Chapter Twenty-Four Julian #2
“I didn’t, either,” I reply honestly. “But you were right, about everything. It’s taught me how to listen, get my head out of my own condescending ass, and improve my nonexistent people skills,” I say, repeating everything she said in that first fraught meeting when she decided to have mercy and not fire me on the spot.
“It’s been very good for me, Dr. Riveras. I owe you so much. Thank you.”
Dr. Riveras’s bottom lip drops open as I head back to the Neuro ICU.
“I’ve got to run now,” I call over my shoulder. “I want to catch up with Dr. Adebayo about her recommendations for my patient’s treatment. See you around, Dr. Riveras!”
I check my phone. Nomi’s texted back, and my heart flutters in happiness at the three little words: On my way!
NOMI
The door chimes as I enter Sammy’s Steaks, the crackling beef inducing instant meat lust. I’ve barely eaten all week. While a steak would destroy me right now, it smells like a great way to go.
“Ms. Wyeth,” Sammy says from behind the cash register, pronouncing my last name as if there’s no h sound, but with such propriety it makes me straighten my back. “Right this way.”
I follow Sammy into a back office that smells like freshly baked bread.
I breathe deeply and settle into the chair opposite his desk, which is inexplicably covered in a pretzel party platter, one of my only safe foods during a flare.
The soft, unoffensive carbs and the little chunks of salt just go down easy.
“Care for a pretzel?” His hands hover over the plastic tray top.
“Absolutely.”
Pleased, he removes the lid, and I help myself. This is already the best interview I’ve ever conducted.
Sammy sits back, his hands folding across his stomach. “How can I help you?”
“Long story short, I suspect Mike Tonuto’s out to get me, and I think you know what that’s like.” I watch him closely for a reaction, but there’s no need because there’s nothing subtle about Sammy DiFiore. He belts out a laugh.
“What’s my brother done now?”
I blink. “Your brother?”
“Half brother, he’d want me to say. Half.” Sammy’s good-natured smile turns pained. “We’re not close.”
“Do you believe he’s behind all the attention your business gets from the city council?
” I take a big bite of pretzel and pull up my notes.
Audits, inspections, health code complaints, Wilson even tried getting the building designated as a historical landmark so Sammy couldn’t add a back patio.
It was built in 1974! They’ve really put Sammy through the wringer.
“Oh, a hundred percent. Mikey thinks he runs this town, and he uses that sycophant Wilson to do his bidding.” Sammy huffs. “Why, what’d you do to piss him off?”
“I don’t know. I was hoping you could help me figure that out.”
“I do have a theory.” Sammy squints at me. “You’re trying to open the dispensary across the street, right?”
I nod as I swallow the last bite of pretzel, then reach for another.
“Well, I guarantee you that whatever he’s doing to you, it’s probably intended to hurt me.”
“But how?”
“Like you said—your dispensary will drive up people’s appetites in the area and bring hungry clientele to the downtown restaurant district.” Sammy tosses his hands. “Who’s across the street? Who owns a restaurant? Me. Mikey’s public enemy number one.”
“Do you mind telling me what happened between you two?” I wince. “I’m not trying to pry, but I’ve got a hearing in two days in front of the zoning commission, and if I don’t find a way to win it, I’m going to lose everything.”
“No, I don’t mind. It stopped hurting a long time ago.” Sammy shakes his head. “Our mother, Belinda, married Mikey’s dad first, Stan Tonuto. Stan was in the car business, and Mom always wanted to start her own steak shop. By the time she opened, she was six months’ pregnant with Mikey.”
“Belly’s Steaks,” I murmur, remembering the shop across from Strange Drugs in the model of Sparrow Nook.
“Aw, you know of it?” Sammy smiles, his eyes twinkling.
“It was a great shop. Mom really knew how to make a steak. Well, Stan passed when Mikey was two or three, and Mom remarried my dad a few years after that, Buddy DiFiore. I came along shortly thereafter, and then Mikey had a new stepdad and a new little brother, and that didn’t sit well with him.
Mikey’s never liked to share. Dad adopted him, and we grew up as brothers, only five years apart, but you’d have thought Mikey was my second dad, the way he bossed me around.
We spent all our time in the shop, and when we were tall enough not to get a face full of grease burns, we started working here, too.
Mikey worked the grill while I was on the line, but he constantly ragged me, even then.
” Sammy’s face twists into a sad smile. “Poor Mom was next to go—had a heart attack right at the counter. She left Belly’s Steaks to us in equal shares, which pissed off Mikey.
