“It’s better that you stay. You need medication in your eye. And should any infection set in—”
“Anybody can put a couple of drops in my eyes,” Paul said. “With all that’s happened, my wife Gloria has gotten pretty good at it. I want out of here!”
“If you are determined to go, I can’t keep you,” Jordan said nervously. “But at least be sure to rest and stay quiet.”
Three quarters of an hour later an orderly pushed Cerino to Angelo’s car in a wheelchair. Tony had already moved the Town Car to the curb in front of the hospital’s entrance. He had the engine idling.
Cerino had paid his hospital bill in cash, a feat that had stunned the cashier who was on duty. After a snap of his boss’s fingers, Angelo had peeled hundred-dollar bills off a big roll he had in his pocket until he’d surpassed the total.
“Hands off,” Cerino said when Angelo tried to help him out of the wheelchair when it reached the side of the car and the orderly had activated the wheel brakes. “I can do it myself. What do you think I am, handicapped?” Cerino pushed himself into a standing position and swayed for a moment getting his considerable bulk directly over his legs.
He was dressed in his street clothes. Over his operated eye he had a metal shield with multiple tiny holes.
Slowly he eased himself into the front passenger seat. He allowed Angelo to close the door for him. Angelo got in the backseat. Tony started driving, but as he reached the street he misjudged the curb. The car bounced.
“Jesus Christ!” Cerino yelled.
Tony cowered over the steering wheel.
They drove through the Midtown Tunnel and out the Long Island Expressway. Cerino became expansive.
“You know something, boys,” Cerino beamed, “I feel great! After all that worry and planning, it finally happened. And as I told the doc, it wasn’t half bad. Of course I felt that first needle stick.”
Angelo cringed in the backseat. He’d been squeamish about going into the operating room from the start. When he’d seen Jordan direct that huge needle into Cerino’s face, just below the eye, Angelo had almost passed out. Angelo hated needles.
“But after the needle,” Cerino continued, “I didn’t feel a thing. I even fell asleep. Can you believe that? Can you, Tony?”
“No, I can’t,” Tony said nervously.
“When I woke up it was done,” Cerino said. “Jordan might be an ass, but he’s one hell of a surgeon. And you know something? I think he’s smart. I know he’s practical. We might very well go into business, he and I. What do you say about that, Angelo?”
“An interesting idea,” Angelo said without enthusiasm.
12
* * *
7:45 a.m., Saturday
Manhattan
Since it was Saturday, Laurie did not set her alarm. But she woke up before eight anyway, again troubled by her nightmare about Shelly. Vaguely she wondered if it would help if she were to see someone professional.
Despite not being on call, Laurie had decided to go into the office. Her intentions notwithstanding, she’d not been productive with her work the previous evening after Lou had dropped her off. Wine and work did not mix well with Laurie.
Emerging from her building, Laurie was pleasantly surprised to find a crisp fall day. The sun had already taken on its weak winter look, but the sky was clear and the temperature moderate. Being a Saturday, the traffic and its resultant exhaust was minimal on First Avenue, and Laurie enjoyed the walk up to Thirtieth Street.
As soon as she arrived, Laurie went straight to the ID office to check on that day’s cases. She was relieved to see there were no new candidates for her overdose series. The schedule was filled with the usual Friday-night homicides and accident cases reflecting a normal night of murder and mayhem in the Big Apple.
Next Laurie headed for the toxicology lab. She was relieved she wouldn’t have to dodge John DeVries. He certainly wouldn’t be in on a Saturday. She was pleased to find hardworking Peter at his usual spot in front of the newest gas chromatograph.