Savage code, p.17
Savage Code, page 17
part #4 of The Porter Series
Porter held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were a Boy Scout?” Davis said.
“Nope,” he said as he smirked.
The stainless steel elevator door slid open, and Porter stepped out onto the floor. He was immediately hit with the smell of some sort of citrus, and below that, the scent of bleach.
He shuffled after Nurse Davis, taking in the entire area as he went. There were nurses moving back and forth, people in wheelchairs, and orderlies pushing them. The entire floor was awash with the business of keeping people alive.
“I’ve never seen an ER on the second floor,” Rivera said.
“This isn’t the ER, it’s the ICU. Once they get them stable down there, it’s up to us to keep them alive.”
The group walked to the end of a hallway, and the last door on the right.
Davis held out an upturned hand. “Go visit, I’ll be back in a bit.”
Porter nodded and pushed the curtain aside, stepping into the space.
The floor was shiny linoleum, and there were machines and monitors, beeping and whirling. On the bed, her face in much worse shape than his own, was Daisy, looking small and frail in her gown, not at all like the confident woman of the night Porter had last seen her portraying.
Rivera stood next to him and they looked at the girl in silence for a few moments.
Daisy’s right eye fluttered open and she looked back and forth between the two. Then, her speech slurred by her injured jaw, she spoke to Porter. “I have to pretend to be asleep sometimes or they never leave me alone.” Her eye drifted to Rivera. “What’s that bitch doing here?”
Thirty-Three
“Still got jokes, huh?” Rivera said.
Daisy smiled the best she could. “I’m just kidding. How did you guys know I was here?”
“Apparently, you had my business card tucked in your bra. I must be pretty special,” Porter said.
Daisy laughed, the pitiful sound cut short by a wheeze and then a coughing fit. Porter glanced at Rivera; her arms were crossed and her jaw clenched.
“How are you?” he said.
“What kind of question is that? Look at me,” Daisy said.
“You fall down jogging or something? See, I’ve never trusted jogging. It doesn’t seem right to run unless you’re being chased.”
Daisy lifted her head. “Well, I wasn’t jogging, but I was being chased. Maybe there's something to what you’re saying.”
Porter looked at Rivera, who was shifting from foot to foot. “Daisy, will you give us just a minute?”
“Sure. Where the hell am I going?”
Porter gently took Rivera by the elbow and pulled her outside the curtain and halfway down the hallway. “What’s up?”
“What do you mean?”
“You look like you’re about to shit a brick in there.”
Rivera looked down, then shook her head. “I told you, I don’t like hospitals. It’s just… no. I don’t like them.”
Porter nodded at his friend, watching the struggle on her face. “It’s good. Look, they have to have a cafeteria somewhere. Get some coffee or something, I'll catch up with you when I’m done.”
Rivera looked up at him. “You sure?”
“Yeah, we’re good. I’ll find you later.”
Rivera nodded and started off toward the other end of the hallway. Porter watched her go. He had to stop himself from trying to guess what color underwear she was wearing, instead forcing the image from his mind and turning back to the room.
Daisy had leveraged her bed into a more upright position and was no longer feigning sleep when he entered. “You got some nerve.”
“What’d I do now?” Porter grabbed the hard plastic guest chair and moved it next to the bed.
“You ask me how I am, but look at you. You aren’t looking so good, either.”
“What, you don’t like big brown guys? Is it the beard? Is it a turn-off?”
She tried to laugh again and hacked her way through it. “Don’t be stupid, you know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean.”
“So what happened?”
Porter leaned back in the chair. “You first.”
Daisy sighed. “I did what you said. Took a couple days off. Hid out, ate good, and relaxed. I had a little motel, my own space. It was nice. Nicer than things have been in a long time. But eventually, the money ran out.”
“And you had to go back to work?”
She nodded. “Problem is, Pavel was still pissed about the beating you gave him. His pride was hurt, you know? I guess he’d been a dick to the girls for the couple days I’d been gone, extra rough. Like he needed to prove he was still some kind of tough guy.”
Porter ground his teeth.
“When I showed up, he was pissed. Asked me where the hell I’d been. I told him to kiss my ass, that his ugly ass didn’t own me.”
Porter didn’t say anything.
“He started getting rough with me, said he’s getting tired of my mouth…” Daisy trailed off.
“And then?”
Daisy looked away. “That was a really good shake we had that night, wasn’t it?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“What do you want, a blow-by-blow? He beat the shit out of me. How else do you want me to say it?”
Porter thought his teeth would grind into dust, right there in his mouth. He’d never had a problem with his blood pressure, but he was afraid his head would pop off. The way he saw it, there were rules.
It wasn’t as simplistic as saying, “never hurt a woman,” or “never hurt someone weaker than you.” He thought that was a naïve way to view the world, a way that left out the nuances of people and life. Porter was equal opportunity, and never bought into that line of thinking. He took everyone on a case-by-case basis. There were plenty of women and people weaker than him in the world who deserved to be hurt.