He felt like he should be sole owner on account of him being oldest. We co-managed the shop for a while, but the quality really suffered.
One day, your steaks would be finely chopped, another day, they’d be minced.
Some days Cooper sharp, others provolone.
Always Sarcone’s rolls, thank God, but that’s the only thing we agreed on. Until everything blew up for good.”
“What happened?” I lean forward in my seat.
“Cheez Whiz happened, that’s what. It was all the rage, and I wanted to offer it, too.
But Mikey didn’t want to change anything from how Mom ran the shop, and every time someone tried to order their steak wiz wit, Mikey’d shit a brick.
When he found out I’d been offering it under a secret code word when he wasn’t there, we had a huge falling out.
Mikey demanded I buy him out, so I did, and he used the money to start his own car dealership, just like his ‘real dad.’ All’s well that ends well, right?
” Sammy shakes a pretzel at me. “Wrong! According to Mikey, I started making too many changes. First the Cheez Whiz, then offering seating, but once I renamed the shop to Sammy’s Steaks, he’s been out to get me ever since. ”
“Geez.” I sit back. “Do you have any proof?”
“I consulted with a lawyer, but she said all I had was circumstantial evidence, which wouldn’t be enough.
” Sammy sighs. “I keep hoping he’ll get tired of ragging me so hard, but it’s been fifty years of his bullying, and everybody just looks the other way.
The city council doesn’t care, I’ll tell you that much. They’re afraid of Mikey, too.”
I blink. “But how do we catch him?”
“I wish I knew.” Sammy munches on his pretzel stick thoughtfully. “The weird thing is Mikey’s always had his eye on your building. Thought for sure he’d try to lease it himself so he could spite me from across the street. I was shocked when you got it instead.”
“Really?” I frown, thinking back to all the strings Veronica pulled to get me the first showing. Did we lease the building out from under Tonuto somehow? “How could a city council member lease a building owned by the city, though?”
“Wilson, probably. That man lives with Mikey’s hand up his puppet ass.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket twice in short succession, and I pull it out. “Sorry, I need to make sure this isn’t important.”
JULIAN
Since you are Mr. G’s listed emergency contact, I’m letting you know that Mr. G is suffering from an akinetic crisis, which is potentially life-threatening. I’m driving him to Philly Gen right now.
JULIAN
Could you go to his house and grab all his medications and whatever strains he’s been using, along with a change of clothes and anything else he might want?
I blink at my phone, dread erupting in my chest.
NOMI
On my way!!
After a hasty goodbye to Sammy, I race over to Mr. Gutierrez’s house.
The kitchen’s a mess, clothes strewn around, the TV still on.
But today’s appointment was not an emergency one—it was a standard checkup.
My heart aches as I right the place as fast as I can while packing up what Mr. Gutierrez needs.
How long has he been living like this? Unable to care for himself and suffering?
I reach Philly Gen in a fugue state of worry, texting Julian as I approach the reception desk.
“Hi, I’m here for Mr. Gutierrez—Julian, I mean, um, Dr. D’Angelo brought him in about an hour ago for a suspected akinetic crisis?”
The stern attendant looks at me through the glass, one eyebrow raised. “Julian, eh?” She elbows the other attendant. “This one knows Julian.”
“Oh, are you responsible then?” The second attendant smirks.
“Responsible? Oh, yes—kind of? I’m Mr. Gutierrez’s emergency contact.”
“No, for Julian.”
“What?” I blink down at them. “I don’t—”
“He smiled at me.” The second attendant presses her hands flat against her desk. “Then he brought me coffee!”
“Me, too,” the first attendant adds. “It’s not even a full moon!”
I exhale a helpless, confused sound, struggling to process their gentle conversation as the bright fluorescent lights whine overhead, the smell of hospital antiseptic stinging my nose.
Philly Gen is a beautiful, well-funded hospital, but you can’t decorate the terror out of an ER waiting area.
Memories of the last time I was here sweep over me like a flash flood.
I was struggling to breathe and kept blacking out, the spontaneous allergic reaction to the newest biologic hitting me harder than ever before.
My body felt tight and hot, claustrophobic, and my consciousness kept backing out of it, like it wanted to escape for good.
“Nomi.” The swing-doors open in perfect tandem, revealing Julian, broad shoulders stretching out the width of his doctor’s coat, glasses flashing, curly hair perfectly disheveled. He could be the top-billed star in any medical drama, Dr. McFuckMe.
He takes me into his arms and holds me to him, large hand spanning the back of my head so gently, serotonin floods my system. “I’m so glad you’re here.”