Innocence (28 page)

The man was beyond speaking, but he shook his head as he screwed his courage together. Finn thought there was a chance he wouldn’t go through with it, but it was too great a chance to take. He slid a foot back and positioned his fist carefully, preparing to swing up and out. It was a desperate maneuver, as likely as not to drive the machete up into the soft palate where his neck met his chin. It would do serious damage, Finn knew, but he thought he might survive. For a while, at least. It was likely that the man would get a clean second swing at him, and that would end the matter, but he was short on options, and this seemed the best one he had. He readied himself for the blow and was about to take his chance when he heard another shout from near the alley’s entrance.

“Let him go!”

The voice came from over near where the old man had been standing. The old man’s gravelly, plaintive growl had been replaced by a young, strong, authoritative shout. Finn looked over. The homeless man was gone, and standing in his place was a slim, dark figure holding a gun. It was pointed straight at the head of the man with the machete, and there was no waver in the muzzle. In the shadows, Finn couldn’t make out the face of his savior.

“Let him go,” the man with the gun said again, with even more conviction this time. He raised the pistol, and Finn heard the hammer cock.

The blade of the machete was still against Finn’s throat, but there was less pressure on it; the man who had been about to slice through Finn’s neck a moment earlier now had his attention focused on the entrance of the alleyway. The man with the gun was probably forty feet away, and it was a nearly impossible shot from that range for anyone other than an expert marksman, particularly with Finn so close to the machete. Still, all it would take was one lucky shot . . .

Finn looked back at his assailant and could read in his face that he, too, was weighing the odds against the man with the gun. With each passing second, the pressure of the blade against Finn’s throat relented ever so slightly. When Finn felt the connection break entirely, he acted without hesitation, pulling his body back and swinging his fist up into the man’s arm in one fluid motion.

The man was taken by surprise, and his arm launched skyward, the blade hissing by Finn’s ear, just missing the side of his face. Finn ducked back against the alley wall, and a shot rang out, but the man with the machete held his ground. With the decision made for him, he, too, acted quickly, swinging the blade hard and fast toward Finn’s head.

Finn put his arm up to fend off the blow. It came at him at an awkward angle, but the blade was still sharp enough to slice through the meat of his forearm. Finn screamed in agony.

As another shot echoed through the alley, Finn dove to the ground. The machete came at him again, wildly, missing him and connecting with the bricks behind the spot where Finn had stood only a second before.

Looking up, Finn saw the man with the gun running toward them, taking aim from closer range. Finn’s assailant took one more swing, missing his rib cage by a matter of inches, and then he was gone. Running deeper into the alley, he fled into the darkness. The man with the gun, who was almost on top of Finn now, took aim and fired off three quick shots. Finn heard a scream from deep within the cavernous passage and looked up to see the fleeing man, who was little more than a shadow, stumble and fall into the wall, then get to his feet and continue into the darkness as the man with the gun ran after him.

Left alone, Finn glanced down. The snow covering the brick alley underneath him was stained maroon-black, as was a swath of his suit pants underneath the spot where his injured arm dangled. He pulled off his overcoat and jacket to assess the damage.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself as he beheld the mess. The flesh was hacked through, and a solid chunk flapped loosely in the cold. With his right hand, he reached up and loosened his tie, slipping it over his head and then pulling it over the wreckage of his left arm to the elbow. He put one end of the tie in his mouth and used his free hand to tighten the tourniquet.

When he was done, he looked up to see the man with the gun hurrying back toward him. Finn thought to run but decided that if the man wanted him dead, he wouldn’t have risked his life to save him. He still couldn’t see the man’s face clearly, though he had the feeling that he knew him. As the man approached, Finn finally recognized him: It was Miguel Salazar. Finn had no idea what to say.

Miguel bent down in front of him, and it became clear that the doctor in him was taking over. He pulled Finn’s arm toward him to take a look at it as Finn began to shiver. “Where did you learn to tie a tourniquet?” Miguel asked.

“I used to get into knife fights when I was younger,” Finn said.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Not something I’m proud of, necessarily, but the life experience can come in handy at times.”

