Chapter 9
COLE
“I’m going, I’m going,” I replied.
She’s so bossy. Now I remember why I divorced her.
“Dad, what’s happening? It sounds very serious. Did you hurt Mr. Moretti on account of me?” Michael asked rather fearfully.
“It’s complicated. We’re waiting for the ambulance. More than likely they’ll be taking him to Memorial Hospital.”
“That’s not too far away from here, Dad. I’ll be waiting at the hospital.”
“No. You can’t leave the club unattended,” I said sternly.
“The club manager will cover for me. She’s the club manager anyway. She’s been asking for more responsibilities, more involvement with the shows. Here’s her chance.”
“Fine, we’ll see you there. Your mom and I are accompanying Moretti. We want to be on his good side once they fix him up at the hospital.”
“Good idea,” Michael replied.
Click.
He hung up before I could say good-bye.
“Go wash up before the police and paramedics get here. And get rid of your shirt,” Clarissa said quickly.
“I’ll clean up in the kitchen. I’m sure to find a shirt or something to put on,” I replied. The nervousness had gone away. The emergency somehow made me feel in better control of my emotions.
I went to the back. I removed my shirt and placed it in the garbage. I removed the garbage bag and went through the back door to the garbage dump. I threw the bag all the way to the back of the dumpster.
No one will find it here. The garbage will be picked up tomorrow morning.
I came back inside and washed off all the blood on my arms and belly. I dried myself with one of the towels.
Oh, shit. The towel has blood, too.
I did the same thing: I grabbed a garbage bag, put the towel inside, went outside, and threw the bag to the back of the dumpster.
Jesus, this is stressful.
I need a shirt; I need a shirt.
I found a shirt in one of the lockers. The shirt said Moretti’s nightclub. I put it on and came back out.
The ambulance was already outside, and the paramedics were coming inside the club with a gurney.
“What happened?” one of the paramedics asked.
“He’s wounded. We heard a gunshot and came out,” Clarissa interjected before I said something stupid.
“We were getting ready to prepare a special meal for our friend, Moretti, when we heard the shot. Please hurry and get him to the hospital.”
The paramedics gently carried Moretti onto the gurney and rolled him off outside.
“We’ll be taking him to Memorial,” one of the paramedics said.
“I want to go with him,” the driver said.
“I’m sorry. Only one person can go, preferably a family member or close friend.”
“He’s my dad. I’m Rocco,” the driver said.
I didn’t see that coming, I said to myself.
“Yes, of course. Please follow me,” the paramedic said to Rocco.
Clarissa was as surprised as I was to find out that Moretti had a son. He had always sworn he wouldn’t get married, let alone have a kid. He kept his secret very hidden all these years.
“Let’s go,” Clarissa urged.
“I need to call an Uber,” I replied. “My chauffeur still hasn’t answered me. It’s getting late; he should have been here by now. What did you have him do? Go to Bumble-fuck Egypt and back?” I scoffed.
“Stop being so…so… Stop being so you! Get the Uber and let’s go,” Clarissa ordered.
I had already ordered an Uber through the app, and much to my surprise, it arrived very quickly.
“Let’s go, Clarissa. The Uber is waiting outside.”
“Hold your horses,” Clarissa replied. “I just finished talking with Ralph; he’ll meet us at the hospital.”
“He answers you, but not me. He sounds more like your chauffeur than mine. Tell you what, why don’t you keep him, and I’ll find another driver? I’m sure I can manage without someone driving me around for a few days.”
“Let’s not get too hasty. Give the kid a break. He’s just trying to make a good impression,” Clarissa shot back.
I shrugged.
“Whatever. Let’s go.”
We headed out the door and got into the Uber. It was a nice SUV; it reminded me of my own. The Uber driver was quite nice. I’m sure he was fishing for a big tip. Fat chance. Money was tight these days.
“Hospital?” the Uber driver asked in a Spanish accent.
“Sí, hospital, Memorial Hospital. We need to get there fast,” I said.
The Uber driver gave a confused look through the rearview mirror.
“No spik inglich,” he said in broken English.
Oh, God.
“Rapido,” I said.
“Sí, sí. Rápido,” he answered.
He put the car in drive, and we took off. The maps on his dashboard said 15 minutes to Memorial Hospital.
