Savage code, p.16
Savage Code, page 16
part #4 of The Porter Series
Now, the morning hangover was too real, and the pressure in his bladder couldn’t wait any longer. He walked into the bathroom and relieved himself, washed his hands, and filled up the ice bucket with water.
Then he dropped it on the still-sleeping Rivera.
She shot out of bed, panting and gasping, her thick curls matted alongside her face. “What the… what the hell!”
“Payback,” Porter said with a smile.
They squabbled with each other until she disappeared for a shower, and Porter ordered down for room-service breakfast.
He sat on the couch, face throbbing, broken hand pounding.
Porter put his feet up on the coffee table and leaned back. Sleep hadn’t helped his situation much. He still had no idea where Royce Michelson was. He still had no plan to force Osito to tell him.
Shooting the casino boss had been a two-edged sword. On the one hand, it had made Porter feel better. Much better. On the other, there was no chance that the man hadn’t circled his wagons, to keep himself safe while he was recuperating.
Which was the problem. There was no telling where Osito was, if he was even out of the hospital. At some point, Porter figured, there would be some sort of surgery on the man’s leg. He could be in a hospital in surgery, or at his house with a cast on, doped up on painkillers and waiting for the swelling to go down. Maybe the doctors were stalling for time while they decided on a course of treatment.
Porter just couldn’t be sure.
Moments later, the knock at the door signaled that room service had arrived. Porter answered, leaving a big tip for the delivery guy, courtesy of Uncle Sam and the FBI.
He slammed the door as Rivera stepped out of the bathroom. Gone was her dress from their night out, and she now wore jeans and a nice shirt, her hair neatly pulled into a bun. “Thank God. I’m starving.”
They ate in silence.
About the time Porter finished up his bacon, Rivera spoke up. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous habit.”
“I think we need to let this one go.”
Porter didn’t say anything.
“I mean, I know what you said last night, that you’re here to help, and I thank you for that. You have no idea how much it means to me to have you on my side. But right now, I just don’t see a way forward. Last night was bad. Just think of what would have happened if they’d killed us.”
“We’d be dead?”
“I’m serious. You know I want this—I mean, I want this thing bad. A chance to be full-time with the Bureau? That’s a big pay raise. You were a Fed, you know what I’m talking about.”
Porter sipped his bottle of water.
“But look how far off the reservation we are right now. I’m still a cop, Porter; I’m not supposed to be doing all this shit. And to be honest, I don’t really want you doing it, either.”
“You plan on stopping me?”
She sighed. “That’s not what I mean. If you got hurt helping me, I’d feel terrible.”
“I’m already hurt.”
“Harsh didn’t make you any uglier; you’ll be fine. If you really got hurt—or killed—just because I want some silly job, I’d never forgive myself.”
Porter looked at her for a moment, then took a sip of water and stood up. He paced in front of the coffee table, stretching his big frame as he did. “I have a confession.”
She looked up at him.
“I’m not just doing this for you.”
Rivera furrowed her eyebrows.
“I’m not really doing it for Royce either. I mean, I want to find him. Hell, I want to help anybody else I can while I’m at it. So I was telling the truth when I said I’d help find Royce for you, and for the other kids. But I wasn’t all the way honest.”
“Why do I feel like you’re about to tell me you cheated on me? This is the way that conversation usually goes.”
He laughed. “A few months ago, a little girl named Miracle went missing in Central Florida.”
Rivera looked down for a moment, then started snapping her fingers, as if she were trying to jump-start her memory. “Mom was some young kid, right?”
Porter nodded.
“The mom found the kid, then she just vanished, right?”
Porter nodded.
“That was you?”
“Yeah, it was me. Miracle was young, but her mama was just a damn baby herself. I couldn’t help but stick my nose into it.”
“What happened?”
“I set her up with some money, told her to skip town. Start over somewhere else. Leave that shithole behind.”
Rivera nodded. “That town’s just a couple hours from Tampa. You could have called me; I would have helped.”
“Ross wanted me to, but I told him no. I’d rather keep you out of the mud. Imagine how surprised I was when you showed up in Pennsylvania, asking to get your hands dirty.”
Rivera shrugged. “So what does Miracle have to do with this?”
Porter worked his broken hand, opening it and closing it as best as he could. “The people who took her… they weren’t your average sickos.”
“What’s that mean?”
Porter shook his head and closed his eyes. “They had a whole setup. Camera, computer, everything. They had an auction on the Internet: you pay enough, they’d kill the kid however you want them to. Apparently, business was good, because they had a bunch of repeat customers.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I could have tried to use some of my resources to work the organization.”
“I already told you. The way you guys operate is too slow. I needed to do things my way.”
“Dirty…”
Porter nodded. “I rattled some cages and worked my way up the ladder, but I hit a dead end.”
“Was the dead end in Pennsylvania?”
Porter nodded. “I mean, I did what I had to do, found who I was looking for. But sometimes, no matter how much you beat on a person, they don’t know what to tell you. I was following a path to the top of the organization, and I took a detour and ended up in a dead end. Now, I’m stuck.”
“Kind of like we are now?”
