Wild Justice (3 page)

4 Martin Breach s sandy hair was thinning, his drab brown eyes were watery and he had the pale complexion of someone who rarely went outside during the day. He also had dreadful taste in clothes. Breach wore orange or green slacks with garish jackets and loud ties that were unfashionably wide. His outfits made him look silly, but Breach didn t care. By the time his enemies realized that they had underestimated him, they were frequently dead. Breach had started in the trenches breaking legs for Benny Dee, but he was too intelligent to stay a leg breaker for long. Now Breach ran the most efficient and ruthless criminal organization in the Pacific Northwest. No one knew where to find Benny Dee. Martin s right-hand man, Art Prochaska, was a giant with thick lips, a broad nose and pencil-thin eyebrows. Rumor had it that in his days as a collector for the mob he had used his huge head to stun debtors as effectively as an electric charge from a Taser. Prochaska had none of Breach s smarts, but he shared his taste for violence. When Martin climbed the ladder of crime, he pulled along the only person in the world he trusted. Prochaska limped through the door of Breach s office in the rear of the Jungle Club and settled himself across the desk from his boss. He had injured himself when he hit the pavement at the airfield diving to avoid Clifford Grant s car. The office was tiny, and the furniture was rickety and secondhand. Pictures of naked women and a calendar from a motor oil company decorated the paper-thin walls. Raucous music from the strip club made it difficult to hear. Breach wanted the club to look run-down so that the IRS could not get a true picture of the money that flowed through it. So? Breach asked. Grant s gone. We checked his place and the hospital. No one s seen him since he split during the raid. Breach was very quiet. To someone who did not know, he seemed relaxed, but Prochaska was aware that a rage of monumental proportions was building. This is bad, Arty. I m out a quarter of a million bucks, I m out my profit and my reputation has taken a hit because of that quack. If he hadn t taken off with the heart, we d have been arrested. Breach stared at Prochaska long enough to make the giant look down. Where is he? No one knows. Eugene and me searched his apartment. We didn t find squat. I got the feeling someone had tossed it before we did, but I couldn t say for sure. The cops? No, the place was too neat. The partner? Maybe. Who is he, Arty? Prochaska answered hesitantly. He always hated to tell Breach bad news. I got one possible lead. My friend at the phone company gave me Grant s records. He made a few calls to a number in the West Hills. The phone belongs to Dr. Vincent Cardoni. Is he a surgeon? Yeah, and he works at St. Francis Medical Center. Breach s eyes narrowed. Clifford Grant had privileges at St. Francis. The lady across the way from his apartment said that Grant didn t get many visitors, but she saw a woman up there and a man, maybe two. Anyway, the woman was a knockout, so the neighbor kidded Grant about her. She says he got all nervous. He said she was an associate from work named Justine Castle. So what? She s a doctor, Arty, a surgeon, and that ain t all. Castle is married to Vincent Cardoni. Breach thought for a moment while Prochaska shifted nervously in his seat. Do you think the cops have Grant? Breach asked. Our people in the Bureau say no. Do a background check on those two, Arty. I m doin it already. I want Grant, I want his partner and I want my money back. And once I ve got all three, I m going to get me a replacement for the heart I lost.

5 Dr. Carleton Swindell, the hospital administrator for St. Francis Medical Center, won his bid on the computer bridge game, then checked his watch. He d kept his appointment waiting for twenty minutes. Swindell s thin lips drew into a satisfied smile. Stewing was probably more accurate, if he knew Dr. Cardoni. Well, that was too bad. It would do Cardoni good to learn a little humility. Swindell clicked his mouse. The bridge game disappeared and was replaced by a screen saver showing Einstein and Leonardo da Vinci playing tennis another game at which Swindell excelled. The hospital administrator went into his private washroom and adjusted his bow tie in the mirror. He believed himself to be a handsome man, still as dapper at forty-five in his tweed sports jacket, blue Oxford shirt and sharply creased slacks as he had been at Yale. His blond hair was growing a bit thin in places and he needed his gold wire-rimmed glasses for reading, but he sculled every morning on the Willamette, so his weight was the same as it had been during his university days. Carleton returned to his office and glanced at his watch again. Twenty-five minutes. Cardoni would be boiling, he thought with satisfaction. Oh, well, no need to overdo it. He leaned forward and buzzed his secretary. Please send in Dr. Cardoni, Charlotte. Swindell composed himself and waited for the explosion. He was not disappointed. Charlotte opened his office door wide and pressed against it. Cardoni charged in. The scene reminded Swindell of a bullfight he d seen in Barcelona. Charlotte was the matador, the door her cape, and the bull. . . He had to fight to suppress a smile. I ve been out there half an hour, Cardoni said. I m sorry, Vincent. I was on an important long-distance call, the administrator replied calmly. If Cardoni had seen the unlit lines on Charlotte s phone, he d know that Swindell was lying, but Swindell bet he wouldn t call