Robin Cook - Seizure

Gaetano wiped away the sweat that had beaded along the border of his dark, cropped hair and expansive forehead. He was dressed in what had been carefully pressed tan slacks, a flowered short-sleeve shirt, and a blue sports jacket. The idea was to look upscale so he wouldn’t stand out like a sore thumb hanging around the Ocean Club. At the moment, he had the jacket slung over his shoulder, and his pants had some serious damp creases behind each knee. With his compact bulk, he was sensitive to the moist, tropical heat.

Fifteen minutes later, Gaetano was out in a parking lot that was as hot as Hades, looking for a white Jeep Cherokee. If he was hot before, he was boiling now, with triangles of sweat-soaked shirt under each arm. He was holding his carry-on overnight bag in his right hand while his left gripped his car rental papers and a map he’d gotten from the agent. The idea of driving on the left, as instructed by the rent-a-car agent, had initially given him pause, but now he thought he could handle it, provided he kept reminding himself. To him, it seemed the height of ridiculousness for the Bahamians to drive on the wrong side.

He found the car. Without delay, he climbed in and got it started. His first order of business was to get the air-conditioning on full blast and to redirect all the vents in his direction. After checking the map and spreading it out on the seat next to him, he started out of the lot.

There had been some talk of getting a gun, but the idea had been dropped. First of all, it would take time, and second of all, he didn’t need it to deal with a pissant professor. He checked the map again. The route was pretty simple, since most of the roads led into the town of Nassau. From there, he’d take the bridge over to Paradise Island, where he assumed the Ocean Club would be easy to find.

Gaetano smiled at fate. A few years earlier, who would have guessed that he’d be driving along in the Bahamas, dressed to beat the band, feeling good, and anticipating some action? A quiver of excitement made the hairs on the back of his neck momentarily stand up. Gaetano liked violence in any form. It was an addiction of sorts that had gotten him into trouble in the past, starting in middle school but particularly in high school. He loved violent action movies and violent computer games, but mostly he loved the real thing. Thanks to his size, which he’d attained at a young age, and his athleticism, he managed to come out on top in most scuffles.

The biggest problem had occurred in the year 2000. He and his older brother had been employed as he was now, as enforcers or musclemen, but back then it had been in the big leagues in Queens, New York, for one of the major crime families. A job came up for which he and his brother, Vito, were both assigned. They were to teach a lesson to a cop who was on the take but not coming through with his side of the bargain. It was supposed to be straightforward, but it went awry. The cop pulled out a hidden gun and managed to seriously wound Vito before Gaetano disarmed him.

Unfortunately, Gaetano had seen red. When it was over, not only had he killed the policeman, but he’d also killed the man’s wife and teenage son, both of whom had stupidly tried to intervene, the woman with another gun and the kid with a baseball bat. Everyone was furious. None of it was supposed to have happened, and it caused a huge overreaction on the part of New York law enforcement, as if the cop had been some kind of hero. At first, Gaetano thought he was going to be sacrificed, either whacked himself or given over to the police on a silver platter. But then out of the blue came the opportunity to disappear by going to Boston to work for the Castigliano brothers, who were somehow distantly related to the family the Barreses had worked for.

Initially, Gaetano had hated the move. He hated Boston, which he considered a puny town compared to New York, and he hated being a clerk in the plumbing supply business, a position he felt was demeaning. But slowly he got used to it.

“Holy crap!” Gaetano voiced, as he caught his first view of the Bahamian ocean. He’d never seen such an intense blue and aquamarine. As traffic increased, Gaetano slowed down accordingly and enjoyed the scenery. He had adjusted more easily than he thought he would to driving on the left, which left his eyes free to wander, and there was a lot to see. He began to become optimistic about the afternoon until he got to Nassau itself. In town, he found himself bogged down completely and for a time stuck behind a bus at a complete standstill.

He looked at his watch. It was already after one in the afternoon. He shook his head as his optimism rapidly faded. He couldn’t help but feel that the chances of being able to do what he needed to do and get back to the airport by four-thirty or so, which is what he’d have to do if he were to make the Miami-to-Boston flight, were getting smaller every minute that went by.

“Screw it!” Gaetano said vehemently. All at once, he decided he wasn’t going to let the time factor ruin his day. He took a deep breath and looked out his side window. He even smiled at a handsome black woman who smiled back at him, making him feel that spending the night might be rather entertaining. He rolled his window down, but the woman had already disappeared. A moment later, the bus in front of him began to move forward.

Gaetano finally drove up and over the graceful span that connected New Providence Island with Paradise Island, and soon found himself in the Ocean Club’s lot, which, by the look of the vehicles, was more for the employees than the guests.

Leaving his bag and jacket in the back of the Cherokee, Gaetano proceeded west on a tree- and flower-lined walkway before turning north between two of the hotel’s buildings. That brought him to the lawn separating the hotel from the beach. Turning east, he wandered back toward the central buildings comprising the public spaces and restaurants. He was impressed with all he saw. It was a gorgeous setting.

An outdoor restaurant with a central bar and a thatched roof stood high above the steeply sloped beach’s edge, affording a pleasant view up and down the strand. At one-thirty, the eatery was still filled to overflowing, including a line of people patiently waiting for tables or empty barstools. Gaetano stopped and took out his photos to review the images of the professor and Tony’s sister. His eyes lingered on the sister, while he wished she were the mark. The thought of the various ways to give her a violent message brought a smile to his face.

Armed with a refreshed mental image of the people he was searching for, Gaetano took a slow walk around the bar/restaurant. The tables were arranged around the periphery, with the bar in the center. Every table and every seat at the bar were occupied, mostly with scantily clad people of all shapes, sizes, and ages in bathing suits and cover-ups.

Gaetano found himself back where he’d started, without seeing anyone who resembled either the guy or the girl. Leaving the restaurant, he took a flight of stairs that led down to a landing with several outdoor showers before descending another flight to the beach. To the right, at the foot of the stairs, was the hotel’s beach concession, with towels, umbrellas, and lounge chairs for the guests. Gaetano took off his shoes and socks and rolled his pant bottoms before traipsing down to the water’s edge, where gentle waves lapped at the shore. When he stuck his toes into the water, he found himself wishing he had on his bathing suit. The water was crystal clear, shallow, and delightfully warm.

Walking on the damp, densely packed sand, Gaetano first rambled to the east while scanning the faces of all the people on the beach. It wasn’t particularly crowded, because most everybody was having lunch. When he ran out of people, he turned around and walked west. When he ran out of people in that direction, he decided the professor and the sister weren’t on the beach. So much for that idea, he thought moodily.