The odd couple---together again: Dave Malucci and Jing-Mei had been
on duty since eight in the evening. It was now 2:30 AM on a Tuesday,
in the middle of the month. In other words, there was nothing to do.
Jing-Mei was playing Hearts with three other ER docs on the Internet.
Dave, was hovering around, kibitzing, and tap-dancing on her last
nerve.
"So, what do you think happened to Carter?" Dave asked as Jing-Mei
logged off. She'd lost five games in a row.
"Give it a rest, Malucci." Dave had been pestering his co-workers
with all kinds of off-the-wall theories explaining Carter's
disappearance. Jing-Mei and the others were sincerely tired of the
arm-chair detective.
"No, I'm serious. I mean, people like him don't just disappear unless
there's a reason." Dave insisted, as Jing-Mei rolled her eyes.
"Malucci, he's probably dead." Jing-Mei finally said aloud what she'd
believed for months. No other explanation was possible. Carter loved
his work. If what Luka had told them was true; Carter loved Luka even
more. The son of one of the richest men in Chicago had more than
likely been kidnapped and then something went very wrong: like what
happened to the Lindbergh baby. She tried to explain this to Dave who
would have none of it.
"Sorry, Deb." He used her English name in an attempt to get her full
attention and her goat. He succeeded. "Where I come from, it ain't
like that. Come on, use your head. Use logic. This doesn't add up
right." He held up one of his large, well-shaped hands and began to
count on his fingers.
"One: If he was killed by accident, say in a car-jacking, why would
the perps be so cagey with the body? Most of those guys are young and
supremely stupid." He ignored Jing-Mei's pointed look in his
direction. "They'd take the Jeep and leave Carter where he fell. By
the time the chop shops finished with it, you'd never know it was the
same car. So why was the Jeep trashed and left where it couldn't be
missed? Why didn't they dump the owner?
"Two: If he was murdered on purpose, what's the killer's motive? A
pissed-off husband? Not likely---with him and Luka knocking boots?
Revenge? Puhleeeze! Revenge for what? Carter is a prize nerd. You're
telling me 'Mr. Buttoned-Down-Kind-to-Small-Animals-Widows-and-
Orphans' pissed somebody off enough they decided to off *him*? Yank
the other one." Dave was warming to his subject.
"Three: If somebody did kidnap him, why all the hush-hush? Yeah,
before you get your loved one back, you keep it out of the media. But
if he was killed accidentally, how long do you think his family is
going to cough up money without getting him back? If the kidnappers
decided to forget the whole thing, dump him in the river and run for
the hills, why haven't his folks put Carter's puss on the back of a
milk-carton or on the six o' clock news? They want their kid back
don't they?"
Jing-Mei found herself nodding. For a half-wit, Dave was beginning to
make a little sense.
"Ok. It wasn't accidental death. It sure as hell wasn't murder. That
leaves some variation on the kidnapping scenario, but what? Fuck
kidnapping for profit. Carter's family would have paid the ransom and
he'd have been back at work four months ago. Since his family is
keeping mum, *and* Prince Goody-Two-Shoes still hasn't surfaced,
there must be some other reason. A reason that's as important to them
as Carter's life; and that means something embarrasing. Embarrasing
to the Carters. Now, what could that be?" Dave tapped his chin,
pretending to think.
"The sole male heir to a fortune is playing hide the salami with
another man. Sounds like we got a winner here, folks! Remember, these
jerks didn't even come to the hospital when Al Schweitzer, Jr. was
almost stabbed to death. Obviously, they're just brim-full of warm
fuzzies for the guy." Dave finished triumphantly.
"You just lost me Dave." Jing-Mei frowned. She should have known
better than to listen to this idiot. "Are you telling me that
Carter's family had him killed because he's gay? Get real, Malucci."
"Not killed. Put away." Dave said simply.
"Put away? Where? By whom?"
"Come on Jing-Mei, you know rich folks can do whatever they want. If
you've got the means, the world is your calamari. They probably
stashed him in one of those ritzy 'rest homes' with the dypso wives
and funny uncles, and conveniently lost the keys. Those places are
privately owned, so there aren't any state records. Hell, he was
probably admitted under another name. The only way we'll find him is
to have someone with a court order start nosing around in the
hallways of every private sanitorium between here and Yemen."
"Dave, you're a dork, you know that? Stuff like that only happens in
bad novels." Jing-Mei said flatly. Just as Dave opened his mouth to
protest, a trauma case came in, and Jing-Mei went to help. In the
course of treating the patient she forgot about Dave and his half-
baked attempts to hope against hope that John was still alive. When
she was finished, she returned to the desk to find Malucci involved
in a Hearts game with the same guys she'd played with earlier. The
son-of-a-bitch was winning. Shaking her head, she went to talk with
the nurses.
