Brett Battles - The Destroyed

Nate quickly maneuvered Quinn into the backseat, did what he could to tie off the wound using Quinn’s shirt, then climbed behind the wheel and pressed the gas pedal to the floor.

A cleaner who knows what he’s doing always has a variety of contacts in the places he has worked: suppliers of weapons, local talent, information sources, and-though hopefully seldom needed-someone who could provide discreet medical services. On his previous job in Rome, Nate had been given the number of a Dr. Pelligrini, but had never had the need to call it.

That fact had just changed.

The phone rang four times before a man sounding hurried answered. “ Si?”

“I’m in need of a second opinion on a hairline fracture,” Nate said in English, reading the phrase from the notes on his phone.

The doctor paused, then gave him an address with instructions on where to park behind the building, and what to do when Nate got to the door. The man hung up.

As much as he didn’t want to waste the time, Nate knew they had to switch vehicles before they arrived at the doctor’s place. By now police all over town would have been notified to look for the cab. The last thing he needed was for it to be found parked at the medical facility where Quinn was being treated.

He called Daeng, brought him up to speed, and agreed on a quiet place to meet not far from their hotel.

Nate reached the rendezvous point three minutes later, but Daeng wasn’t there yet.

“Come on, come on, come on.”

He looked back at Quinn. His mentor was still unconscious, the makeshift bandage soaked with blood. Nate reached back and grabbed Quinn’s wrist, checking the pulse. Weak, but steady.

Just then a Volkswagen Golf hatchback with Daeng behind the wheel screeched to a stop next to the taxi.

Working quickly, the two men transferred Quinn to the VW’s backseat.

“You want me to drive?” Daeng asked.

“I’ll drive,” Nate said.

Daeng got into the front passenger seat and twisted around so he could keep an eye on Quinn.

Nate took the quickest route to Dr. Pelligrini’s office. The narrow alley that ran behind it was easy enough to find, though the white door the doctor had mentioned was more a faded yellow.

Nate jumped out, knocked three times on the door as he’d been instructed. For several seconds nothing happened, so he repeated the sequence. This time, just as he finished the last knock, the door opened, and a short, thin, balding man with tired eyes looked out.

“Dr. Pelligrini?” Nate asked.

“Yes,” the man said. “You’re the one who called?”

Nate nodded, and led the doctor over to the car. Daeng had already opened the back door.

Dr. Pelligrini took one look at Quinn and said, “Quickly. Bring him inside.”

Draping Quinn’s arms around their shoulders, Nate and Daeng carried him inside to a small examining room near the back door.

“Are you here alone?” Nate asked. The office was quiet and he’d seen no one on the way in.

“My nurse.”

“Trustworthy?”

The doctor scoffed as he started peeling the bandage off Quinn’s neck. “Of course. She’s my wife.”

Once the cloth was removed, blood welled in the wound.

“How long ago did this happen?”

“Less than fifteen minutes.”

“Do you know his blood type?”

“A-positive,” Nate said.

“Are either of you A-positive?”

Nate and Daeng shook their heads.

“Don’t you have any here?” Nate asked.

“Yes, we have it, but I like to replace, you understand?”

“Mine might not be the same,” Daeng said, “but you’re welcome to some of my B.”

“I’m happy to donate, too,” Nate said.

The doctor looked over at them. “I need some space. There’s a room down the hall where you can wait, but find my wife first and send her in here.”

“I’d rather stay,” Nate said.

“No. Out of the question. I must operate, and cannot have you here. You think I’m going to hurt your friend?”

“No, but-”

“Of course I’m not. Now, go, please. I need to get to work.”

Reluctantly, they left.

“I should move the car,” Daeng said.

“Good idea.”

While Daeng did that, Nate found the doctor’s wife-an unsmiling woman about the same age as her husband-behind a desk in a room near the front of the office. Once she was on her way, he went into the small waiting room, and made the call he’d been dreading.

“Nate?” Orlando said. Her momentary surprise switched instantly to concern. “What’s going on?”

“First off, he’s alive.”

“What happened?”

“He’s been shot, but it’s not life threatening,” he said, then described where the bullet hit. “I’ve already brought him to Dr. Pelligrini. He’s prepping him for surgery now.”

“How the hell did he get shot?”

“Ambush. I can give you the details later, but right now I’ve got to take care of a few things.”

“What are you talking about? You’re staying there!”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” It was more accusation than question.

“Mila,” he said. “Someone took her.”

“I don’t give a damn about Mila.”

“Do you think Quinn would want me to stay here? He came here because of her. If he wasn’t hurt, he’d be doing everything he could to find her. But since he can’t, I’m sure he’d want me to do it.”

“You can’t leave him alone.”

“What choice do I have?”

“What about the other guy?”

“Daeng? I’m going to need his help.”

“For God’s sake, you have to stay until he’s at least out of surgery! Mila Voss can wait that long.”

“I don’t know if that’s true.”

“I. Don’t. Care.”

He closed his eyes. “Okay, okay. We’ll stay until the doctor’s done, but the second he is, we’re leaving.”

“Fine. But you keep tabs on him even then. You understand me?”

“Yes.”

“And if anything changes, I want to hear about it.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll call you.”

“Mrs. Vu! Mrs. Vu!” Orlando called out as she rushed out of her office on the second floor of her home in San Francisco.

“Yes?” the Vietnamese woman called up from downstairs. She and her husband helped Orlando around the house, and took care of her son Garrett when Orlando was on one of her frequent business trips.

Orlando stopped in the doorway to her bedroom. “I have to go on a trip. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone.”

“When will you be leaving?”

“As soon as I’m packed,” she said. It would take her only a few minutes since she always kept bags at the ready. “Please ask your husband if he could drive me to the airport.”

“He’ll be waiting.”

Orlando retrieved the bag she wanted, threw in a couple of extra items she thought she might need, grabbed her laptop out of her office, and headed downstairs. True to his wife’s word, Mr. Vu was waiting by the front door, keys in hand.

“Another trip,” he said as he helped carry her bags out to the car. “Will you be gone long?”

Whether it was really there or not, she sensed a quiet rebuke in his voice. She knew he thought she traveled too much, and was away from Garrett more than she should be. Or maybe that was something she was just putting on him, her own concerns reflected in his innocent questions.

She pushed the thought from her mind. There was no way she could stay home today. While Garrett was her everything, Quinn was her everything else. And Garrett was doing okay, school going fine, no particular attitude issues. Quinn, on the other hand, was lying on an operating table, a gunshot wound just inches from his heart and his head.