Miguel didn’t respond but continued his examination. “He caught you in the middle of the muscle, and it doesn’t look severed. The bones aren’t broken, which is a blessing. We need to get you to a hospital, though, where I can take a good look at it.” He noticed Finn shivering and took off his coat. “You may be going into shock.”

“I’m not going into shock, it’s just cold.”

“Better to be safe than sorry.” Miguel put his coat over Finn, then piled Finn’s suit jacket and overcoat on top of that. He pulled out a cell phone. “I’m calling an ambulance here. Don’t move, okay?”

Finn started to sit up. “I’m not going to lie here in an alley waiting for an ambulance, Doc. I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t.” Miguel was calm but firm. “Stay here; it’ll only take me a minute to call 911.”

Just then there was the faint whine of sirens in the distance. “Looks like someone beat you to it,” Finn said.

Miguel listened intently until he was sure that the emergency signals were coming closer. “Looks like you lucked out.”

“Bit of an understatement. Where did you come from?”

Miguel gave a distracted but reassuring smile. “My brother. He made me promise to keep an eye on you.”

Finn stared off into space. “I’ll have to thank him,” he said. His hearing seemed to be fading. His voice sounded distant to him.

“Stay with me, Mr. Finn. You’re losing blood, but you’re going to be fine as long as you stay with me. If anything happens to you, I’ll have to answer to Vincente. I’d hate to disappoint him.”

“Fair enough.” Finn refocused his eyes. They were directed down into the alley, and he nodded in that direction. “Where’d he go?”

Miguel looked back over his shoulder. “It splits down around the corner and opens onto two different streets. He got away.”

“You hit him, I think,” Finn said, slurring a little. “He screamed, and I saw him stumble.”

“I think so, but it must have been superficial. It didn’t slow him down at all.”

The sirens turned rapidly from a distant drone to an overpowering scream as two police cars pulled up at the mouth of the alley. The blue and red lights flickered off the wet bricks and sparkled against the tiny flakes that still drifted from the sky. The scene reminded Finn of the carnival he used to visit every summer in Revere: wild and exhilarating and enthralling but somehow also dangerous and strangely perverted.

“They’re gonna have a lot of questions,” Finn said, nodding at the squad cars.

“Good thing you’ve got a lot of answers,” Miguel said.

“I don’t know that they’re gonna like the answers I’ve got. It’s not like your brother’s very popular with the police. And it seems I’ve become public enemy number one since I started working on his case.”

Miguel smiled again. “You know one of the things I love about this country? Even the corrupt pretend to be fair and impartial when they have to be. In El Salvador, the police would just stand around and let you bleed to death.” He looked up at the officers as they exited their cars and started into the alley. “They may not like you, but they’ll help you. At least for the moment. Worry about tomorrow when the sun comes up. For the time being, let’s just get you through the night.”

Finn fought to keep his eyes open. Against every rational impulse, he felt reassured. As he looked up, the similarities between Miguel Salazar and his brother struck Finn again. Only age and circumstance seemed to separate the two siblings. They were probably fewer than ten years apart in age, but it seemed like twenty. Maybe more. Prison ages a man beyond his years, Finn reflected. Scenes from his own misspent youth flashed through his head briefly, and he suddenly realized how lucky he was.

He leaned up on his elbow and dug his hand into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone. He didn’t need to check who had called him; he knew already. He’d known the moment the phone rang, startling the man who’d tried to kill him, probably saving his life. He pressed two buttons to dial.

“Who are you calling?” Salazar asked.

Finn gave him a thin, weary smile as he held the phone to his ear. Through chattering teeth, he said simply, “My friends.”

Chapter Twenty-eigh
t

Finn sat on the bed in the emergency room at Massachusetts General Hospital, watching with interest as Miguel Salazar dressed the wound on his arm. He was intrigued by his client’s brother, this young man who had shattered the odds and crawled from poverty to become a respected physician. The first time he’d met the younger Salazar, he’d been impressed but not overwhelmed. It had been clear that the staff at the free clinic in East Boston revered him, but that had meant little to Finn. Those who worked there were crusaders, and crusaders always craved a messiah.

