Chương 5
“Would it paralyze me?”
“No. He was clear about that. It wouldn’t cause a spinal injury, and one tablet would not erase your legs.”
Massimo’s disappointment must have shown.
Sal tossed the plastic pouch onto the desk.
“But repeated doses could deepen weakness, dull reflexes, make you dizzy, interfere with rehabilitation, and turn a partial recovery into something that looks like none. Especially if the prescriber wanted exam results to look a certain way.”
“How long?”
“Depends on dose, frequency, your injury, your liver. We need a real doctor.”
“Hale is a real doctor.”
“We need one who is not trying to kill you.”
Massimo looked at the tablet through the plastic.
“Can you trace the dispensary?”
“Already did. The account is held by a medical consulting company registered to a Delaware address. Payments come from Ashwood Maritime.”
Camille’s family company.
Massimo said nothing.
Sal placed a second folder on the desk.
“Your convoy route on Brooklyn Avenue was changed thirty-two minutes before departure.”
“I ordered the change.”
“You approved it. The request came from Dean’s phone.”
“There was construction on Atlantic.”
“There was no construction permit on Atlantic that day.”
Massimo opened the folder. Inside were printed dispatch logs, screenshots, and an invoice from the city records department.
“Where did you get these?”
“Your old transport coordinator kept backups. Dean fired her in June.”
“Why?”
“She asked why he was editing archived routes.”
Massimo’s fingers rested on the paper.
“This proves nothing.”
“It proves he lied.”
“It does not prove he arranged the attack.”
“No. But this might bother you.”
Sal took out a photograph of a brass shell casing.
“The police report says the Bellandi crew used Serbian rifles and imported ammunition. This casing was found in a storm drain near the shooter’s position. Domestic load. Same batch purchased by one of your security companies eight months ago.”
“Chain of custody?”
“Terrible. A sanitation worker found it last week. No prosecutor would touch it.”
“Then it is not evidence.”
“It is information.”
Massimo closed the folder.
“Who signed for the ammunition?”
Sal did not answer immediately.
“Dean.”
The fire cracked behind them.
Massimo wheeled toward the drinks cabinet and poured whiskey. He had not been drinking since the injury because Hale warned it would interact with his medication. The first swallow burned.
“On Brooklyn Avenue,” Massimo said, “Dean covered me.”
“I know.”
“He was shot twice.”
“One bullet flattened against armor. The other passed through the flesh above his shoulder blade. Painful. Bloody. Not fatal.”
“You think he arranged his own wound.”
“I think men have done worse for less than your empire.”
Massimo drank again.
Sal watched him.
“You want me to be wrong.”
“Yes.”
“Good. That means you are not completely stupid yet.”
Massimo turned sharply.
Sal did not retreat.
“You gave him operations. Accounts. Security. You let him remove anyone who made him uncomfortable. You did it because he bled for you and because you were ashamed to need help. Those are explanations. They are not absolution.”
“I could have you killed for speaking to me that way.”
“You could. But you would need to call Dean to arrange it.”
The whiskey glass struck the cabinet harder than Massimo intended.
Sal picked up the pill.
“I have a doctor.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Evelyn Park. Physical medicine and spinal rehabilitation. She consulted on one of my nephew’s cases.”
“Can she be bought?”
“Everyone can be bought. The question is whether we can afford her price.”
“What is it?”
“She wants the truth about how you were injured.”
“She will receive the medical truth.”
Sal shook his head.
“She knows who you are.”
“Then why agree?”
“Her brother spent nine years in prison because one of your captains sold heroin through his auto shop.”
Massimo’s expression hardened.
“I do not sell heroin.”
“Your captains did many things while you enjoyed saying that.”
“Why would she help me?”
“Because she is a doctor, which is an inconvenient condition. And because I told her helping you might prevent another murder.”
Massimo looked at the folder bearing Camille’s company name.
“When?”
“Tomorrow night.”
Dr. Evelyn Park entered the estate hidden beneath blankets in the back of a laundry van.
She complained about it immediately.
“I am forty-six years old,” she said as Sal helped her climb out in the underground service garage. “I have two board certifications and a mortgage. I should not be smuggled under hotel linens.”
“You could have refused,” Sal said.
“I did. Then you kept talking.”
She was short, broad-shouldered, and wore blue scrubs beneath a winter coat. No makeup. No jewelry except a plain wedding band. She looked at Massimo in his wheelchair as one might look at a difficult appliance.
“So,” she said, “you are the reason my evening is ruined.”
Massimo almost liked her.
They used the old music room, which had no active camera and thick walls. Carla waited in the hall while Nina slept in her room above the kitchen.
Dr. Park reviewed copies of his surgical records and imaging. She examined his back, legs, reflexes, muscle tone, and sensation for nearly two hours.
The process was neither dignified nor miraculous.
Massimo could not lift either leg. His right quadriceps contracted faintly. He felt pressure in parts of the foot, heat along the outer calf, and nothing around the heel. His left leg produced one inconsistent reflex.
Park repeated tests until irritation replaced hope.
“Stop helping,” she said.
“I am not helping.”
“You are trying so hard not to move that I cannot tell what you can move.”
“I have spent six months unable to move.”
“And now you are spending tonight performing paralysis because you think observation is surrender.”
Sal coughed to hide a laugh.
Massimo glared at him.
Park tapped Massimo’s knee again.
The lower leg jumped.
All three of them stared.
Park did not smile.
“That reflex is not consistent with the complete loss described in Hale’s notes.”
May you like
“What does that mean?” Massimo asked.
“It means his notes and your body disagree.”
