Gideon Read online

  Miguel Urbina knew who it was the moment he saw Ernesto’s face.

  Ron was examining the body when Pete ducked under the police tape. Two 7000-lumen lights on tripods turned the darkness into a harsh, bright tableau.

  “That’s definitely Juarez?” Pete asked.

  Miguel nodded. “It seems Sad Boy never made it down to Turlock.”

  “This poor little fucker took three to the chest and one to the nether regions. That’s just spiteful,” Ron said.

  Pete crouched down to get a closer look. “Any idea how long he’s been here?”

  Ron shook his head. “I’d say a day or two. Forensics is en route.”

  “Looks like me and the boys will be putting in some overtime,” Miguel said.

  “You think this’ll spark a fire in the Mission?” Pete asked.

  Miguel’s face hardened. “First Joker and now this? This could spark Armageddon.”

  27

  Kelly rose later than usual. After reading her father’s second and third journal entries, she had to force herself to stop or she would’ve been up all night. As it was, the only way she got any sleep was to take two Temazepam. Six hours later, the alarm on her phone roused her from a fitful slumber. On the way into work, she stopped for a double latte.

  Techs from the security company were finishing installation of a new alarm pad for the back door. Kelly entered the building, her stomach in knots, hoping she could reopen the clinic later that day. She was relieved to see that Inspector Poe made good on his promise, and the crime-scene investigators had finished their work sometime in the wee hours of the morning.

  The rest of the staff arrived a short time later and rolled up their sleeves. They spent a few hours cleaning up the destruction caused by the vandals and wiping up the fingerprint powder from the police. By noon they were ready to serve the community.

  Once the doors opened, the flow of patients was non-stop. It was as if the people in the Mission had put their ailments on hold until the clinic was up and running. The staff treated a multitude of injuries, ranging from a woman with a fractured wrist caused by tripping over her miniature Labradoodle, to three second-graders who shared a case of conjunctivitis, to a middle-aged man who “accidently fell” on the Ken doll that was lodged in his anus.

  Basically, it was business as usual.

  Late in the day things slowed down a little and Kelly was able to take a fifteen-minute break in her father’s office (she’d always consider it her father’s office). Five minutes later the door opened and Nathan stuck his head in. Despite her growing discomfort with Nathan, she couldn’t turn away any of the staff who were busting their butts to treat the patients. She waved him in.

  Nathan perched on the arm of the chair opposite the desk and while he tried his best to be casual, his tone was annoying. Lately, everything about him annoyed the hell out of Kelly.

  “Did the police find out who trashed the place?”

  Kelly tried to remain neutral, but when she spoke, her voice betrayed her annoyance. “Not yet, why? Have you heard anything?”

  Nathan overreacted. “Me? No. Just curious.”

  “I appreciate your concern. I’ll let everyone know if I get any information that I feel is appropriate to pass along.”

  Most people would have picked up on that slight, but Nathan was impervious to insult. “I don’t know how long it takes for insurance companies to pay for damages, but I wanted to remind you that my father has a potential buyer who’d be very interested in discussing some kind of arrangement with you. In fact, he’d be happy to set up a meeting,” Nathan said with a smile, “with no obligation, of course.”

  “The clinic’s not for sale, Nathan.”

  Not yet, he thought.

  A little while later, Kelly told the staff she needed time to reorder supplies and equipment that were damaged in the break-in. She didn’t want to be disturbed unless there was an emergency.

  She went back to the office, closed the door and did something she’d never done before… she locked it. David had always wanted the staff to feel like family and have unfettered access to him at all times. Kelly felt the same way, but given everything that had recently transpired, she needed privacy.

  She intended to do some reading.

  28

  (David’s Journal)

  To say I was appalled at Benedetto’s suggested “business venture” would be a massive understatement. In the very short time I spent with him, it was obvious that Benedetto was far more than he appeared. He was clearly wealthy and successful, and definitely intelligent, but while he was extremely erudite, he had an undeniable dark side. What I found incredibly off-putting was the ease and confidence he exuded in dealing with, and in, criminal activities. It was like sitting across from Tom Hagen, graciously offering me a deal I couldn’t refuse.

