an addict? Two days before she put that needle in her arm, I did her blood, it came back clean, and I was able to tell myself she was past the worst of her addiction. Possibly Cynthia is psychologically addicted. Sniff a couple of lines and it doesn’t seem to matter that Grandpa is a gangster and that all your friends are likely to find that out tomorrow. Or today. And your life will be ruined.”
“You like this girl, don’t you?”
“Yeah, and I’m not supposed to. I’m supposed to be professionally detached.”
“You think the ‘already traumatic circumstances’ had something to do with drugs?”
Amy shrugged.
“That would seem to make sense, wouldn’t it?”
“Who took the message?”
“The supervisory nurse and the resident. You want to talk to them?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought you might want to. I asked them to stick around.”
“I’d like your permission to talk to Denny about this, Amy.”
“Thank you for asking my permission,” she said. “I was afraid you’d feel you have to go to him, with or without my permission.”
“Denny can be trusted, honey,” he said. “I don’t know if we can find the animal who did this, but we’ll damned well try.”
She shrugged resignedly. “Now that I’ve told you, I feel better. Not comfortable, but better.”
“Is there a boyfriend? A girlfriend?”
“There is—maybe was—a boyfriend. I don’t know his name. And he hasn’t been to see her. Or even called.”
“That’s interesting. Maybe if I can find him, and that shouldn’t be hard, I can get something out of him.”
“All I want you to do, Peter, is remember that I have a very sick girl on my hands to whom irreparable damage can be done if—”
“Honey, I understand,” Peter said.
“You want to see Dr. Martinez and Loretta Dubinsky now?”
Peter nodded.
“They’re crapped out in a room down the hall,” she said. “I’ll take you.”
“ ‘Crapped out’? Doctor, you really should watch your mouth!”
“Fuck you, Peter,” she said.
“I love it when you talk dirty,” he said.
“I know,” she said. “That’s why I do it.”
She got up from behind her desk and started for the door. He waved her ahead of him. She stopped and touched his cheek.
“And, goddamn it, I don’t want to, but I guess I do love you.”
NINETEEN
It took Irene Chason even longer than she thought it would to wake her husband up.
But finally, he rolled over on his back and looked up at her in mingled indignation and concern.
“What’s up?”
“You plan to get up today, or what?”
“I’m a little hungover, all right? Get off my back, Irene.”
“There’s some guy on the phone for you.”
“Some guy?”
“This is the third time he’s called,” Irene said.
“What’s he want?”
“He didn’t say.”
Fiorello. It has to be Joey Fiorello. What’s with him?
“Is he still on the phone?”
“Yeah,” she said and lifted the handset from the bedside-table telephone and handed it to him.
“Philip Chason.”
“Joey Fiorello, Phil.”
“What can I do you for?”
“I got a quick, good-paying job for you, if you’re interested.”
“Joey, I’m up to my ass in alligators.”
“You heard what I said about good-paying?”
“What does that mean?”
“This is important to me.”
“What does that come out to in round figures? And for what?”
“Phil, you’re hurting my feelings. You know that I pay good. I thought we were friends.”
“What do you want from me, Joey?”
“I want you to ask a few quick, discreet questions.”
“Ask who a few quick, discreet questions?”
“Look, Phil, are you going to help me out on this or not?”
“I told you, Joey, I’m up to my ass in work. Whether I can help you depends on what you want me to do, and how much it’s worth to you.”
“Let me put it to you this way, Phil. You come to my office in the next hour, and let me explain what I want you to do for me, and that’ll be worth two hundred to me, whether or not you can help me out.”
“Two-fifty, Joey,” Phil said.
“Jesus. And I thought we were friends,” Joey Fiorello said, obviously pissed. “Okay. Two-fifty. I’ll be expecting you. Thank you, Phil.”
The line went dead in his ear.
“What was that all about?” Irene asked.
“I don’t have a goddamn clue,” Phil said as he swung his feet out of bed.
The warm smile on Joey Fiorello’s face when Phil Chason walked into his office at Fiorello’s Fine Cars forty-five minutes later, was, Phil thought, about as phony as a three-dollar bill.
I wonder why he didn’t tell me to go fuck myself when I held him up for two-fifty? And he must need me; otherwise, he would have.