him on it. Have a seat. What s this about? Cardoni demanded. Swindell leaned back and made a steeple of his fingers. I ve had a disturbing report about you. Cardoni glared. The administrator noted the surgeon s flushed pallor, his disheveled hair and unkempt clothes. Cardoni was clearly on the edge. Maybe the rumors of drug use were true. Did you accost a nurse in a public corridor yesterday? Accost? Cardoni mocked. What does that mean, Carleton? You know very well, Vincent, Swindell answered evenly. Did you accost Mary Sandowski? Who told you that? That s confidential. Well? Cardoni smirked. No, Carleton, I did not accost her. What I did was ream her out. I see. And you, um, reamed her out in front of patients and staff at this hospital? I have no idea who was around. The dumb bitch fucked up during an operation. I should have gotten her fired. I d appreciate a little less profanity, Vincent. Also, you should know that more than one person has informed me that you were responsible for the mistake in the OR. Injecting your patient with hydrogen peroxide instead of lidocaine, I believe. After that moron switched the cups. Carleton tapped his fingertips together and studied Cardoni before replying. You know, Vincent, this isn t the first complaint of. . . well, to put it bluntly, incompetence that s been made against you. Every muscle in the surgeon s body went rigid. I want to be frank, Swindell continued. If Mrs. Manion were to file a malpractice case against you, it would make three complaints. Swindell shook his head sadly. I don t want to take action, but I have a duty to this hospital. None of those charges has any foundation. I ve consulted my attorney. That may be, but there s a lot of talk. Rumors of drug use, for instance. So you ve been chatting with Justine. I can t reveal my sources. Swindell looked at Cardoni sympathetically. You know, there are wonderful programs for doctors in trouble, he said in a man-to-man tone. They re all confidential. Charlotte can give you a list when you leave. She really got to you, didn t she, Carleton? Did you know that Justine s filed for divorce? She d do anything to blacken my reputation. You seem to have a number of court cases going on. Wasn t there something last year involving an assault? Where is this going? Going? Well, that depends on what I find out after my investigation is complete. I invited you here so you could tell me your side of the story. Cardoni stood. You ve heard it. If there s nothing more, I ve got things to do. There s nothing more for now. Thank you for dropping by. Cardoni turned his back on the administrator and stalked out without shutting the door. Swindell sat motionless. Did you want this closed? Charlotte asked. Swindell nodded, then swiveled his chair until he was looking out at the lights of Portland. Cardoni was crude and disrespectful, but the problem he presented could be dealt with. Swindell s lips twisted into a smile of anticipation. It would be a pleasure taking the arrogant surgeon down a peg or two. Vincent Cardoni waited for his connection beneath a freeway off-ramp. Thick concrete pilings straddled the narrow street. There was a vacant lot across the way, and a plumbing supply warehouse was the nearest building. At ten in the evening the area was deserted. Cardoni was still in a rage as a result of his meeting with Carleton Swindell. Cardoni never called the administrator Doctor. The wimp may have trained as a surgeon, but he couldn t cut it. Now he was an administrator who got his rocks off by making life difficult for the real doctors. What really burned Cardoni was the prick s refusal to say whether it was Sandowski or Justine who had informed on him. Cardoni was leaning toward Justine. The nurse was too afraid of him, and it would be just like his bitch wife to use Swindell to put on the pressure so that she would have leverage in the divorce proceedings. Headlights at the far end of the block flashed on and off, and Cardoni got out of his car. Moments later Lloyd Krause pulled under the off-ramp. Lloyd was six-two and a fat 250 pounds. His long, dirty hair reached the shoulders of his black leather jacket, and there were grease stains on his worn jeans. Cardoni could smell him as soon as he climbed out of his car. Hey, man, got your page, Krause said. I appreciate the speed. You re a valued customer, Doc. So, what can I do you for? I ll take an eight ball, Lloyd. My pleasure, Krause answered. He walked to his trunk, popped the lid and rummaged around. When he stood up he was holding a Ziploc bag filled with two and a half grams of white powder, which Cardoni pocketed. Two fifty, my man, and I ll be on my way. I came straight from the hospital, so I don t have the cash with me. I ll get it to you tomorrow. The dealer s easy smile vanished. Then you ll get the snow tomorrow, he said. Cardoni had expected this. Where do you want me to meet you? he asked, making no move to return the cocaine. Krause held out his hand, palm up. The Baggie, he demanded. Look, Lloyd, Cardoni answered casually, we ve been friends for almost a year. Why make this hard? You know the rules, Doc. No dough, no snow. I m going to pay you tomorrow, but I m using this cocaine tonight. Let s not damage a good relationship. Lloyd s hand plunged into his pocket. When it came out, he was holding a switchblade. That s a scary knife, Cardoni said without a trace of fear. The coke, and no more fucking around. Cardoni sighed. I m certain you re experienced with that knife. That is fucking correct. But you might want to ask yourself