Although, known for his lack of tact, Dave kept his latest theory to
himself. Luka had finally begun to resemble an approximation of a
human being, so Dave waited. He knew Jing-Mei's family was wealthy,
but not in the same league as the Carters. What he needed was to bend
the ear of someone who was very familiar with the world of private
jets, summer homes, and 'vested interest.
The only people he knew, who fit that profile were in family-owned
businesses alright, but when they wanted someone to disappear, the
vic' ended up in the East River with cement weights to hold him down.
Of the staff at the hospital, only one other person had lived in John
Carter's world: Robert Romano. Dave decided he'd talk to Romano only
if he had no other choice and even then, he'd try to avoid it.
Two weeks later, Alderman Carlton returned to County with some
friends who just happened to be in key positions to help the
hospital. She'd told no one she was coming, the better to see if the
treatment she received on her first visit had been a fluke. She met
Kerry Weaver coming up the hall and stopped to ask directions.
Before, she could frame her question, Kerry smiled a little and
reached for her hand.
"Mrs. Carlton, how's Andrew doing?"
"Fine, considering what could have happened. He'll go back to work
full-time in a couple of weeks. I wish I could convince him to leave
that awful place, but you know kids. He's got this idea that he needs
to give something back." Her fond smile took the sting out of her
observation.
Kerry nodded. The young man reminded her of Carter.
Evidently Alderman Carlton was a mind-reader. "So, is the doctor who
saved Andrew's life on duty now? I never did get to thank him
properly."
"No. He's not here anymore."
"I'm not surprised. I mentioned how he saved my son to some friends
of mine at Johns Hopkins. I guess they stole him from you. Maybe I
shouldn't have meddled, but he seemed so nice." The Alderman smiled
remembering Carter shyly offering his prayers on Andrew's behalf.
"I'm sorry. His family asked that we not tell anyone..." Kerry said
hoping the bait she dangled would be snapped up.
"Tell anyone what?"
"Dr. Carter has been missing for over six months now. He left his
apartment to drive to work here and vanished. No one has heard
anything since." Kerry's eyes brimmed.
"You're kidding." Mrs. Carlton stared at Kerry, seeking some trace of
humor indicating that this was a practical joke of some kind. "Not
tell anyone? Robert G. B. Carter must be off his rocker!"
"You know Carter's family?"
"No. I know *about* them. As far as they're concerned, people like me
are invisible. Let's just say, I'm descended from a long line of men
and women in domestic service. I'm familiar with the type." She
paused for a moment then smiled suddenly. "What about that other
doctor who was so kind? I don't think I ever learned his name."
"Dr. Kovac, Luka Kovac." Kerry said. "He's with a patient right now."
"I'll wait. It's not often that you meet someone who is so
empathetic."
"Alderman Carlton, I should tell you something about Dr. Kovac and
Dr. Carter..." Kerry spoke hesitantly. She knew Luka would tell the
woman about his feelings for John, and if there was going to be any
negative reaction, Kerry would prefer to be the recipient.
"Besides the fact that they're lovers?"
"How, in the name of Mike?..."
"It was written all over their faces. Honey, I'm a hard-boiled city
politician and before that, a ruthless business woman. If I didn't
observe my opponents closely and scrutinize my supporters even more
vigorously, I'd still be running for City Dog Catcher." The elegantly
dressed woman raised an eyebrow. "Don't you think he should be
through with that 'patient' by now?"
"You don't miss a trick." Kerry said appreciatively. "He's in the
lounge. Follow me." The two women headed for the rear of the building.
"Luka?" Kerry opened the door and turned on the lights. Mrs. Carlton,
who topped Kerry by at least four inches could make out the long form
lying on the sofa. Kerry gently shook Luka's shoulder.
"John, please..." He murmured, his eyelids creasing. All at once he
sat up, wide awake. "What happened Kerry? Is there some news?"
"No, you have a visitor."
Alderman Carlton was not prepared to see the change in the handsome
young doctor. He'd lost at least ten pounds. His eyes were sunken and
his expression haggard. All he needed was one of those striped
uniforms and he could have been a dress extra in "Schindler's List."
"Dr. Kovac? You probably don't remember me, but..."
"You're the mother of that young man who was shot. Carlton, Andrew
Carlton."
"Thank you for remembering. I came here today to thank Dr. Carter,
but Dr. Weaver tells me something has happened to him. I'm sorry. You
two looked like a very happy couple."