“Wow. I’m impressed,” Clarissa said. “And here I thought I was the only one who spoke Spanish.”
“I’m sure something rubbed off on me from our time together. I mean, at least I remember ‘rápido.’ Isn’t that what you used to tell me in bed? To go faster or something.”
Clarissa punched me in the arm playfully.
“Stop, just stop. Your mind is always thinking about that.”
“Clarissa, please. Let’s not bring that up.”
“Fine.” She nodded.
“So what is this I hear, that you don’t have any money, Clarissa?”
Her lawyer fought tooth and nail to get the best settlement from me, even with the prenup in place. It didn’t make sense that she wouldn’t have twenty thousand dollars.
“I wasn’t about to admit that I had that kind of money to Moretti. Are you crazy? Then he would have demanded more. I should know. I worked for him for a few years,” Clarissa explained. She had a little frown on her expression. The kind that she used to get whenever she lied to me.
I didn’t buy that. The way she looked when she said that to Moretti was real. I had to dig some more. I needed to know what was really going on.
“You know, I don’t believe you.”
“Why do you say that?” Clarissa asked.
“Because I know you. You make this little frown whenever you’re not being truthful with me.”
“This is not the time or the place to discuss this, Cole.”
“Why not? This guy does not speak a word of English. Fess up. What’s really going on?”
Clarissa looked away and started looking out the window. She seemed really embarrassed when I asked the question.
“Look, up until recently, we were married. I think that if you’re in trouble, I should know,” I said.
“Nothing like that, really. I’m sick, Cole.”
“I know you’re sick of me. Please stop kidding around. You look great. What are you talking about?”
She looked so beautiful, just sitting there. Her beautiful eyes and fine figure. She looked as sexy as ever.
What is going on with her?
“Yes. I’m sick of you, Cole.” She then turned to me. “All kidding aside, I’m sick. I’m really sick. I have a brain tumor.”
I gasped.
This can’t be true.
“How can this be? You look great.”
“It’s in my head, Cole. Not in my boobs or my ass.”
“Right, right. It’s only that you look so healthy.”
Is she really telling me the truth?
“When you said you wanted a divorce, I didn’t fight it. I didn’t want to be a burden to you or Michael. It was better to get out of your hair. I didn’t want either of you to feel sorry for me,” Clarissa said with tears in her eyes.
The Uber driver looked back and offered a handkerchief. I grabbed it from him and pointed for him to look forward.
“Give me that!” I said gruffly. “Pay attention to the road, please.”
The Uber driver nodded.
“Sí, senor.”
I turned to Clarissa and helped her dry her tears. She looked broken. She was really telling me the truth. I felt my heart ache. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not to her, the mother of my child.
“That’s why the lawyer fought so hard for me to get the best settlement. He knew about my condition but couldn’t say anything. I didn’t want him to. You know, client-lawyer confidentiality and all that.”
I simply nodded.
“I’ve burned through most of the money in treatments back in New Jersey.
The insurance only covered so much and only certain types of medical treatments, and they took so long to get me approved.
Before all the money ran out, I went to Mexico to check out their best treatment options, and now I’m here. ”
My heart dropped.
“So this is why you said you didn’t want to take the secret to the grave?”
“Yes. That’s right.”
Suddenly, the car stopped. I was so focused on the conversation that I didn’t realize we were in front of the hospital.
“Senor, estamos aquí,” the Uber driver said.
“He said we’re here,” Clarissa translated.
I paid the Uber driver and gave him a small tip. I got out of the car and closed the door. She stayed a little longer in the car, fixing her makeup.
Clarissa rolled down her window. I waited right outside her door.
“Senora, you need to take care of yourself. A brain tumor is no joke. My aunt Fatima had one. God has her in His glory,” I overheard the Uber driver say.
This son of a gun knows English.
“You speak English?” Clarissa asked.
“It’s better to pretend not to understand. I get better tips,” he continued. “It didn’t work this time.”
“Don’t worry. I know you work really hard. Here’s a twenty.”
Clarissa offered it.
“It’s okay. You are very kind. Please take care of yourself,” he said.
Clarissa put the twenty dollars back in her pocket and got out of the car.
I took her hand, and we walked into the emergency room.
God help us! If this guy dies, we’re all in trouble.