  Benedetto’s question was simple enough: would I be interested in taking on an assignment to dispatch someone the same way I did Musselwhite?

  He wanted to know if I’d kill another person.

  How does someone even react to that?

  Before I could sputter out my response, Benedetto calmly explained how this came about. Without going into much detail here, rumors had circulated that Musselwhite’s death wasn’t natural… that he’d been taken out by order of Dominic Bruno. No one knew the specifics, so they did what people do; they made things up.

  The story went that there was a man out there who moved in the shadows and could take lives without the mess of a drive-by, a garrote or a car bomb. Before long, half a dozen deaths were wrongfully attributed to this mystery man, and his reputation grew, fueled by reckless speculation and fabricated conspiracy theories.

  The fact was, Bruno’s crew was in the dark, as was the entire underworld. However, it was common knowledge that Matthew Benedetto was Bruno’s lawyer, and some desperate intermediaries reached out to him with inquiries. If he knew of someone who could, you know, do a favor for an influential friend, that friend would definitely show his appreciation. In other words, name your price.

  All of which led to the question on the table; did I want to kill someone for money? If not, Benedetto would never mention it again and we’d go our separate ways. If so, he’d take care of the details, as he did with Musselwhite, and handle all of the finances, including laundering the money and putting up a secure firewall so no one would ever know my identity.

  Benedetto finished his pitch and my response was quick and definitive. I was not a hit man (I may have said “fucking hit man”; I honestly don’t recall). Killing Musselwhite was a unique and singular situation and didn’t mean I was going to turn to a life of murder-for-hire.

  Benedetto nodded. He hadn’t expected me to accept the offer, but nevertheless felt compelled to pass it along. After all, he knew the clinic was desperate for money and that Jess’s treatments were expensive.

  He said if I had second thoughts or questions, he’d be happy to have another conversation, and that next time he’d bring in food from the restaurant of my choice (he said this last bit with a smile). And with that, we bade each other good night.

  I don’t plan to ever dine with Benedetto again.

  29

  Three quick knocks on the office door startled Kelly out of her chair. She opened it for Annie, who informed her that Diego Sanchez was back again and looked much worse than before.

  He was lying on a bed as Vik cleaned his leg. The wound was red and festering, swollen and tender to the touch. When Kelly got there, Vik gave her a quick rundown; Diego’s vitals showed clear indications of a rampant infection.

  Kelly held her frustration in check and gently asked Diego, “Did you go to the hospital?”

  Diego’s face was flushed with fever and a ten-year-old’s guilt. “I did, I swear, Doctor Kelly, but they made me wait for, like, an hour. It was bullshit. They didn’t care nothing about me, so I left.”

  Kelly mopped Diego’s face with a cool washcloth. “Where’s your mother?”

  �
�She’s at work. I’m telling the truth.”

  “I believe you, Diego. Do you believe the things I tell you?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Then listen to me. Do you know what a prosthetic leg is?”

  Diego scrunched up his face. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”

  Kelly pressed her tough love. “It’s a leg made out of plastic and metal. It straps on right about here.” She gently touched Diego’s thigh. Tears were already forming in his eyes as the thought of losing his leg took shape in his mind.

  “It goes all the way down to a plastic foot.”

  The tears were now flowing freely down Diego’s cherubic face. “I don’t want a fake leg.”

  “Then we’ve got to get you to the hospital now.”

  Diego vehemently shook his head. “No! I can’t.”

  “Diego. Escuchame! I know about the Sureños, and Joker. I don’t care what you were doing when you got shot. You think you’re protecting the Norteños by keeping your mouth shut, but there’s no one to protect except yourself! Oscar and the others in the gang want you to live. I want you to live, but you need surgery. We can’t do that here. If you’re bleeding internally, you’re not only going to lose that leg, it’ll probably kill you.”