Or worse.
He was stronger than most people. Sometimes smaller, weaker people deserved what they had coming to them—man and woman alike. That was the line for Porter. Big or small, strong or weak, man or woman, black or white, he only did bad things to people who he felt deserved it. He considered it a personal code.
A code that let him sleep like a baby at night.
This was different. Daisy shooting her mouth off to a man like Pavel didn’t warrant this. Not at all.
“I get it,” Porter said. “You don’t have to talk about it.”
Daisy forced a smile. “It probably didn’t help that I laughed at him about you beating his ass. He seems touchy about that.”
They both laughed, Porter’s face hurting as he did and Daisy hacking and coughing.
“You said that?”
“Hell yeah, I did. It felt really good, too. Until he started laying into me.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Daisy spoke first. “So, what about your face?”
“Got into a fight,” Porter said.
“Really? I thought you were good at that kind of thing.”
“You win some, you lose some,” Porter said. “I still think I won.”
“Eh, I’m not too sure about that.”
“Everyone’s a critic.”
“I’m surprised you’re still in town. I figured you’d be gone after you got whatever you wanted from Camelot.”
“I’m working on it,” Porter said. “Sometimes these things take time.”
Daisy nodded. Porter watched her for a moment. He noticed her open eye was tearing up, but she surreptitiously wiped it away.
“You gonna be okay?”
She nodded. “I always am.”
“You can always do something else,” Porter said.
“I need money.”
“What about your art? Try to do that.”
“Yeah, right.”
Porter stood and looked around the area. He grabbed a pen from a rolling desk, then dug through the drawers until he found a notepad.
He set the pen and paper on the small table in front of the girl, where her water cup sat.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
Porter didn’t sit. “Do you know what a patron is?”
Daisy was quiet for a few moments. “That’s like when you eat at a place, right?”
Porter nodded. “That’s one definition. But there’s an older one that people don’t really use anymore. It’s someone who supports artists and sponsors them.”
“Who would ever do that?”
“All the old-school guys had patrons. You think Michelangelo had the scratch to paint the Sistine Chapel? Hell no. It took him four years. Think about it.”
“So he had a patron?”
“Sure. In his case, I’m pretty sure it was the pope.”
“Nice gig,” Daisy said.
“Yeah, I’m sure. So I want to commission something from you.”
“Commission?”
“Yeah. I’ll be your patron for one work of art,” Porter said.
“My patron?”
“A one-time deal. One work of art. This pen,” he said, as he pointed to it on the desk. “That paper.”
“What do you want me to draw?”
“It’s up to you. I don’t know anything about art.”
“You knew about Michelangelo.”
“Lucky guess,” Porter said. “So, can I sponsor this or not?”
Daisy reluctantly reached out for the pen. “It’s been a long time…”
“I don’t care.”
“And I can draw anything?”
“Yeah.”
“This is weird,” Daisy said.
“Maybe. But what else are you doing? You have some time on your hands.”
She nodded. “Okay. Okay, I will.”
“Good. When I come back again, you show me what you got.”
“And you’ll give me money? Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“Men giving me money usually comes with a few more strings attached.”
“Well, there is one catch…” Porter said.
Daisy frowned. “See? I knew it.”
“We grab another shake when you get out of here. I think soft food is about the only thing either of our jaws can handle right now.”
Thirty-Four
After a few more moments, Porter said his goodbyes to Daisy and stepped out into the hallway. He hated to leave her like that, broken and alone. But he knew he had other things to work on. His Osito problem hadn’t resolved itself, and it wouldn’t without a little bit of intervention.
As he wandered down the hallway to the staircase at the end, his mind raced with ideas. He knew where Osito’s club was. Maybe he could orchestrate a big enough diversion to get in and get the man out. Take him somewhere private and take his time with him.
A risky plan, for sure. When he’d had to do such a takedown in his past, he’d usually had a dozen heavily armed and trained men with him.
It wasn’t that he thought Rivera was incapable: far from it. He knew she’d walk into any situation to help him. But two against a small army of hired help was a losing proposition.
He knew he’d been lucky to get out of Osito’s casino last time, and he didn’t want to press his luck.
Porter wandered around the labyrinthian level, following placards on the walls with arrows pointing left and right. Eventually, he found the cafeteria, and Rivera sitting alone in a small booth.
He didn’t even try to squeeze himself in across from her. “You all right?”
She shook her head and took a sip from a small carton of orange juice.
“Ready?”
“Where are we going?”
Porter shrugged. “I feel like I have an undercooked plan in my head now. I think we should go back to the hotel until it’s finished baking.”
“That’s a bad metaphor.”
“I don’t have anything better right now.”
She was quiet for a few more moments.
“Are you gonna make me squeeze into this Baby Gap booth, or can we go?”
“I just need a minute.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I wasn’t kidding when I said I hated hospitals. I just… I just hate them.”
“Why?”
She shook her head.
