Chapter 4 Claire
CLAIRE
Many of the patients who’d come in after that explosion at the restaurant were still at the hospital the following day. Burn victims would be lingering under intensive care for a while. Several stubborn men left against medical advice, though.
Fatima shrugged at the nurses’ station as we caught up on patients and what would need to be done next, which tests and diagnostics were necessary to follow up with.
“Hey, I won’t cry when people like that wanna get out of here.
” She huffed with the specific exhaustion and annoyance only long-serving veteran nurses could earn.
“I’d be handing out AMAs like they were Halloween candy. ”
I shot her a look that I hoped conveyed a mixture of patience, amusement, sympathy, and mild consternation.
All of us, from the LPNs and nurses at the lower range all the way to the attendings and residents, were expected to provide care without judgment.
Yet, like what I’d witnessed and experienced last night, some individuals were just that much harder to handle.
“I know, I know.” Fatima set her tablet down on the counter and sighed. “I shouldn’t judge…”
“But you are.”
She nodded and smiled. “Hell, it’s hard not to.
Mobsters like that think they can be lords out on the street with their thugs and armies.
” Another exasperated exhale left her lips.
“They wanna shoot each other up yet not care when they overcrowd this place? Normal, ordinary people need emergency care too.”
“Of course they do.” While the differences between the UK and US healthcare “industries” were different animals to wrangle, it was all fundamentally the same.
It was no different from a drunk driver being deserving of the same care that victims of a car crash caused by them would be.
One willingly caused harm and expected to be taken care of, while others were innocents caught in the mess and needing help as well.
“But those assholes…” she muttered, shaking her head. “I’ve had enough of them for a good while.”
I could see how fed up she was. Curious and realizing I could get the scoop from her, I set my tablet down and faced her fully. “Are they really ‘mobsters’?” I asked.
She smiled widely, her bright white teeth a contrast against her dark skin. “Oh, Claire…” She patted my hand, almost maternal about it. “You’re so sheltered and na?ve.”
I furrowed my brow, hating that claim. “Perhaps I am a bit unfamiliar with the crime scene endemic to this city but—”
“No, no.” She shook her head, still kind and smiling about it all. “It’s not just that. I bet you’ve had your own brand of violence back home and all. Hell, any big city on the face of this earth is bound to have some bad guys.”
I crossed my arms. “Then what?”
“You’re just so…” She narrowed her eyes, as if scrutinizing me and trying to figure out how to describe me accurately. Lifting her hands to frame me, she smiled wider. “I don’t know. Delicate.”
I raised my brows. “I held two halves of a man’s femur in place last night while not one but three med surg techs almost passed out from the sight of such a compound break.”
She laughed lightly. “All right. I’ll give you credit where it’s due.
You’ve got grit. You’ve got a tough stomach to handle this job.
But it’s clinical. You’ve got that grit when it applies here, in the hospital.
Outside of here, I bet you’re just sort of, well, sheltered.
Too good and pure and delicate. It’s just your personality, the vibe I get from you. ”
My mouth hung open. “Delicate?” I wasn’t sure why I was reading that as an insult. But I did.
“Maybe just too polished.” She shrugged, cringing a bit. “This is only my opinion, but—”
“No. No. Go on.” It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. Who didn’t want to know how they were perceived in the workplace?
“A goody-goody. Prim and proper and untouched by the harder side of life.”
I blanked my face. “The harder side of life? I’ve watched patients code and die on the table. I’ve had to tell family members awful, sobering news. I’ve—”
“I know.” She held up her hand. At a call for help down the hall, we both moved, yet she kept talking as we walked.
“But that’s all here. On the clock. I’m just saying you, as a person, seem a little stuffy and proper.
Like you’ve never learned how ordinary people try to make it in this thing called life. ”
She moved forward to assist the other doctor with a patient who was seizing. We weren’t able to talk while we assisted, but once the situation was under control, I snagged her attention near the nurses’ station again.
“Listen, Doc.” She sighed. “I’m not talking trash about you. You asked for my opinion, and I gave it.”
Nodding as I walked with her, I cleared my throat. “I did. And I appreciate your candid frankness. I understand why you might think I’m like… that.”
“Well, from the sounds of it, you fall in the Silver Spoon Club.” She smiled, and it took the sting out of her words.
She was right, anyway. I had been blessed to be born into my wealthy family.
Before my parents passed away in a car accident just months ago, I had wanted for nothing.
I had the best of everything a child could want.
I was granted the security to study without any other responsibilities holding me back.
My father was a judge, my mother, a professor.
I did come from an elite background, but I imagined my pride and properness would need to adapt as I learned how to live without my family.
“I wasn’t spoiled,” I replied with a little more heat than I intended to. “But I am unsurprised with your assessment of me.”
“See? You even talk fancy.”
I rolled my eyes and she smiled wider.
