his way and she would hold her emotions in check, for both him and her.

The loud click of his shoes on the tile floor announced his arrival before she saw him. He looked quite foolish in his mask and gown over the business suit and office shoes. He leaned down to buss his wife’s cheek through the mask before sitting next to her on the arm of the chair.

“Any change?”

“No. The doctor came this morning and said her heart had not improved. He said something about a balloon pump, whatever that is. I couldn’t really follow.”

“I’ll ask before I go. You look tired, dear. Did you sleep at all here last night?”

“No, not really. The nurses are so kind, but this is a busy place. They brought in two new patients last night and one of them . . . his heart stopped not long after they got here. They worked on him for an hour but . . . he died. It was so sad, like they had lost a battle. There was no family here, so they had no one to ask anything. It went on for so long. Finally two of them just rolled him away.”

The senator didn’t know what to say to that, so he just held his wife’s hand while they watched the ventilator breathe for their daughter.

“I want you to come home tonight. You need your sleep.”

“I don’t want her to be alone.”

“She won’t be. I’ll stay tonight. You need to go home and sleep.”

“No, you need to sleep. I know you can’t leave work.” She held up a hand to silence him before he could protest. “It’s important that you stay at work. I understand, just please stick close. If something should happen, I’ll need you here quickly.”

The senator bit his tongue and just offered a nod. He would placate her for now. But soon he would have to make her go home. He had called the hospital several times and received updates from the nurses about his daughter and his wife. He knew sooner or later he would have to force the issue. But not right now.

They sat in silence for a few moments before a nurse appeared on the other side of the glass. She held her hand to her head in the universal sign for “You have a phone call.” The senator rose and exited the room.

“One of your aides outside,” the nurse offered before going back to her monitor screens. He walked the length of the unit and punched the button on the double doors to let himself out. Striding down the short hall, he entered the waiting room to find two of his aides sitting in chairs with other patients’ family members. They looked horribly out of place.

“What is it?” he demanded, clearly irritated.

“I’m sorry, sir, the speaker called for you.” The aide held out a phone.

Before he could get it to his head he heard a scream from the unit. He recognized it immediately as his wife. Dropping the phone, he turned to rush back in, but was brought up short by the coded entry door. He slammed a fist into the wall in frustration before a yell from behind him turned his head. He turned to see two men running toward the unit. He managed to flatten himself against the wall as they rushed past, one of them tripping the door code with his ID card.

The doors parted with a hiss and the senator leaped after them to follow. He rounded the corner to see his wife being physically restrained by a large nurse while others crowded the room around his daughter. The first thing he noticed was the monitor over their heads. His daughter’s heartbeat was erratic and one nurse stood poised over her chest, ready to start compressions. The nurses were all talking at once and the gown was ripped from his daughter’s body as others slapped large patches with wires connected onto her chest and side.

“She’s in fib!”

“Stand by, we’re charging.”

They waited tensely while the capacitor whined up. A beep announced its readiness.

“Clear!” the nurse called out.

Everyone held up their hands for her to see. She scanned once before pushing the button. Tessa’s body shivered on the bed, and Rita turned and buried her head in the nurse’s chest. The group stared at the overhead monitor as the rhythm returned to its previous steady beat.

“Sinus.”

“Do we have a pulse with it?”

“I’ve got a femoral.”

“Sixty systolic . . . it’s rising.”

“Get a blood-gas. I want it repeated every five minutes.”

The nurse holding Rita pulled her gently away from his chest before speaking. “It’s okay, she’s back.”

Rita looked up at his face before turning to see the staff around her daughter. They were relaxed. Her tension dialed down a bit. The senator joined her and took the place of the nurse.

“She’s okay,” he told her. “They got her back.”

They watched silently as the team worked.

“Her PH is down.”

“One amp of bicarb,” the doctor ordered. “Repeat the gasses every five for now, and let’s start her on a drip.”

Rita sank into the chair and the voices faded around her as she focused on her daughter’s face. Her husband’s hand found hers and gave it a comforting squeeze, but her eyes never left her daughter.

She would give anything to save her.

•      •      •

Anita’s days had become routine. She woke when the sounds of the street below her reached a volume that overpowered the sound of the radio and announced the start of the day. She listened and waited until breakfast arrived, usually a breakfast roll and some eggs. Some fruit maybe. Nothing beyond water to drink, but she dared not ask for any juice as she was accustomed to at home. The men outside the door would change soon after, and she had learned to recognize their voices. Most were serious drinkers and would start on the first bottle soon after they arrived. The TV would come on and the voices would get louder to be heard over it. She would wait until they were settled in before attempting to bathe, always with an ear tuned to the sound of the locks. Her nails and hair were long and unkempt, but she had no way to fix the problem. She would spend hours running her fingers through it in a vain attempt to keep it untangled while she counted the hours off by songs on the radio. Lying on the floor, she would let her mind wander, trying to place herself anywhere but where she currently was, the constant noise both her tormentor and only companion.

A new noise broke through and she heard the men fall silent as one of them answered the cell phone. A brief one-sided conversation prompted a flurry of activity on the other side of the door. She braced herself for the unknown and her fear leaped to her throat as a hard knock was heard on the door. She barely managed to get the towel over her head before the last lock was thrown and the door burst open. Several sets of feet entered and she was yanked to her feet only to have the towel tightened around her face. She struggled to breathe as she was forced down onto the bed. Her hands were pulled behind her and she felt the towel being rolled up her face.

“Shut your eyes!”

The towel cleared her mouth and she had time to suck in one good breath before the tape came down across her mouth. The towel was tied tightly across her eyes and she was flipped over onto a hard board. The tape came around her quickly, and she was soon wrapped to the point that she was immobile. The straps came next and she was again a package ready for transport. They stopped to catch their breath before hoisting her up and carrying her from the room. They almost dropped her twice on the steps, but after some cursing from the older one, they slowed down enough to get her to the bottom were she was roughly dropped on the floor.

She forced herself to calm down as she took deep breaths through her nose. The fear of suffocation soon passed and she listened to her surroundings.

“How long?” one asked.

“He said within twenty minutes. Be ready by the door and keep her out of sight.”

One of them ascended the stairs and the sound of empty beer bottles being disposed of could be heard. The others waited in silence. The board grew cold on the bare concrete beneath her.

“What happened? Why are we moving?”

“How do I know? We just watch her. If the man on the phone says move, we move. Now shut the hell up.”