“How’s it looking, Elizabeth?” Dr. Baker asked.
“Better than can be expected, doctor. So far, everything’s a go. I’m going to run her blood again just to make sure, but she’s healthy and disease free.” She turned to Leo and gave him a smiling thumbs up. He looked like he was about to get emotional.
After thanking Elizabeth and Dr. Baker, we left the building and returned to the golf cart.
“See there, Leo, I told you KD would come through,” Wesley bragged, patting him on the back.
“I know. I just can’t believe it. I can’t wait to tell my wife.” Leo wept openly now, grabbing hold of me tightly. “Thank you, Mr. Shrugs. Thank you.”
I let the man have his emotional moment, then removed myself from his grip and drove the golf cart back to the house, where his car and driver were waiting.
“So, what’s next?” Leo asked as we stepped off the cart.
“Well, next you decide if you’d like to purchase our services,” I told him. “If you do, then it’s five million. You pay two up front, and the rest upon delivery. I’d also like an unnamed favor for myself, redeemable whenever I see fit—and your word that you’ll help my friend Wesley here get elected as the next governor of New Mexico.”
“I’ll have the money wired later today, and you don’t have to worry about Wesley. He’s already cut his deal for bringing me here.”
I glanced at the congressman, who just stood by the cart smugly while Leo handed me a card.
“My cell phone number is on the back. When you need that favor, just pick up the phone and I’ll have your back.”
I smiled like a Cheshire cat. Having a favor from a man like him was gonna come in mighty damn handy. “Well, that’ll be just fine. I’ll be sending a truck up north in the next few days. Make sure your people are ready.”
“Oh, they will be. You just make sure that damn truck is there,” he replied.
“It’ll be there. I guarantee it,” I stated with certainty, dollar signs dancing in my head. I was so damn happy I felt like I needed my dick sucked again.
Rio
33
I woke up hungover and overwhelmed on a sofa in the basement of my Soho night club. I’d had the place remodeled into a man cave/office for those late nights when I was too tired or too drunk to go home. It also came in handy on those special nights I needed a little privacy. Shaking my head and stretching to get rid of the cobwebs, I spotted my cell phone, an empty bottle of tequila, and Roman Johnson’s birth certificate on the glass coffee table. The birth certificate brought back a flood of memories from yesterday, most of which I would have loved to forget. But that wasn’t gonna happen.
Sitting up, I checked the time on my phone, ignoring the ton of missed call notifications and text messages I’d received. Shit, it was almost four in the afternoon—not unusual for me, but way past when I had planned on getting up. I dragged my ass to the bathroom to relieve myself, then stripped and got in the shower.
I’d spent half the night drinking tequila, thinking about whether Roman could really be my brother, and the other half calling every hospital in the Bronx, looking for a patient named Margaret Johnson. I finally found her at Mercy General Hospital, where a friendly operator who didn’t seem to give a shit about patient privacy informed me that she was in the Critical Care Unit. I planned on paying Margaret Johnson a visit as soon as I got myself something to eat to get rid of my headache.
When I got to Mercy General, my heart was pounding. I had no idea what I would say to this woman when I found her. And what if Roman was there in the room with her? Was I ready to face him yet? I was so damn nervous I swear there was a chance I would fall out and have to be admitted to the hospital myself. I pictured myself being put in the room right next to Margaret Johnson’s. How fucked up would that be?
The door to her room was slightly ajar, so I paused outside, holding my breath and listening for any voices inside the room.
A nurse walking by said, “Mr. Johnson, you can go ahead in. She’s in and out of sleep, but she’s been asking for you. Your aunt said she’ll be back in the morning.”
Holy shit! This woman thought I was Roman. But now it was safe to assume that Roman wasn’t inside that room. That thought calmed my nerves a little.
“Oh, thanks,” I said, then pushed open the door and stepped inside Margaret Johnson’s room. It was small, with a couple of weird chairs that probably pulled out into an uncomfortable bed, and a television. In the middle of the room, lying peacefully in the hospital bed, was the woman that I’d come to see. She was surrounded by machines and monitors that were connected to her through all kinds of tubes that snaked out from under her blanket. I eased closer to her, studying her face to see if she bore any resemblance to me.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled. “There’s my Roman.” I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She lifted her hand and reached for me. I stared for a moment, then put my hands in hers. This was it, the chance I’d been waiting for to get answers to the questions that had been swirling around in my brain ever since I found that birth certificate. Was this woman my birth mother? Was I adopted? Or even worse, had I been abducted from her at birth? If so, had she been looking for me? And where was my birth father? There was no man in any of the pictures at her