“But these men from last night,” I asked, focusing my curiosity on the present. “And the ones still here.”
She nodded. “What about them?”
“Are they really criminals?” I asked.
“Yeah. Don’t quote me, but the Russians are from one of those Bratvas. The others are from an Italian Mob family.” She shrugged. “But hey, it’s nothing scary. Mind your business, don’t ask too many questions, and just treat the patients.”
“I’m not scared,” I admitted, glad I had her as a coworker to talk to, “just trying to figure it all out.”
She huffed a laugh. “Don’t. The less you know, the better. They’re not a group you wanna get involved with.”
“Oh, no. Of course not!”
She smiled at my blurted reply.
“But…” I cringed, looking further down the hall where Jack was speaking with one of the sinister-looking suited men. “I keep wondering if everyone here has that same approach.”
Arching one brow, her intrigue piqued, she followed my line of sight. “Oh.”
“You see?” I edged closer to her to whisper. “I noticed Jack not really caring about their being here last night.”
“Well, we do get a lot of them from time to time.” Fatima sighed and rubbed her face.
“With all the violence they cause or are victims of, yeah, all those Mafia men are frequent customers around here.” She watched with me as Jack laughed and smiled with one of the Italians.
The slicked-back hair and tattoos on the man’s hand marked him like the others.
“And Jack’s born and raised here in the Big Apple. He’s not gonna be bothered by it.”
“I’m not suggesting that he’s not bothered by it.”
She frowned at me. “What are you saying?”
I wasn’t sure how to word it. A sixth sense, just a nagging sensation in my stomach, pricked my conscience. “I don’t know. It seems like he’s friendly with them.”
Fatima blew a raspberry. “Meh. That’s just Jack.
He’s a regular ol’ charmer around here.” Taking her tablet for a chart to another patient, she stepped away.
“That’s just the way he is.” Giving me a silly smirk, she backpedaled some more.
“I’m surprised he hasn’t bumped up the wattage of his charm for you yet.
We got a bet running on the floor for how long it’ll take for him to try to get into your pants. ”
I rolled my eyes. She could think me na?ve and ignorant about the crime life in New York, but she wasn’t going to get away with accusing me of being ignorant of the hospital drama. Doctors and nurses were always prone to a layered lust affair—and that was universally true.
Jack had been charming enough in the first month of my employment here. Everyone had been welcoming, really, all of them glad to bring an accomplished physician on board.
Truly, I’d taken the job because I needed a change of scenery after losing my parents. I’d already applied to work overseas as a doctor for a mission in a third-world-country program, but coming here first was a good change of perspective to jar me out of missing my mother and father.
Plus, this hospital had a high reputation. Yet, I wasn’t softening under any of the interest I was receiving. Maybe it was another part of my goody-goody personality or maybe I just had common sense, but I wasn’t going to fall prey to any handsome doctor trying to get into my pants.
I had been raised better than that.
But I had also been raised with a strict moral compass and the need to see justice done. That fit right in with my natural curiosity, too. Because once Fatima had left me, I couldn’t help but sink under the lure of following Jack and the Italian thug.
Why’s he so friendly with them, though?
What’s going on?
It looked like more than just a casual conversation. As I slowly followed them talking, staying at a distance, I thought back to the beginning of the shift today.
Jack had been tightlipped about details pertaining to any of the Italian thugs. He’d told all the nurses and other doctors to defer to him about their cases. It was always appreciated when someone would volunteer to act as a head charge with interconnected cases, but this seemed different.
What are you up to, Jack?
I didn’t know him well enough to feel confident about knowing his character. I hadn’t convinced myself that I wanted to know him that well.
Are you involved with them somehow? These thugs and criminals who bomb buildings and injure innocents?
Before I could hurry to the double doors that they’d gone through, as if Jack were escorting the Italian toward the exit, I fell back and nearly knocked into the corner of the wall.
My shoes skidded, squeaking loudly enough that it would’ve been obvious that someone was rushing after them. In a blip of a momentary panic, I flattened my back against the wall, staying out of sight as both Jack and the thug turned to look behind them.
The doors slid shut. My chance to stick with them was over.
As I exhaled slowly, I closed my eyes and winced.
What the bloody hell am I doing?
Didn’t Fatima just give me the heads up to mind my own business?
I would do well to take her general advice. I was here to work, not pry into any connections between the staff I was expected to work alongside and the devious Mafia men who’d cause such destruction and disaster out on the streets.
I’m not a part of that world.
I never will be.
I was sure of my place. Of my purpose.
With a wry huff at my stupid curiosity, I shook my head and pushed off the wall to resume working on the patients who counted on me for their recoveries.
Jack—and whoever else—could associate with criminals if they wanted to.
I wouldn’t.
Smiling at the confidence behind that conviction, I shook my head again, amused with myself.
I would never lower my standards to associate with anyone from the criminal and lawless side of society.