“Sure sounds like it. I just wish we had more options. I can’t believe that with all the money we make for these people, no one is coming to our aid.” Vegas sounded as frustrated as I felt.
“We did have the same visitor from Williamsburg who offered not just to help, but to solve our problems. As far as I’m concerned, that’s a route of last resort.”
“I agree. We take that deal, we might as well close up shop.”
“Tell that to your brother when you see him,” I said.
“Let me make some calls. I already pulled together some guys from the old days that were always dependable,” he suggested, but neither of us finished that sentence with the words I was sure we were both thinking: “Not as dependable as Daryl Graham.”
“You do that. I’ll see you back at the house.” I hung up the phone.
I heard a sound coming from behind me and turned toward the back of the lot. A slight movement caused me to pull out my .38 as I went over to investigate. Halfway there, I saw a figure appear from the shadows.
I raised my gun, pointing it dead center, until the person was close enough for me to see his face. “What the hell are you doing here?” In that instant, I saw a flash from the corner of my eye and felt a strange warm sensation on my chest. It took me a second to realize what had just happened.
“You—you shot me?” I put a hand on my chest and felt the warm, sticky blood oozing through my shirt just before I collapsed and everything went black.
Vegas
21
I rode in the middle car of a small caravan of vehicles, wearing all black from head to toe, with Bonnie strapped to my hip. From the moment Orlando had called and said the old man was shot, I’d taken over security at the house, orchestrating things to get my family to the hospital safely.
Despite my cool demeanor, I was feeling overwhelmed. The stagnant silence in the car seemed to be sucking all the oxygen out of the atmosphere, but it didn’t matter, since I could hardly breathe anyway. Ever since I got Orlando’s call, I’d felt like I was suffocating, and being in the confined space of the car made it even worse.
We couldn’t have pulled up in front of the hospital soon enough. I needed out. I think I jumped out of the car before it had even come to a complete stop. I exhaled and began issuing orders.
“I need two men on the front entrance and two men around back. Richie, case the place for any side entrances, and make sure that wherever there’s an entrance and an exit, it’s covered with one of our people.”
Once my men affirmed their understanding of my orders, I made my way back toward the rear of the car, checking the perimeter. When I was sure the coast was clear, I opened the door and allowed my mother to exit. I had to give it to her: She took “Never let them see you sweat” to the next level. She got out of the car looking as unruffled as if I were just taking her on a Sunday afternoon drive. There I was trying my best to be strong for her, but like always, she was the one holding me down.
We were joined by Harris and London, who’d traveled in the car behind us. I led the family to the automatic sliding doors at the hospital’s entrance.
I turned to give one last order to my men, who would be staying outside. “If you see anyone who looks like they might have so much as a fingernail clipper, stop and frisk them.”
“What about the police?” one of them asked me.
“What about them? You all have carry permits. Tell them to call Captain Marks of the hundred and third if they have any problems. Harris has already spoken to him.”
He nodded his understanding, and I ushered my family into the reception area.
“Duncan,” I said to the woman behind the intake desk. “I need to know which room LC—”
“Fourth floor, surgery,” the woman responded, cutting me off. Apparently she’d been asked this question already. We dashed off to the elevator bank without even saying thank you. I pressed the button to go up.