“Unfortunately. And just like now, I was thinking about how to get things moving again. While I was sitting in jail, thinking about how I would find the next link in the chain, you showed up. So, when I figured out that Candy Man was in play, I thought if I help you get his brother back, and he spills his guts about everyone he’s worked with, maybe there’ll be something in there for me. Something you guys don’t need to work. A name or place that will help me keep following the assholes I’m looking for.”
“This isn’t at all like finding out your boyfriend has been cheating. This is more like finding out that he got a second job and worked nights to buy an enormous engagement ring.”
Porter smiled. “Glad you get it. I want to help you make this case. I want to help whoever else I can. Then, when I’m done, I have some more people to look for. So, we can’t stop. Not now. All we have to do is figure out how to get to Osito. Then maybe we’ll have what we need to move forward.”
“We can’t stop,” Rivera muttered to herself.
“No. We can’t.”
Rivera sighed. She stood and walked up to the still-pacing Porter, and wrapped her arms around him. “You know something?”
Porter didn’t answer, instead gingerly hugging the woman.
“Meeting you was probably the best and worst thing that ever happened to me.”
“You’d be surprised how often I hear that.”
“No, I wouldn’t.” She walked over to the counter, pulling a bottle of water from the case and cracking it open. “Okay, genius. Let’s figure this thing out. What do we do next?”
Porter shrugged. “Well, I have a couple ideas about—” From somewhere in the other room, the muted sound of his phone ringing emerged.
Porter patted his pockets, then turned while he looked. “Where is that?”
Moments later, he’d tracked the sound to the bed, where his phone was submerged in the covers and sheet. He exhumed it, and looked at a number he didn’t recognize.
“New York.”
“Answer it,” Rivera said.
Porter thumbed the green call button. “Yeah.”
A crunchy voice leaked out of the phone, the metal of the hotel interfering with the reception. “Hello?”
“Yeah? Who’s this?”
“This is Claire Davis. I’m a nurse at Lenox Hill.”
“A hospital?” Porter said.
“Of course a hospital.”
“I’m not from around here,” Porter said.
“I can tell. Listen, we have a patient here I think you might know.”
“Who is it?” Porter said.
“We don’t know her name. They brought her in, all beat to hell. No ID, no money, nothing. All she had was a business card with this number on it, stuffed in her bra.”
Porter was quiet for a few moments. “Does she have a tattoo?”
“Let me check.”
Porter heard the rustling of paper, as if Nurse Davis was rummaging through a file.
“Yes, she has a couple. Can you be more specific?”
“A daisy. Does she have a daisy on her arm?”
“Yes. You know this girl?”
“I do.”
“Great. Could you please tell us her name, DOB, and—”
“You said Lenox Hill, right?”
“Um, yes, Lenox Hill.”
“I’ll be right there,” Porter said, and hung up the phone.
Thirty-Two
“Why is everything so hard to find in this damn city?” Rivera spun the wheel on the sedan, turning around for the third time down Park Avenue to circle around on Seventy-Sixth Street again. “I mean, who can even survive here?”
Porter didn’t answer, instead looking out the window, that late-morning sun beaming off all the glass of the cars and buildings.
“How do you even know it’s the same girl? We could be going all this way for nothing.”
“Come on, Christina,” Porter said.
“Oh, you’re using my Christian name, huh? Excuse me for asking an apparently stupid question.”
Porter shook his head.
“You know this isn’t your fault, right? I recognize this look of yours.”
“I never said it’s my fault,” Porter said.
“But I know you well enough to know that you think you’re responsible for everyone. This little hooker gets beat up, somehow you’re going to make this about you.”
“The least we can do is go and make sure she’s okay,” Porter said. “She doesn’t have anybody else, remember?”
Rivera sighed. “It’s like you’re somehow getting harder and softer, all at the same time.”
“That’s what she said,” Porter muttered.
“Not funny.”
Eventually, Rivera found a spot off Lexington a block away, and parked the rental. “This is as good as it gets.”
Porter unfolded himself from the vehicle and started up the sidewalk.
“Well, slow down, I’m coming too.”
“You sure? She’s just a ‘little hooker.’”
“Give me a break. Since when do you let words offend you?”
“I’m not offended,” Porter said, “but the least we can do is be cool. You’d want a little respect if you were laid up in the hospital.”
Rivera jogged to catch up with him as he crossed the street. “You’re right.”
“Say that again?”
“Nice try. Just be glad you got one from me.”
The hospital was directly in front of them, but there was no visible entry, so they started up the block to find the front.
Porter worked his hand out as he walked. “I don’t think this is my fault.”
“Really?”
“Yes, why would I? I just want to help the kid out.”
“Okay, just remember that. No matter what you see, or what she says, this isn’t about you. All you’ve been is decent to her.”
“I’m good. Besides, I don’t have much mental energy to give this. I want to run a couple ideas about Osito past you.”
The pair turned the corner onto Seventy-Seventh, headed toward Park Avenue.
“Well, I’ll listen to anything you can come up with.”
Ahead, a figure approached. The size and shape was familiar, and Porter could have sworn he recognized the person. He stood on the left, holding something big in his hands.
