For the second time, I scrambled to the fifth floor of University Hospital, not knowing Leo’s condition. I hated walking into his room blind. What if he wasn’t bouncing back? What if this was the end? If not today, that day was coming soon.
The promise I’d made to Leo weighed on me. But how much worse would it be, if for some reason, I wasn’t there to stop him from turning? I didn’t want either one of us to go through that.
As I rounded the corner to Leo’s room, I realized there was another reason I dreaded today’s visit. Rico was there. Even though part of me wanted to rub Weston in Rico’s face, the bigger part of me knew how crushed Rico would be. And I’d be the one doing the crushing.
The room was dark and still. I stuck my head inside to find Ferris and Rico, minus the zushi they’d been wearing when they left my house. They were dressed in scrubs, sitting in the visitor’s chairs, with their feet propped up on the trash can.
The steady rhythm of Leo’s heart monitor pulsed from behind a privacy curtain; light from his muted TV flickered on the wall.
“How’s he doing?” I whispered.
Rico shook his head and my heart sank.
Ferris motioned me toward the door. The three of us walked out into the brightly-lit hallway, and let the door drift closed behind us.
“What’s the story?” I asked.
Rico rubbed his chin and glanced away. “It’s not looking good, Nighthawk. They ran some tests as soon we got here. We’re waiting for the results.”
Shit.
I borrowed an extra chair from the hallway and sat next to Leo’s bed. His skin was sallow and his lungs rattled when he breathed.
He opened his eyes and attempted a smile.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
“Yeah? Well, you don’t look so good yourself.”
There were a thousand other things that could have come out of my mouth. And I went with that. No one ever said I had a good bedside manner.
Within seconds, Leo had closed his eyes again, and drifted back to sleep.
A doctor walked into the room and eyeballed the three of us. “Which one of you is Assistant Director Horton?”
“None of us are,” I said. “Why?”
“Mr. Abruzzi’s test results are back in.”
Rico extended his hand. “Hi, Doc. Rico De Palma, CPD. Mr. Abruzzi is in our custody. What have you got?”
“I’m Dr. Kelly,” the man responded, ignoring Rico’s hand. “Mr. Abruzzi is my patient. Unfortunately, as I explained to that Channel Ten newswoman earlier, I can’t release information to anyone who isn’t specifically authorized, if we don’t have a signed release. HIPAA laws, you understand.”
Damn that Jade. Always sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong. If she got in over her head, it served her right.
But something else Dr. Kelly said didn’t sit right, either, so I asked, “If you need a release, why did you ask to speak to Assistant Director Horton?”
The doctor cleared his throat and made a show of studying Leo’s chart. “The Director claimed access to Mr. Abruzzi’s medical records, under the provisions granted by the Patriot Act.”
Ferris nearly choked. “The what?”
Dickhead strolled into the room, a smug smile plastered across his face. “The Patriot Act, Agent Ferris. I happen to consider the Z-virus to be a weapon of mass destruction. And I consider whoever engineered that virus to be a bio-terrorist. Either premise grants me legal access to Mr. Abruzzi’s records.”
Ferris, who wasn’t in a position to take Dickhead on, pursed his lips and dropped his eyes.
I didn’t have to worry about crossing any lines with the Director. He wasn’t my boss.
I shook my head and looked him in the eye. “You’re reaching a bit, aren’t you? That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” His face turned dark. “You said, yourself, the disease is spreading. We need to understand the nature of the virus if we’re going to stop it. Access to Abruzzi’s medical records will help us.”
I forced a laugh. “Leo would never sign off on that.”
Dr. Kelly flipped Leo’s chart closed. “Mr. Abruzzi wasn’t capable of signing off on anything. He was unconscious when he came in.”
“Abruzzi doesn’t have to agree,” Dickhead said with a wave of his hand. “This is an FBI investigation. If you aren’t comfortable releasing the information, doctor, I can call a federal judge and get a warrant here in less than thirty minutes. Shall I make the call?”
“These are Leo’s records,” I said. “What say does he have in all this?”
“Hello!” Leo rasped. “I’m right here, people. Don’t let the closed eyes fool you. I ain’t dead yet.”
