Chapter 26
MINKA
“What’s going on, Estefan?” I long ago ran out of patience, and the whole ‘make sure you speak respectfully’ thing flew away with Aubree’s flapping wings. “I figure, since we’re in the air, this is a bit like being in international waters, no?”
Cordoza shuffles along the cabin, white-knuckling his cane and, when he arrives, plopping onto a couch opposite mine. “International waters, Chief? You might have to help an old man out and explain.”
“I mean, up here, and on the water, we’re not within regular jurisdiction.
It means I propose we adopt the same mentality right now, since you worked so damn hard to get us alone.
We’re not in Copeland, nor are we in New York.
Thus, I propose we discuss this without all the formality and Godfather pretense. ”
Ellie clenches her teeth.
Estefan only chuckles. “The Godfather? As in, the movie?”
“Have you seen it?” Aubree quips. “It’s pretty good.”
“Cut the shit.” I stomp back to my seat and sit with a huff. Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees. “What do you want? Why do you need it without the Malones in sight? And why the hell would you lie to Archer about me last week?”
He considers me for a long beat, studying me through wise, weary eyes and three deep breaths. Finally, he looks Mariana’s way and lifts his chin. “The file, please.”
“Of course.” She whips an overhead compartment open, jittery and overenthusiastic in her actions, then she sprints in four-inch heels and thrusts a manila file in his direction. “Here you go, Mr. Cordoza.”
“Good.” A lazy smile curls his lips, then he tips his chin toward the cockpit. “Please leave now. Close the door and don’t return until I say you can.”
She nods. Nods. Nods some more. Then she makes a sound in the back of her throat and twists away.
“Privacy from your own staff?” Ellie snatches the file straight out of his hands, surprising us all. Perhaps Estefan most of all. Flipping the file open, she peruses the pages. “Why would you ask for privacy from your own staff, Estefan?”
“You astound me, Michelle. I would expect Chief Mayet to forget her manners in such a spectacular way.”
“Wait.” Am I offended? Should I be? “Why me?”
“But you?” He doesn’t even bother fighting to get his paperwork back. He merely settles into his chair and just… breathes. Long, laborious inhalations. “New York’s influence seems to have worn off a little.”
“My sparkle tends to dull when my friends are being screwed with, and you’re hiding things from your own employees. I don’t…” She flips through pages. Flips. Flips. “I don’t know what this means.”
“Perhaps Doctor Mayet could assist?” He looks my way, entirely too relaxed, considering his lack of guards. I could end his life and… what? Hope the pilot doesn’t kill us all? “Would you do the honors, dear?”
Suspicious, I tilt in Michelle’s direction and accept the file, flipping it open to the front page and perusing its complete…
innocuousness. “These are blood tests…” I scan each line.
Each non-informative number. “Red blood cells are within range. White blood cells, too. Platelets are fine. Lipid profile is fine; LDL is within range. HDL is good.” Pausing, I bring my eyes up to his for a beat, then down again as I continue reading.
“Triglycerides indicate your heart isn’t at risk.
Blood glucose is slightly elevated, but hardly worth mentioning.
Liver enzymes show decreased function, but again,” I lower the file to my lap.
“Within range, considering your age and lifestyle. What are you showing me?”
He gestures my way with a flick of his wrist. “Keep going. I know I said your medical education was not entirely relevant for this meeting, but since you’re here and since you did, in fact, study…”
Pursing my lips, I flip a few pages and stop on an MRI.
“I assume you’ve been experiencing some health problems, Estefan, considering this thorough workup.
” I study each image carefully, knowing I’m not the kind of doctor who could provide a diagnosis.
“I don’t know. This looks fine. No clots.
No stroke. No signs of MS. Organs appear as healthy as expected for a seventy…
” I flip back to the first page and do a little math.
“Seventy-six-year-old man. What exactly are you asking for here?”
He only shrugs, smirks, and tips his chin. “Keep going. We have five hours ahead of us, and much to discuss in that time.”
Scowling, I drop my gaze and flick through a few more pages. “EMG shows…” And then I stop. Squint. Look a little closer. “Nerve cell degeneration. Mild.”
He exhales. It’s almost a happy sound. Content.
“You were referred to a neurologist, where,” I scan a few more pages and glower, not at the diagnosis he’s already received, but at the date in the top left corner. “These notes are eighteen months old, Estefan.”
Ellie gasps, surging forward in her seat and turning the file in my lap so she can read, too. “What does this mean? Nerve cell degeneration…?”
“Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.” I search his weary stare. “For eighteen months already?”
“What!?” Ellie snarls. “What is ammeotropic—”
Aubree sighs. “ALS. Also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease.”
“It’s a disease that affects his brain and spinal cord.” I swallow what was, moments ago, rage. Now, it’s something much sadder. Much deeper. “Onset was quite some time ago, which means you’ve been hiding it.”
“Privacy is the least a man can expect, no? If I’m to grow so weak that I cannot stand on my own, cannot control my muscle spasms, and, eventually, won’t even be able to use the bathroom on my own, then I deserve to spend my time sharing such details only with those I wish, don’t I?”
“So why are you telling us?” I draw the file back from Ellie’s trembling hands, her hitching breath reminiscent of my experiences this whole week.
“You wouldn’t speak in front of Mariana, and I see none of your usual posse of guards hanging around.
Yet, you freely share your medical files with us.
Forbidding our husbands from joining this meeting was a short-term gain for you, but expecting us to keep this news a secret seems… na?ve.”
“I respect the four of you very much.” He looks Ellie’s way, offering his hand and smiling the smile of a proud dad when she bounds out of her chair and moves across to sit beside him.
She snuggles into his side, so unlike anything I’ve ever seen anyone do with this man in the past, then she lays her cheek on the ball of his shoulder.
Kinda how I laid my cheek on Steve’s shoulder a few nights ago.
“Don’t cry for me, sweet Michelle.” He lays a kiss on her forehead. He’s not The Godfather right now. He’s just a man, a mortal one at that, who knows his time is coming to an end. “Don’t worry your heart so much.”
“Are you dying?” Sniffling, she meets my eyes. “Is he dying?”
“We’re all dying,” Estefan cuts in. “No one lives forever.”
“Statistically, one would expect a patient to live another two years after the onset of symptoms,” I murmur. “Up to three.”
“But you said—” She straightens in her seat and stares at the side of Estefan’s face. “She said you got a diagnosis eighteen months ago. You kept this secret for more than half the time you had left?”
“You must forgive a proud man for his processing speed, sweet girl.” He takes her hand in his, squeezing gently. “Besides, look at me. Do I appear weak to you? I’m still walking. Still talking. Still as good as ever.”
Lies. But what’s one more after the week we’ve had?
“The average patient lives for two to three more years after diagnosis.” He cups her cheek.
“But averages cannot exist without the highs and the lows, and considering my current state, I suggest I may become one of the former.” He turns and studies Soph with almost as much affection as her sister, then he brings his eyes to me.
To Aubree. “No matter my prognosis, we must acknowledge my age. My time was coming, regardless of this inconvenience.”
“And so… what?” I demand. “You hatch a plan to screw us over on the way out? You wanted Agosti gone, and you didn’t want to do it yourself, so you delegated that task across to Soph and me?
Mancinos are already dead. Pastores have been eliminated.
Your stunt this week led me to wonder if you were clearing the board, Malones included.
But you’ve been working with Felix since Timothy the Second’s death, haven’t you?
He’s your protégé. Your successor. You’re not wiping the board at all.
You’re handing it over to Felix, but not before tying up loose ends. Anthony Agosti was one of them.”
“Mmm…” He lays his arm over Ellie’s shoulders, pulling her against his side. It’s a hug. But it’s a straitjacket, too. “What would you think of such a plan, Chief Mayet?” He peeks Sophia’s way. “How do we feel about Felix Malone taking my seat at the table?”
“Personally?” Uncharacteristically subdued, Soph shrugs. “I’d prefer the table to be dismantled altogether. I’ve spent a good portion of my life undoing a lot of the damage your friends have caused.”
“As have I.” He rubs Ellie’s arm in slow, rhythmic strokes. “It may have been your bullet that ended Tony Mancino’s life, and Felix Malone’s blade that took care of Emilio Pastore. Chief Mayet and you terminated Anthony Agosti, however—”
“So, what you’re saying is you’ve done nothing,” she argues through gritted teeth. “Everyone else has taken out the trash on your behalf.”
His lips twitch with a smile I know, just below the surface, screams she’s a mouthy one!
“It was because of me that each hit was possible, and I’ve maintained order within a city begging for war.
It is not my job to work the factory floor, Ms. Solomon.
It’s to ensure a factory exists in the first place, and that production continues uninterrupted. ”
“If you’re ready to retire, why not shut the factory down?”