Luka glanced up at this remark, his eyes dull, but he managed a small
smile. "Thank you. Our anniversary was yesterday. We would have been
together for fourteen months." His eyes blurred as tears poured down
his cheeks. Mrs. Carlton went to sit beside him.
"He'll be found. God's not going to let anything bad happen to
someone that special." She said quietly with a great deal of
conviction.
Luka put his head in his hands, large sobs wracking his body. Kerry
left the room, closing the door as Mrs. Carlton put her arms around
Luka and held him to her. When Luka gained better control of his
feelings, she sat back and handed him some paper towels.
"Dry your face, honey. We need to talk."
"How did you know about John and I?"
"Sweetie, my brother's gay. Before he told the family, he used to
look at his friend just like Dr. Carter was looking at you that day.
When you're truly in love, it shows." She got up and began to rummage
in the refrigerator then came back with a carton of orange
juice. "You look as if you've been living on coffee and bad dreams.
Drink some of this."
Luka drank directly from the container. The Alderman shook her
head. "Men. You know there are some cups right next to you..."
"And?" Luka asked.
"Never mind. Listen, I came here to see what this place was like with
an eye to arranging some goodies for you all in the next fiscal year.
But that can wait. I'd much rather help you to find Dr. Carter, or at
least find out what happened to him. People like me make a living by
trading favors. Luckily, I have some pretty healthy sized payments
due from individuals who can cut through red tape. Would you like me
to wade in there on your behalf?"
Luka thought for a moment. Kerry had said John's family wanted to
keep his disappearance quiet and that wasn't working. Maybe it was
time to make a little noise. At best, it would bring John back to
him, at worst, he'd find out sooner where the body was. "Yes. Yes,
ma'am."
"Despite your abhorrence of drinking glasses, it looks as if your
Momma raised you the right way. I'll get started today."
"Thank you, Mrs. Carlton..." Luka began.
"No. It should be the other way around. Thank you. I owe your partner
for saving my son's life and I fully plan to pay that debt in kind."
They shook hands as she rose to her feet. "I'll get your numbers from
Dr. Weaver. I'll phone you tonight after I've made a few calls, and
we can discuss our strategy." Hugging him again, she left the room,
pulling her cell' phone from her purse.
* * * * *
John hadn't seen Cyril for several days. At first, he thought Cyril
was avoiding him to keep the staff from being suspicious. Late one
night, after the hotel-style store had closed, John deliberately ran
out of cigarettes. He went to Cyril's room prepared to explain he was
only going to borrow some tobacco. The orderlies stopped him in the
small lobby which separated two wings of the institution; escorted
him to the locked store and gave him a carton. John became very
concerned.
The following morning he saw Cyril seated in a wheel chair in the day-
room. No longer caring about the omni-present observers, John rushed
over to him then stopped in his tracks. What Cyril called
his "Stepford Smile" was gone. Indeed, all trace of any human
expression had vanished. Cyril's eyes were glassy and blank. The
expressive hands lay in his lap like dead things. Backing up, John
bumped into the human pit-bull that had removed his restraints
shortly after he'd first arrived.
"Don't bother asking *him* to dance with you." The man said laughing
cruelly. Pretty-boy won't be waltzing for a long time. However, if
you ask him real nice, he might teach you the Thorazine Shuffle."
Still laughing, the orderly went on his way.
"He tried to escape." The voice belonged to a teen-aged girl. John
was surprised to hear her speaking. Whenever he had seen her, she'd
shown as much interest in her surroundings as Cyril was doing now.
Nevertheless, he'd smiled at her anyway.
"When?" John managed to ask quietly.
"Six nights ago. It was Charles's birthday. Cyril said he'd promised
him they'd spend it together. He tried to walk off the grounds."
John nodded. The night of his own anniversary had been sheer torture.
All he could think of was somehow getting to Luka. Twice, he woke
himself shouting his name aloud. He'd spent the rest of the night
weeping. As he went outside alone to smoke, John prayed harder than
ever before in his life: "Dear God, let me get out of here. Don't let
me die in this place."
Author's Note:
This chapter is humbly dedicated to Invicta, the author who first
alerted me to the unique and colorful linguistic style to be found in
that marvellous diamond in the rough---Dave Malucci. Hidden fires
indeed, Holmes!
Copyright Footer', 'This site is not affiliated in any way with "ER", its writers or production company, or NBC, and makes no profit from the show. The ERROS skin is by Brihana. The script is eFiction version 3.4.2© Tammy Keefer, http://efiction.org\r\n