“Don’t wanna talk about it?”
She nodded.
“Well, I hate hospitals, too, but it is what it is. The sooner we leave, the faster you can get this off your mind.”
“You don’t seem like you hate them,” Rivera said. “You’re just walking around like it’s no big deal. I feel like my chest is going to seize up.”
Porter sighed. He looked around the cafeteria until he found a chair, and carried it over to the booth, sitting it down at such an angle that he could look at his friend. “Did I ever tell you about my dad?”
She looked up at him and shook her head.
Porter leaned back in the chair. “He was a good dude. Tough. Hard as nails. I mean, sometimes when I was growing up I wished I could hit him with a car, he would piss me off so bad. But that’s kind of the point with fathers and sons, I guess.”
Rivera looked at him, dark eyes searching his face as he spoke.
“He pretty much taught me everything. How to hunt. Box. Drive. How to stand up for myself. How to talk to girls.”
“You have a lot of luck with that last part?” she said in a half-laugh.
“Not as much as I’d like sometimes,” Porter said. “The thing is, at some point, dads and sons just have to go their separate ways. The nature of the beast. If not, there’s too much tension. I don’t know if it’s the whole alpha male thing or what. So I moved out as soon as I could.
“Funny enough, my dad and I didn’t talk much after I moved out. There was no animosity; it just was what it was. We were busy doing our own thing and Dad wasn’t the verbose type.”
“And you are?”
“You gonna let me finish or what?”
Rivera nodded.
“One day, I get a call. Dad’s in the hospital. Pneumonia.”
“Nasty stuff.”
“Tell me about it. I went to see him and he was in rough shape. In and out of consciousness. Doped up, fighting with the staff. Things were… they were just bad. And they never got better. Just worse. Somehow, being in the hospital made him sicker. Things started going wrong. Sepsis. Heart problems. Kidney problems. Lung problems. He went from being a badass to a shell of himself.”
She set her orange juice down. “I’m sorry.”
Porter shrugged. “I was there the whole time. Six months, he just got worse and worse. Every new asshole doctor came in with their thoughts and theories. That’s when I realized they don’t really know shit. They have all those fancy degrees, but all they’re doing is guessing. Throw enough medicine at the wall and see if something sticks. Well, sometimes that doesn’t work.”
Porter stood and turned the chair to straddle it, folding his arms on top of it. “Then he died. I held his hand the entire time. Goes into the hospital, and never makes it out. The hospital killed him. And that was it. So, you don’t have to tell me why you don’t like hospitals. It’s really none of my business. You don’t have to explain a thing to me. But just trust me when I tell you I understand. Because I hate them, too.”
“I never knew,” she said.
“Unless you can read minds, why would you? If you can, let’s go to Vegas and get rich.”
She smiled a little. “We can go.”
Porter pushed his chair out and helped Rivera out of the booth. They walked side by side out of the cafeteria and toward the front door.
“That was my dad, too,” Rivera said.
Porter looked down at her and didn’t reply.
“Nothing drastic, not like your dad. But he was in a car crash and by the time I got to the hospital, he was gone. I have never been able to get that look of him out of my head. Just lying there. Like a puppet of himself.”
Porter paused as the motion-activated sliding door to the outside opened, then he stepped out into the afternoon light. He turned right, down the sidewalk he’d grabbed Pavel on a short time earlier.
“I don’t like to talk about it.”
“So don’t.”
“I just didn’t want you to feel alone.”
Porter put his arm around the woman’s shoulders. They walked in silence for several minutes, and turned the corner toward Lexington avenue, where their sedan would be waiting.
“That plan of yours had time to bake any better?” Rivera said.
“Nope.”
“Crank up your oven. We need to do something.”
“Yes, Miss Daisy,” Porter said.
“Why is it I can’t ever tell you anything without you saying that? I don’t even like that movie.”
Porter laughed and looked down the street toward the rental. Movement to his right drew his eye. A dark sedan was slowly driving up the street toward them. He didn’t think much of it; the city was full of cars of all types.
He became more aware when the tires chirped. It was a short way between stop signs; it seemed odd that someone would try to get a full head of steam.
The sedan grew closer and Porter recognized the make—Bavarian Motor Works—and the model was familiar. As the sedan grew closer, the jumble of information snapped crystal clear in his head.
He pulled Rivera close to him, just as the tinted window finished rolling down.
“What the hell—”
A pistol muzzle shoved out the window, and the firearm began to bark. Porter wrestled Rivera to the ground and rolled until he was on top of her, shielding her as best as he could.
Six more shots rang out, and Porter squeezed his eyes the entire time, hopeful that the shooter was as bad a shot as he was a person.
The tires chirped again and the sedan sped away. Porter looked up just in time to see the Ukrainian flag sticker as the car turned right, away from Park Avenue.
Porter took a breath, and a mental inventory of himself. He knew the adrenaline coursing through his body might prevent him from feeling a bullet wound, but he felt sure he was in the clear.
