Chapter 14 Harrison
HARRISON
Back to work.
I’ve taken the last few days off. And my God, so much has happened since I last clocked in to a shift at St. Charles.
I’ve been here several times, of course. Just two nights ago, I sneaked in the back way wearing barely anything. Before that, I was smuggling in Maddox and Alissa, both of whom were on the brink of death.
Now they’re doing all right, and if I took another day off, it would have started to look suspicious.
Rouge is on the board of this hospital, after all. I’m sure she’s kept an eye on me since I grifted my way into Aces the night I met Bianca.
I’m not going to be doing a lot of work today. I’ve delegated a lot of my regular duties to my interns and nurses, because the real reason I came in was to find out if we’ve been receiving black-market organs from Rouge.
The timing is undeniable. Carol and Lou got organs almost instantaneously after that poor girl’s head was found in the nature reserve by O’Hare.
But we’re still missing our smoking gun.
We need to collect as much evidence as possible to get Rouge convicted of what she’s doing.
The cooler of human hearts was a start, but Rouge could simply deny having any knowledge of it.
She’d throw one of her Kings or someone else under the bus, and because of her power and influence among the city elites, she’d get away with it.
No. We need to build a rock-solid case against her. That’s the only way to ensure she’ll see justice for what she’s done.
I sit down in my office, out of the way from the day-to-day hustle and bustle of the hospital.
I pull up a list of our most recent organ recipients.
There have been a few since Carol and Lou, but they’re still near the top of the list when I sort it by date.
I try to track down where their organs came from, but that leads me to an error page.
The data must be in here somewhere. It’s just encrypted, and I don’t have access to it.
I pick up the phone and call the hospital’s IT department.
“Yes, Dr. O’Rourke?”
It’s Kit. She’s one of the newer IT hires—only a year out of college—and normally gets saddled with the department’s bitch work while her superiors get the more complex jobs. She’s the one I call when I need to recover a patient’s file that accidentally fell through cyberspace.
I was hoping she’d be the one to pick up. She’s the youngest, the hungriest for approval.
“Hi, Kit. Can you swing up to my office? I have an unusual request.”
“What is it?” Papers shuffle over the line.
“I’d rather discuss it in person. I’ll buy you a coffee for your trouble.”
She chuckles. “I’m more of a tea person, Doc.”
I smile. I knew she’d see eye-to-eye with me. “Even better. I’ll owe you a tea.”
If she pulls this off, I’ll buy her a first-class ticket to the UK to get her all the tea she wants.
Ten minutes later, she knocks on my door.
“Come in,” I call out.
She opens the door. Kit is cute in that hot-librarian way. A messy bun of curly red hair on top of her head, horn-rimmed glasses, and bursts of freckles on her cheeks. She’s wearing a fitted blue cardigan over a slightly wrinkled blouse, khaki pants, and sensible dark shoes.
She crosses over to my desk. “What can I help you with today, Doc?”
Kit is the only person who has ever called me “Doc.” She’s probably too young to have watched any Bugs Bunny cartoons, so I’ve written it off as a quirk. If she weren’t so young, I’d have asked her out before I met Bianca.
“I’m having trouble tracing the identity of an organ donor.”
She purses her lips. “Well, Doc, that’s probably because you’re not allowed access to that information.”
Of course. Kit plays by the book. I was prepared for this.
“Normally I’d agree with you. But unfortunately one of our organ recipients is exhibiting symptoms of HIV.
We did the standard testing when we received the heart, but it must have slipped through.
I need to know the identity of the donor so that any other people who received the organs know they should get tested. ”
Flimsy reasoning, I’ll admit. But Kit isn’t a doctor. She might not know this explanation is bullshit.
She frowns. “I’m not sure if I’m allowed to pull up those files on that rationale. I may have to phone my supervisor.”
I stand quickly. “Kit, let’s not bother Barry with this. Time is of the essence when an issue like this pops up. I’ll smooth it over with IT myself if anyone gets their panties in a twist.”
She pauses. “You sure this is okay?”
“Of course. Come on, Kit.” I offer a smile, hoping my good looks will be enough to charm her. “You’ve worked here a while now. Would I ever ask you to do something you’re not supposed to do?”
Her face softens. “I suppose not.”
“Thank you.” I pull out my phone. “Where’s your favorite tea place? I’ll order a gift certificate for you.”
“That’s very kind.” Kit’s cheeks flush. “I love the Flamingo Tea Room just around the corner.”
“Done and done.” I gesture toward my desk chair. “Have at it. The patient who received the transplant is Lou Chambers. The surgery took place a little over a month ago.”
Kit sits down at my computer and clacks away on the keyboard.
After a few minutes, she’s able to bypass the privacy server that keeps me from seeing where the organs come from.
“Looks like the heart in question came from a Shinzo Life Center, a non-profit procurement organization. Their address isn’t too far from the hospital, in fact.
Makes sense, I suppose. Organs are only viable for a few hours after the death of the donor. ” She frowns. “That’s funny.”
“What?”
“There isn’t a name listed for the organ donor. Just Shinzo Life.”
That tracks, based on how Rouge operates. If the donors are waitstaff who have no identifying documents, their names wouldn’t be included on the file. Rouge herself makes them identify only by their number and suit.
“That might be enough for me to go on, Kit. Thank you.”
She furrows her brow. “You sure? I thought you wanted a name? To ensure that any other recipients get tested—”
“I’ll take that up with Shinzo Life personally. They’ll be able to point me in the right direction.” I gesture to the door. “Thank you, Kit. I’ll make sure that gift certificate is sent to your email.”
She blinks a few times but then turns the doorknob and exits the office.
I sit back down at my desk. Finally, some progress.
I didn’t like lying to Kit. I’ll make sure she doesn’t get in trouble for this. Hell, if we end up putting an end to Rouge’s reign of terror, Kit will be partially responsible for saving countless lives.
I look up the Shinzo Life Center. Luckily, they’re registered as a non-profit, so all their information is public by law. I pull up their tax records. Unfortunately, everything looks aboveboard.
But it would, wouldn’t it? Rouge isn’t stupid.
I leave the tax records for now and look up Shinzo’s actual website, and the first shoe drops.
They’re located in the same building as the Aces Underground foyer.
Aces itself is—as its name implies—underground, utilizing vacant space that was going to house a subway station that never came to fruition.
Rouge’s grandfather, Ruskin Montrose, bought the space and used it to open a speakeasy during Prohibition.
But the foyer, where Chet works, is on the ground level, sharing building spaces with several other entities, including this organ procurement center.
The entrance to Shinzo is off Dearborn and Washington, the opposite corner from Randolph and State.
And I’d bet dollars to donuts it’s connected to that secret crawlspace Bianca and I found.
I look through the rest of the website. Everything looks normal. No indication that the company is run by a madwoman masquerading as a nightclub owner. In fact, Rouge seems to have installed a puppet CEO named Romeo Sturgeon.
Weird-ass name. Imagine being named after a Shakespeare character and a fucking fish.
But as I look at the name, the other shoe drops.
Romeo Sturgeon isn’t just a weird name. It’s an anagram.
An anagram for “Rouge Montrose.”