  The pain in Diego’s eyes was heartbreaking. Kelly wanted to take him in her arms and tell him everything would be all right, but that’s not what he needed right now. Instead, she pushed him harder. “I know you’re trying to be a good brother, but is it worth your life? Think about your mother. She’s already lost one son. Isn’t that enough?”

  Alma Sanchez burst through the doors of the emergency room at St Francis Hospital, frantically looking for the admitting desk. She loved all of her children, but Diego was her youngest and the closest to her heart. He was a sweet little boy, and Alma was intent on saving him from the streets. The thought of losing him altogether sent her into a frenzy.

  Alma grabbed the first person she found with a name badge, a plump white-haired woman who worked in medical billing.

  “My son Diego Sanchez is here,” Alma blurted. “He’s only ten years old and…”

  Before the dazed administrator could respond, a voice called out from across the waiting area, “Alma! He’s still in surgery.”

  Alma turned to see Kelly striding in her direction and rushed to her, grabbing Kelly by her shoulders. “Surgery? No, no, no! How bad is it?”

  Kelly guided Alma to a molded plastic seat, then sat down beside her, taking the older woman’s hands in hers. “I’m not going to lie. His wound was full of infection. The doctors are treating it and doing everything they can to save his leg.”

  “Save his leg?” Alma broke down. “He’s such a good boy. The best in the family. He works hard in school. Diego has a future.”

  “The doctors here are excellent. He’ll get the best treatment possible.”

  “Doctor Kelly,” she beseeched, “don’t let my son die.”

  30

  Pete, Ron and Miguel arrived at Franklin Square at 9pm to find Nano sitting on a swing, smoking a joint. Next to him was Ricardo “Payaso” De La Cruz, the 19th Street Big Homie. De La Cruz had picked up the nickname Payaso (which meant ‘clown’) when he was in first grade, and it stuck, despite the fact that there was nothing funny or buffoonish about him. Payaso walked with a cane and had a noticeable limp as a result of what he termed a “hunting accident” a few years ago. The ‘accident’ that left him partially crippled also left two mothers to bury their sons.

  A dozen blue-clad bangers hung around in the park. They unsuccessfully tried to look nonchalant. The bosses didn’t regularly meet with cops, especially not in public, and everyone was on edge. Things could go sideways in a hurry.

  Payaso wanted to meet in the open to demonstrate his authority. Franklin Square was in his ’hood. In his mind, he could do whatever he wanted, with whomever he wanted, while he was on his home turf.

  Miguel made the introductions, but they weren’t necessary. Pete and Ron didn’t work the gang detail, but they were well aware of Payaso. His name came up whenever a Norteño went down.

  Nano blew out a cloud of noxious marijuana smoke and smiled. Miguel’s hand was so fast and unexpected, it seemed like a magic trick when the blunt suddenly flew from Nano’s fingers.

  “Respeto, cabrón.” Miguel didn’t need to raise his voice to get his point across.

  Nano jumped off the swing and was ready to do something stupid, when Payaso’s cane smacked him in the ass. “You heard the man. Chill the fuck out, Nano.”

  His manhood stripped, Nano glared at Miguel, then muttered, “Fuck this shit,” as he slunk over to one of the steel chairs that lined the playground.

  Payaso gave his head a small shake, as if to say, “It’s hard to get good help these days,” then addressed Pete and Ron. “You looking into who killed my boys?”

  Ron nodded. “I know you’re pointing at the Norteños, but without a witness that’s no help.”

  Nano couldn’t restrain himself. “There was a witness, but they fucking killed him!”

  “We might’ve protected Sad Boy if you gave us the information we asked for,” Pete said with an icy edge to his voice.

  Payaso responded in kind. “You’re the police.” He pronounced it ‘Po-Leese’. “Instead of coming down here, why don’t you head up to 25th and shake up those Norputos? They know who pulled the trigger.”