He struggled to sit upright but fell back, exhausted. “Maybe Director Horton does have a legal right to know what those tests turned up. But those are my medical records, and I say everybody in this room can hear what you have to say, Doc. Go ahead. Let ‘er rip.”
Dr. Kelly frowned and opened Leo’s chart. “Very well, Mr. Abruzzi. I am sorry to say that your heart is no longer functioning within normal limits. We believe that the injection of the Nacarotoxin directly into your heart muscle may have damaged the tissue. We are currently delivering your medication through an IV that allows for administration of a rapid, yet regulated, dose. In fact, your system should actually tolerate a higher dosage now, than you were able to with direct injection.”
It’s not like we had a choice, injecting Leo in the heart. It was either that or watch him turn in front of us. Still, hearing the doctor say that, felt like a knife in my chest.
“So, like how long can we do this IV thing?” Leo asked.
Dr. Kelly sat on the edge of Leo’s bed. “Mr. Abruzzi, I’m afraid the Nacarotoxin is losing its efficacy.”
Leo rolled his eyes. “English, Doc.”
“It isn’t working as well as it did initially.” Dr. Kelly’s voice softened. “You do understand, this drug is not a cure. The time is coming when the medication will fail, and no longer keep you from…turning.”
Leo nodded and looked away.
“How much time?” Dickhead asked.
If Little Allie had a set of hands, they’d have been wrapped around Dickhead’s neck.
“What is wrong with you?” I asked. “The man is sitting here, right in front of you, you pompous, inconsiderate ass. Show some tact.”
Dr. Kelly ignored my outburst. “This is uncharted territory for me—and for most of the medical community. Nacarotoxin is so new. I’ve never treated a patient with Mr. Abruzzi’s…condition…before. But given his presentation, I would say…days. Maybe a week or two, at best.”
Leo continued to stare into space. Either he couldn’t hear us or didn’t want to.
Dickhead shifted his eyes to me. “I don’t have time to be polite. I told you, if Abruzzi started to decompensate before the grand jury convened, we’d have to schedule a deposition. I’ll arrange for a court reporter to come here to the hospital.”
“No,” I said. “Doc, can Leo go home with me, if we have a nurse stop by to help with the IV?”
“Certainly,” Dr. Kelly said. “I can make the arrangements.”
Dickhead’s cheeks flamed. “Hold on, here. You don’t call the shots, Nighthawk. I do. Your house is a now a biohazard. Besides, I want Abruzzi here, where he’s getting the best care possible, until after his deposition. If you want him after that, knock yourself out.”
My fingers curled into a fist. “You mean, after you’ve gotten everything you want from him. And for your information, the cleaners are already working on my house, taking care of business.”
I stopped short of telling Dickhead he’d be getting the bill.
Leo finally spoke up. “If it makes any difference, I’d rather be at Nighthawk’s. You can send the court reporter there, right?”
Dickhead turned to Leo. “Mr. Abruzzi, I really think you’d be better off...”
“Actually,” Dr. Kelly said, “There is no medical reason for Mr. Abruzzi to stay here. I can arrange for Home Health to provide the nursing assistance he needs. And frankly, the longer Mr. Abruzzi stays here, the bigger the liability risk he poses to patients, hospital staff and visitors. If he should happen to turn…”
Dr. Kelly stopped and cleared his throat. “On behalf of the hospital, I must insist that Mr. Abruzzi spend his final days elsewhere. We will keep him here overnight, while I make arrangements for his in-home care. He’ll have to leave here tomorrow morning, after we administer one more round of IV infusion. Is that clear?”
Dickhead shrugged. “Fine, Doc. Nighthawk, go ahead. Take Leo back to your house, tomorrow. I’ll arrange for the court reporter to take his deposition there.”
Oh, Nighthawk,” he added as he walked to the doorway. “I almost forgot. Congratulations. I heard you caught the snitch. Weston, the son of a bitch. He played you all for fools, didn’t he?”
Rico’s eyes flashed.
I grabbed him by the arm, and stopped him from taking Dickhead down, much as I would have preferred otherwise.
Rico stared at me and waited for an explanation, as Dickhead’s footsteps receded down the hallway.