As he grew closer, Porter’s mind raced, trying to stitch together where he knew the man from. The mass in his hands came into focus, revealing it to be a bouquet of flowers.
Moments later, Porter remembered.
When the man got close enough, too absorbed in his phone to notice anything else, Porter spoke up. “Pavel. I see you made it out of that trunk.”
The man looked up, as if noticing Porter and Rivera the first time. “You motherfu—”
“Don’t be that guy,” Porter said, moving subtly to the right, shifting his weight to his back foot. “Where’d you get such shitty flowers? What, you get a discount on them or something? Last-day-before-thrown-away special?”
“You’re very funny. Always with the jokes. Ha. Ha. Next time I see you, you won’t be laughing.”
Rivera took a step back, better able to keep an eye on both men at once.
“I like to laugh. Tell you what, maybe you can just pull your pants down. I bet that tiny dick of yours gets plenty of laughs.”
Pavel the pimp made a telegraphed move at Porter, swinging a slow, looping punch. Porter flicked out a jab with his left, slamming the man in the throat. Before Pavel could react, Porter grabbed him by the throat and pushed him against the wall. “I told you to get out of the game, didn’t I?”
Pavel coughed and sputtered.
“I know you put your hands on that girl, didn’t you? Didn't you?”
Pavel’s mouth flopped open and closed, like a fish out of water.
“What’s wrong? Hard time talking?”
Porter squeezed as hard as he could, and Pavel’s face went red. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rivera move closer. She gestured with her head. Porter looked up the sidewalk, at a trio of people approaching.
“You have an audience,” she said.
Porter looked at the group, still a dozen feet off, and then back to Pavel, whose face was purple. He leaned in close and lowered his voice an octave. “You didn’t get my message last time, so let me make it clear. Next time I see you, you’re a dead man. Got it?”
Pavel managed to eke out a nod and Porter let him go, the man collapsing into a pile on the sidewalk beneath the wall. Porter turned and moved toward the trio of people, who’d stopped in their tracks during the scuffle.
“He was talking bad about the Knicks,” Porter said with a smirk, then walked around the bewildered group toward the hospital entrance.
Rivera was next to him as they approached the door. “So, now it’s my turn to apologize.”
“For?”
“This is definitely about you,” she said with a laugh.
“Ya think?”
The pair walked into the front and navigated their way through a labyrinthian series of rooms, hallways, information desks, and nurses’ stations. More often than not, people wouldn’t give them any information, at least not initially. Porter didn’t blame them. It’s difficult to explain what your relation is to a patient whose name you don’t even know.
Eventually, Nurse Davis was paged. When she called back, she told him to stay where he was, and she’d come to him.
Porter leaned against the wall as Rivera paced in front of him.
“Stop.”
“Stop what?” she said.
“All that fidgeting. You make me nervous.”
“Hell, hospitals make me nervous.”
“Why?” Porter said.
“What do you mean? The only thing that ever happened good in a hospital was me having Kevin. Other than that, they’re nothing but bad. It’s where people go to die.”
A memory flashed to the front of Porter’s mind, one he didn’t have time for. He pushed it aside. “You’re right.”
“I know. That’s why I want as little to do with hospitals as possible.”
Porter nodded, then looked up at a woman approaching. She wore scrubs and a tired look, as if she were ten hours past a double shift.
“I’m Nurse Davis. You here for tattoo girl?”
Porter nodded.
“Follow me.”
Porter and Rivera trailed behind the woman, unable to keep up with her pace.
“So what’s wrong with Daisy?” Porter said.
“Is that her name?”
“Yeah,” Porter said, not sure if he was telling the truth or not.
“What’s her last name?”
“Smith,” Rivera spoke up.
“Daisy Smith?”
“Yep,” Porter said.
“Okay… and you two?”
“John and Jane Smith,” Porter said. “We’re all related.”
“Right. I can see the family resemblance. Honestly, I don’t care. I just wanted to tell someone about her.”
“How is she?” Porter said as the nurse swiped her card and led them into an elevator.
“My professional opinion?”
“Please,” Rivera said.
“She’s fucked up.”
“That good, huh?” Porter said.
“She has fractures on the left side of her face. Eye orbit, skull, and jaw. The x-rays show a broken wrist and several broken ribs. Looks like she has a punctured lung as well.”
Porter felt his face flush, and the heat crept all the way down the back of his neck. It was all he could do to not tear out of the elevator and chase Pavel down. “That’s bad.”
“Of course it’s bad. Look, I’ve worked here for sixteen years. I’ve seen it all. I know what this girl is, just like I know what the guy was who tried to see her a few minutes ago.”
“Bad skin? Silly accent?” Rivera said.
“That’s the one. That’s why I turned him away. I can’t make these girls clean up and take the straight and narrow, but I can make sure that nothing happens to them while they’re trying to heal.”
“Noble of you,” Porter said.
“It’s a job. A job I happen to like. I can tell you two aren’t in the pimp game. Other than that, I don’t really care. You aren’t going to be a problem for my patient, are you?”