But over the course of the past few hours, Finn had seen Miguel in action, and it was clear that he was built from more than convenient platitudes. When the police had arrived on the scene in the alley, Miguel had taken control, delivering orders as though he were in charge. The police had sought to question Finn at length, but Miguel had intervened, asserting his medical authority, and demanded that Finn be given immediate medical attention at the hospital. The officers had objected, but Miguel told them that if they interfered with Finn’s medical treatment, he would ensure they would face disciplinary charges and be held personally liable for the detrimental effects of any delay. That had ended the debate, which was fine with Finn; one of the cops on the scene had already made clear that he was aware of Finn’s connection to the case involving Madeline Steele and his attempts to get her attacker released. Finn could tell already that the police were lacking zeal in their determination to find his assailant.

When they loaded Finn into the ambulance, Miguel had climbed in behind him. “Mass General,” he ordered.

“City Hospital’s closer,” the driver objected.

“Mass General,” Miguel had repeated in a tone that defied argument. The driver shook his head but pulled out onto the street in the direction of Beacon Hill, where Mass General was located. Miguel leaned over and whispered to Finn, “It will be easier for me to make sure you get the proper attention at my hospital.”

Through it all, Miguel had never needed to raise his voice. He’d spoken clearly, calmly, and with an authority that came from someplace deep within him where diplomas had no influence.

“Thank you,” Finn said as Miguel wrapped a tight sterile bandage around his arm and taped it down securely.

“No need.” Miguel waved off Finn’s gratitude. “You are helping my brother, and by doing so, you’ve placed yourself in danger. It is my family that owes you.”

“How did you know I would be in Roxbury?”

Miguel said, “I didn’t. I was following you. I requested time off from work here at the hospital, and I’ve been following you as much as possible for the past few days.”

Finn whistled. “Pretty crappy way to spend your vacation time.”

“It’s not an issue, Mr. Finn. I haven’t taken a day off in three years. I thought the chief surgeon was going to have a coronary when I put in the request. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m dying.”

Finn wasn’t sure how to ask the next question. “And the gun?”

Miguel looked up from applying the tape to Finn’s arm. “The gun?”

“The gun,” Finn replied. “The one you used to save me. It didn’t look like standard hospital issue.”

Miguel shrugged. “I work in a free clinic in a very rough neighborhood, and I’m often carrying drugs.”

“Drugs?”

“Prescription drugs, Mr. Finn. They are very much in demand on the streets these days. We’ve had doctors assaulted a number of times for them. A year ago I got a permit to carry some protection.”

“What would Hippocrates say?” Finn asked.

Miguel gave an embarrassed smile. “I don’t think he intended the physician’s oath to bar doctors from practicing reasonable self-defense. Besides, I have a family to think about. If something were to happen to me, I’m not sure what my mother and niece would do. They’ve been through enough already.”

“I’m not in a position to complain at the moment. In fact, I’m sorry the police took it from you.”

“It makes sense,” Salazar said with an air of resignation. “It appears that I shot a man this evening. They have to carry out their investigation.”

Finn scoffed. “Don’t count on it. They already know who I am. Once they discover that you’re Vincente’s brother, I’m guessing the investigation will last all of around five minutes.”

“I’m surprised you’re so bitter,” Salazar said.

“I’m surprised you’re not,” Finn replied.

The doctor held up Finn’s arm, admiring his own handiwork. “You have to be careful with this for several weeks,” he said. “It took more than sixty stitches to pull the tissue back together. You were very fortunate that the muscles weren’t severed; that would have required surgery. Still, it will be very painful for a while, particularly once the local wears off. I’ll prescribe some painkillers.”

Finn stood up. “Thanks, Doc. That’ll save me a trip to my local dealer.” He winked at Miguel. Then he took a step toward the door, wobbled, and caught himself on the bed. Miguel took his arm and guided him back so that he was sitting again.

“You’re not going anywhere yet, Mr. Finn,” he said. “You lost a lot of blood. We’re going to set you up with some fluids and an IV antibiotic drip to make sure there’s no infection. You’ll be here for a few more hours.” He looked at the clock on the wall. “Given how late it is already, I’m going to admit you. It will be easier that way.”