  “We wanted to give you the courtesy of hearing your side first,” said Ron.

  Payaso smiled, showing off a set of teeth that looked like the keys on a piano that had sat outside in the rain. “Courtesy. I like that. We’re always happy to help out 5-0 and El Sargento when we can.”

  “Appreciate it, Payaso,” said Miguel. “We’re also here to tell you that the police are going to handle this. We don’t want any more shooting.”

  “My boys aren’t causing the fireworks, ese. Just payin’ the price.”

  “Word is, Joker was the one who shot Diego Sanchez,” said Pete. “You know anything about that?”

  Payaso shrugged. “Never heard of no one named Diego Sanchez.”

  Pete stepped closer. “Ten-year-old kid. His brother Spider is with the Norteños.”

  “Ah,” Payaso nodded. “Bichito.” The gang members behind him cracked up when he referred to Spider as a “little insect”. “Small man with big plans.”

  “What do you mean?” Ron asked.

  “He’s like number three or four over there. His little brother catches a slug, next thing you know, one of my homies catches one, too. Could be Bichito had something to do with it, or could be he just playing like he did, make him look a little taller. Only one way to find out for sure.”

  “How’s that?” asked Pete.

  “Get all those Mission Street putos together for a big meet, and then drop a fuckin’ taco truck on their heads,” Payaso said with a clownish grin.

  This got a big laugh from the boys. Pete had a different reaction, lashing out with a vicious sidekick that caught Payaso in the chest, violently propelling him off the swing. Twelve Sureños reached for their pieces, as did Miguel and Ron. It would’ve gotten real ugly real fast if Payaso hadn’t raised his arms to signify he was fine.

  He slowly got to his feet with the help of his cane and hobbled over to Pete. The air was heavy with tension. Payaso’s next move would decide if blood was spilled tonight on the playground. “It takes huevos to attack me in front of my homies,” Payaso said.

  Pete replied, “It takes stupidity to call out a Homicide Inspector.”

  Payaso slowly nodded, then leaned in, speaking in a voice that only Pete could hear, “You get a pass tonight, Inspector. But try that again and someone could get hurt. Might be you… might be someone you hang with. You know?”

  Enraged, Pete grabbed Payaso by his blue hoodie and was about to ‘try that again’ when Miguel’s hand came down hard on Pete’s shoulder. “We’re done here, Inspector.”

  Pete held tight for another few seconds, th
en opened his fingers and backed away. The last thing he wanted to do was instigate a firefight in the middle of the city.

  Payaso flashed Pete a final fuck-you smile, then motioned to his gang, who followed him out of Franklin Square.

  Pete watched until they disappeared into the darkness, and his thoughts immediately turned to Kelly, wondering where she was.

  31

  As Diego’s primary care physician, Kelly had access to him throughout his stay. Her presence gave the boy a comforting familiar face and helped to encourage him as the doctors worked tirelessly to save his leg.

  By ten o’clock that night, Kelly was ready to collapse. She toyed with the idea of grabbing a thirty-minute nap in the doctors’ lounge, but there was no reason for her to stay at the hospital. Diego had been moved into the ICU. He was out of danger and now only time would tell if Diego would walk out of there on two legs or hobble out on one.

  Since Annie had driven Kelly and Diego to the hospital, Kelly’s car was back at the clinic. She called for a Lyft and stepped outside to wait. The cool air was preferable to breathing the stuffy, antiseptic oxygen inside the hospital. The area outside the main doors was congested with a large, chatty Asian family waiting for one of their relatives to be discharged, so Kelly walked down the block for some quietude. The Lyft app said her driver would be there in ten minutes. She used the time to clear her head and think about the myriad tasks she had in front of her.

  Top of the list for tomorrow would be exploring financing options for the clinic. Second would be to start the interview process for a doctor to replace her father. Of course, she couldn’t hire anyone without an infusion of funds, so maybe she should hold off on looking for additional staff for now.