Robin Cook - Blindsight

“You didn’t put a damper on anything,” Jordan assured her. Then he looked at his watch. “Say,” he said. “It’s getting late, and I have surgery in the morning. My first case, at seven-thirty, is an English baron who sits in the House of Lords.”

“Really,” Laurie said without much interest.

“I think I’ll be calling it a night,” Jordan added. “I’d be delighted to give you a lift home. That is, of course, if you are intending to leave.”

“I’d love a ride home,” Laurie said. “I’ve been thinking about leaving since we got up from the table.”

After the appropriate goodbyes during which Dorothy let Laurie know her coat was far too thin for late fall, Jordan and Laurie left the party and waited at the elevator.

“Mothers!” Laurie said once the doors had closed behind them.

As they rode down, Jordan started talking about the parade of celebrities due in his office the next day. Laurie wasn’t sure if he was trying to impress her or merely cheer her up.

Emerging from the building into the cold November air, Jordan switched the conversation to the surgical aspect of his practice. Laurie was nodding as if listening. In reality she was waiting for some signal from Jordan whether he’d parked his car to the north or to the south. For a moment they stopped directly in front of the building while Jordan told Laurie how many surgical cases he did in a year.

“Sounds like you’re busy,” Laurie said.

“Could be busier,” Jordan admitted. “If I had my way, I’d be doing twice the amount of surgery I’m doing now. Surgery is what I enjoy; it’s what I’m best at.”

“Which way is your car?” Laurie finally asked. She was shivering.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s right here.” He pointed to a long black limousine sitting directly in front of her parents’ building. As if on cue, a liveried driver leaped out and held the rear door open for Laurie.

“This is Thomas,” Jordan said.

Laurie said hello and slipped in the sleek automobile. Thomas looked as though he could have moonlighted as a bouncer; he was powerfully built. The limo’s interior was elegantly luxurious, complete with a cellular phone, dictaphone, and fax.

“Well,” Laurie said, noticing all the equipment. “You look ready for business or pleasure.”

Jordan smiled. He was clearly pleased with his style of living. “Where to?” he asked.

Laurie gave her address on Nineteenth Street and they pulled out into traffic.

“I never imagined you had a limo,” Laurie said. “Isn’t it a bit extravagant?”

“Perhaps a bit,” Jordan agreed. His white teeth shone in the half-light of the car’s interior. “But there is a practical side to this ostentation. I do all my dictation work to and from work and even between work and the hospital. So in a sense, the car pays for itself.”

“That’s an interesting way of looking at it.”

“It’s not merely a rationalization,” Jordan said. He went on to describe other ways he’d organized his practice to boost his productivity.

As Laurie listened she couldn’t help compare Jordan Scheffield with Lou Soldano. They couldn’t have been more opposite. One was self-effacing, the other arrogantly narcissistic; one was provincial, the other sophisticated; and where one could be awkward, the other was smoothly adroit. Yet despite their differences, Laurie found each attractive in his own way.

As they turned onto Nineteenth Street, Jordan ’s monologue stopped abruptly. “I’m boring you with all this shop talk,” he said.

“I can see you are committed,” Laurie said. “I like that.”

Jordan stared at her. His eyes sparkled.

“I’ve truly enjoyed meeting you tonight,” he said. “I wish we’d had more time to talk. How about having dinner with me tomorrow night?”

Laurie smiled. It had been a day of surprises. She’d not been dating much since her ninetieth breakup with Sean Mackenzie. Yet she found Jordan interesting despite his seemingly overbearing nature. Impulsively she decided it might be fun to see a little more of the man, even if her parents did approve of him.

“I’d love to have dinner,” Laurie said.

“Wonderful,” Jordan said. “How about Le Cirque? I know the maitre d’ there and he’ll give us a great table. Is eight o’clock okay?”

“Eight is fine,” Laurie said, although she began to have second thoughts as soon as Jordan suggested Le Cirque. For a first date she would have preferred a less formal environment.

“What the hell time is it?” Tony asked. “My battery must have died in my watch.” He shook his wrist, then tapped the crystal.

Angelo extended his arm and glanced at his Piaget. “It’s eleven eleven.”

“I don’t think Bruno’s coming out,” Tony said. “Why don’t we go in and see if he’s there?”

“Because we don’t want Mrs. Marchese to see us,” Angelo said. “If she sees us then we got to do her too, and that’s not right. The Lucia people might do that kind of stuff, but we don’t. Besides, look. Here comes the punk now.” Angelo pointed to the front entrance of the tiny two-story row house.

Bruno Marchese emerged into the night dressed in a black leather jacket, freshly pressed Guess jeans, and sunglasses. He paused for a moment on the front steps of the house to light a cigarette. Tossing the match into the shrubbery, he started toward the sidewalk.

“Get a load of those shades,” Angelo said. “Must think he’s Jack Nicholson. My guess is that he’s going socializing. He should have stayed home. The trouble with you young guys is that your brains are in your balls.”

“Let’s get him,” Tony urged.

“Hold on,” Angelo said. “Let him round the corner. We’ll nab him when he walks under the railroad tracks.”

Five minutes later they had Bruno cowering in the backseat, staring into Tony’s smiling face. The pickup had gone even more smoothly than it had with Frankie. The only casualty had been Bruno’s sunglasses, which ended up in the gutter.

“Surprised to see us?” Angelo asked after they had driven a short while. Angelo looked at Bruno in the rearview mirror.

“What’s this about?” Bruno demanded.

Tony laughed. “Oh, a tough guy. Tough and dumb. How about I give him a few whacks with my gun?”

“It’s about the Cerino incident,” Angelo said. “We want to hear about it from you.”

“I don’t know anything about it,” Bruno said. “I never even heard of it.”

“That’s funny,” Angelo said. “We’ve had it from a friend of yours that you were involved.”

“Who?” Bruno asked.

“Frankie DePasquale,” Angelo said. He watched Bruno’s expression change. The kid was terrified, and for good reason.

“Frankie didn’t know crap,” Bruno said. “I don’t know anything about any Cerino incident.”

“If you don’t know anything about it, how come you’re hiding out at your mother’s house?” Angelo asked.

“I’m not hiding out,” Bruno said. “I got kicked out of my apartment so I’m just staying there a few days.”

Angelo shook his head. They drove to the American Fresh Fruit Company in silence. Once they were there, Angelo and Tony brought Bruno to the same spot they’d brought Frankie.

As soon as Bruno saw the hole in the floor, his tough-guy stance melted. “All right, you guys,” he said. “What do you want to know?”

“That’s better,” Angelo said. “First sit down.”

Once Bruno had complied, Angelo leaned toward him and said, “Tell us about it.” He took out a cigarette and lit up, blowing smoke up toward the ceiling.

“I don’t know much,” Bruno said. “I only drove the car. I wasn’t inside. Besides, they made me do it.”