James Grippando - Beyond Suspicion

Jack was half-sitting, half-standing. Getting stuck with a dirty needle wasn’t an option, but he wasn’t quite sure how he was going to get past these two pork chops.

“I said, sit!” the guy shouted.

“What’s going on?”

Jack looked past the goons, relieved to see Katrina.

“Just a little matter of money,” said Needle Dick. “Junior here thinks his blood’s worth fifty bucks.”

She took a good look at Jack, and he could see in her eyes that she’d recognized him instantly, even with the old clothes, knit cap on his head, and grease on his face. He wasn’t really worried about a confidential informant giving him up and blowing her own cover, but his heart skipped a beat as he waited for her to say something.

“This jerk’s blood isn’t worth fifty cents. He scammed us on Miami Beach two weeks ago. His veins are clean. Get him out of here.”

The men came toward him, each grabbing an arm. They kicked open the door and threw him out. He landed on the pavement right beside the bag lady.

She looked at him with disgust. “You gonna let a needle dick push you around like that?”

Jack picked himself up, checked the scrape on his elbow where he’d hit the pavement. He glanced toward the van, then answered. “It’s okay. I’m a hotshot lawyer. I’ll sue his ass.”

She flashed a toothless grin, said something about him looking more like a senator, and then just kept talking. Jack listened for about a minute, till he realized that she was chatting with herself.

He felt as though he should walk her to a shelter or something, but he had to stay focused. She went one way, and he went the other, continuing a half block north, where he found a bus bench at the corner and waited. Getting inside the mobile unit had been a bonus, but he still hadn’t spoken to Katrina, his main objective. He sensed she wouldn’t be far behind him. In ten minutes, his hunch proved correct.

“What the hell were you doing in there?” she said as she took a seat on the bench beside him.

“Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“You and your friend Theo have to stay clear and let me do my job.”

“Just exactly what is your job?”

“None of your business.”

“You’re not even going to let me guess?”

She shot him a look, as if not sure what to make of him. “Okay, Swyteck. Show me how smart you are.”

“It’s interesting the way you set up these mobile units in high-crime areas, places where the average Joe walking off the street might carry around any number of infectious diseases in his bloodstream.”

“Hey, if Mohammed won’t come to the mountain…”

“So, for twenty bucks and a half-pint of cheap booze they’ll gladly drain their veins of infected blood. Then what?”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t think Drayton would let you work undercover in this operation if you were using bad blood to contaminate the blood supply or some other terrorist activity. So, I figure you must be selling it to someone who actually wants infected blood for legitimate reasons. Like a medical researcher. Am I right?”

She didn’t answer.

Jack nodded, figuring he was right. “Good money in that. I think I saw something on the Internet where some diseased blood can fetch as much as ten thousand dollars a liter on the medical research market.”

She focused on the bus across the street. “I’m not talking to you.”

“Extremely high margins, I’d say. Especially when the company that collects and sells the blood doesn’t even try to comply with the multitude of regulations governing the drawing, handling, storage, shipping, and disposal of blood specimens that, because of their diseased state, technically meet the legal definition of medical waste.”

“How do you know we don’t comply?”

“I didn’t come here without doing my homework.”

A low-riding Volvo cruised by, music blasting from the boom box in the truck. Saturday night was starting early.

Jack said, “From the looks of things, I’d say your crew is a lot more interested in appearances than profit. Like every good money-laundering operation.”

She looked him in the eye and said, “You have no idea how much money there is in blood.”

“My guess is that you sell a whole lot more blood than you ever collect.”

“You’re a very lucky guesser, Swyteck.”

“You produce just enough product to make things look legitimate, but it’s a limitless supply of inventory. You create as many sales as you want, no one the wiser. Nice money-laundering operation.”

“You’re learning a lot more than is healthy for you to know.”

“Maybe.”

“The irony is, this could really be a good business for someone. All these goons on my crew care about is generating phony invoices to legitimize the cash that washes through our company. With a little effort to collect more specimens, the blood research business could be the most profitable money-laundering operation around.”

“Except for viatical settlements,” said Jack.

She smiled thinly. “Except for viatical settlements.”

Jack crossed his legs, picked at the hole in his old tennis shoe. “Of course, now the million-and-half-dollar question is: What’s the connection between the two businesses?”

“None. It’s just another way of laundering money. Like going into video rentals and opening a Chinese restaurant. No connection, really. Just another sink to wash your dirty money in.”

“I think differently.”

“Is this another one of your guesses?”

“No. This time it’s research.”

“A sole practitioner who does research? I’m impressed.”

“When I took Jessie’s case, I subscribed to an on-line news service about the viatical industry. Kept me right up to date on any development in the industry-trends, lawsuits, whatever.”

“And they said something about Jessie?”

“They did, but that’s not my point. I’ve been following it more closely since Jessie’s death. What really caught my interest was a recent write-up about a case in Georgia.”

“Georgia?”

“A thirty-something-year-old woman had AIDS. They found the West Nile virus in her blood. First documented case in Georgia in decades.”

“Not a good thing for someone with a weakened immune system.”

“No. But it might be a very good thing for her viatical investors.”

“You’re being way too suspicious. Viatical settlements are pretty common among AIDS patients.”

“Yeah, but this one has a twist. Not only did she have this rare virus, but she was missing three liters of blood.”

“She bled to death?”

“No. Somebody took it.”

Her look was incredulous. “What?”

“You heard me. Somebody drained three liters of diseased blood from her body and sent her into cardiac arrest.”

“And triggered payment under a viatical settlement,” she said, finishing his thought for him.

“No one’s proved step three yet. That’s why I’m here.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want to know about step three.”

“You’re talking about Georgia, a whole different state.”

“We’re talking about the Russian Mafiya. It’s a very small world.”

“Look, my plate is full working for Sam Drayton and his task force. I don’t have the time or the inclination to be playing Sherlock Holmes for you and your wild-ass theories about some woman in Georgia.”

“You need to work with me on this.”

“I don’t need to do anything with you.”

“I can help you.”

“How?”

“I know that my friend Theo’s been poking around your operation.”

“Poking’s a good word for it. Like a finger in my eye.”