one question before you try to use it. This isn t Jeopardy. Give me the coke. Think for a moment, Lloyd. You re bigger than me and you re younger than me and you have a knife, but I don t look worried, do I? Doubt flickered in the dealer s eyes, and he took a quick look around. No, no, Lloyd, that s not it. We re all alone, just the two of us. I wanted it that way because I thought you might act like this. Look, I don t want to hurt you. Just give me the dope. You re not going to hurt me, and I m not returning the eight ball. I know that for a fact. You better figure out why, quickly, before something bad happens. What the fuck are you talking about? It s a secret, Lloyd. Something I know that you don t. Something I know about what happened the last time someone pulled a knife on me. Cardoni noticed that the dealer had not moved closer, and he noted a tremor in Krause s hand. There s a lot about me that you don t know, Lloyd. He looked directly into his connection s eyes. Have you ever killed a man? Have you? With your bare hands? Krause took a step back. Fear the unknown, Lloyd. What you don t know can kill you. Are you threatening me? Krause asked with false bravado. Cardoni shook his head slowly. You don t get it, do you? We re all alone here. If something happens, no one can help you. Cardoni straightened to his full height, moving sideways to give the dealer a smaller target. I honor my debts, and I will pay you tomorrow. The dealer hesitated. Cardoni s cold eyes bored into him. Krause licked his lips. The doctor got in his car, and Krause made no move to stop him. It s three hundred tomorrow, Lloyd said, his voice shaky. Of course, for the inconvenience. You better fucking bring it. No problem, Lloyd. Cardoni started the car. You have a good evening. Cardoni drove off, waving casually, the way he might after finishing a friendly round of golf.

6 Mary Sandowski s eyes opened. Wherever she was, it was pitch black and a blanket of warm, muggy air pressed down on her. Mary wondered if you could feel the touch of air in a dream but was too tired to figure out the answer, so she closed her eyes and dozed off. Time passed. Her eyes opened again, and Mary willed herself out of the fog. She tried to sit up. Restraints cut into her forehead, ankles and wrists and anchored her in place. She panicked, she struggled, but she soon gave up. Lying in the dark, in the silence, she could hear her heart tap-tap-tapping. Where am I? she asked out loud. Her voice echoed in the darkness. Mary took deep breaths until she was calm enough to take stock. She knew that she was naked because she could feel the air on her body. There was a sheet under her, and under the sheet was a firm padded surface. She might be on a gurney or an examining table like the ones at the hospital. A hospital! She must be in a hospital. That had to be it. Hello! Is anybody here? Mary shouted. A nurse would hear her. Someone would come in and tell her why she was in the hospital . . . if she was in a hospital. It dawned on Mary that the air smelled slightly foul. Missing was the antiseptic odor she associated with St. Francis. A door opened. She heard the click of a switch, and a flash of light blinded her. Mary closed her eyes in self-defense. The door closed. I see the patient is awake, a friendly voice said. It sounded vaguely familiar. Mary opened her eyes slowly, squinting into the light of the bare bulb that dangled directly overhead. I hope you re rested. We have a lot to do. Where am I? Mary asked. There was no answer. Mary heard the sound of shoes moving across the floor. She strained to see the person who was standing at the foot of the table. What s wrong with me? Why am I here? A shape moved between Mary and the lightbulb. She saw a section of a green hospital gown that surgeons wore when they operated. Mary s heart lurched. A needle pricked a vein in her forearm. What are you doing? Mary asked anxiously. Just giving you a little something that will heighten your sensitivity to pain. What? Mary asked, not certain she had understood correctly. Suddenly Mary s throat constricted. She became aware of a warm feeling. Every nerve in her body began to tingle. She heaved for breath and began to sweat. Her pores exuded the smell of fear. Suddenly the sheet beneath her was damp and rough to the touch, and the air that caressed her naked body felt like sandpaper. Without a word, a hand slid across her left breast. It felt unbearably cold, like dry ice. Please, she begged, tell me what s happening. A thumb caressed her nipple, and she felt fear so intense that it raised her body a fraction of an inch from the table. Good, the voice remarked. Very good. The hand slid away. There was complete quiet. Mary bit her lip and tried to stop shaking. Talk to me, please, she pleaded. Am I sick? Mary heard the unmistakable metallic ping of surgical instruments touching accidentally. Are you going to operate? The doctor did not answer her. I m Mary Sandowski. I m a nurse. If you tell me what you re going to do, I ll understand, I won t be afraid. Really? The doctor chuckled and moved to Mary s side. She saw light dancing off the smooth steel of a scalpel blade. Now she was babbling with fear, but the doctor still refused to answer her question and began to hum a tune. Why are you doing this? Mary sobbed. For the first time the doctor seemed interested in something she had said. There was a pause while the surgeon contemplated her question. Then the doctor leaned closer and whispered. I m doing this because I want to, Mary. Because I can.