CHAPTER 11—LA PANDILLA DE ORTIZ (THE ORTIZ GANG)
Donovan had drifted away in a peaceful slumber. In his dreams, of course, were images of Loralei. He missed her so much that she invaded his every thought. He was in the very first stages of sleep, that first stage where dreams begin, but not quite to the stage where the sleeper is completely unaware of the world around him. In that state, he heard the soft swish as the door to his room closed. For a moment, he ignored it. He thought it was probably a part of his dream. He distinctly remembered that Cody and Monica had left the door open. Whatever. He simply didn't care at the moment. He wanted to sleep, to rest. Once he was fully recovered, this crazy case would end and his life would get back to a slight semblance of normality. As he fell deeper into the stages of sleep, another image invaded his dream. In his mind, he saw the baby. He saw a beautiful infant who possessed the amber fire of Loralei's hair and the green of her eyes. It was a nice image, a welcoming image. He hadn't experienced many dreams such as this, and when they came to him, he was always pleased. From his deeper sleep state, he could hear the clacking of hard soled shoes coming toward his bed. Strange. Didn't all hospital personnel wear shoes with rubber soles? Wasn't it something to do with reducing tired feet? Perhaps it wasn't hospital personnel at all. Maybe someone else had come to look in on him. It wasn't his wife. The steps were heavier, not from a woman at all, but from a man. Cody? Jake? Surely not. He had left orders for them to return to the hotel to resume their hunt for the Ortiz gang. Again, he found himself not really caring at all. The images of his daughter were too pleasant to leave behind.
* * *
Cody, Monica, Alex, and Farron turned toward the sliding doors of the conference room. It was almost dawn. Jake sauntered into the room a bit upset. Of course, the team knew what had happened. They were monitoring the entire thing. Jake was to have met Dominguez that night to discuss the elimination plan of Mateo Luis. Jake's alter ego was to be the gunman. The meeting had somehow fallen through. One of the gang had mentioned that Dominguez had gone on a special mission. It didn't dawn on any of them that his special mission involved Mateo. Dominguez had no intention of allowing a new guy to take out a man he had hunted for weeks. It was his mission and his alone. Once Mateo was tortured and dead, he would go after his woman.
"Don't you think it might be a good idea to check on Frank," Farron asked suddenly. "What was Pablo's pressing issue tonight? Do you know?"
Jake fixed a stony gaze on Donovan's brother. "How would he know? How would he know where to find Donovan?"
Farron chuckled bitterly. "You federales are so smart, you're stupid. Haven't I told you? Both Ortiz and Dominguez have connections. It doesn't matter. I'll bet that they even have connections in the church. Either let go of your ego and call the hospital, or release me and I'll go myself."
"For God's sake," Jake said. "Let's humor this fuck before I lose my temper."
* * *
"Despiértese, Mateo. Despiértese y mireme." ("Wake up, Mateo. Wake up and look at me.")
Mateo, Donovan thought from his dream world. Am I dreaming again? Am I so obsessed with closing this case that I'm hearing the name even while I sleep?
"Despiértese. Quiero que usted vea mi cara antes yo lo mato." ("Wake up. I want you to see my face before I kill you.")
This is no dream, he thought. Donovan opened his eyes just in time to see a knife arcing toward him. His hand flew out and caught hold of the man's wrist. Pablo Dominguez. How many days have we been searching for you? How many hours have I worried that you would harm my wife and our baby? How many fucking tears has Loralei shed over this hell? Despite his injured hand and head, he held onto the crazed man's wrist tightly, gaining ground, pushing him away. The quiet way Mateo fought back disturbed Dominguez a little. Normally, Mateo yelled or cursed loudly while faced with an aggressor. In the weeks he had run, something about his former hermano had changed, and he wasn't sure he liked it. Mateo was somehow stronger and more persistent. The two men locked eyes. Dominguez saw the hatred in Mateo's eyes, and that was the only thing that seemed right. Demasiado raro. (Too weird)
"Tu tiene al hombre injusto, tu idiota," Donovan growled. ("You have the wrong man, you idiot.")
"El hombre injusto? Eso es un nuevo uno." ("The wrong man? That's a new one.")
"Jódalo!" ("Fuck you!")
"Sí. Jódame. Yo lo joderé arriba." ("Yes. Fuck me. I will fuck you up.")
Donovan's hand, already weakened and injured, slowly began to lose its grip on Dominguez's wrist. He tried to find purchase, but it was difficult. If he slipped, the glittering blade would enter his body to the hilt. He wasn't afraid to die, he never had been. He was more afraid of breaking his promise to Loralei. He vowed to return to her, and he would, regardless of what he had to do. Donovan jerked his body upward, as if he intended to sit up and hug the other man. If he could get his other arm up, his other good hand, he might just make it. As he began the difficult task of raising his good hand while trying to hold Dominguez with his bad hand, his grip slipped. Horrified, Donovan jerked his body to the side and felt an amazing pain springing up in his body. It bit and burned him, staggering his senses, making his head swim, not just from a concussion, but torturous pain. He hadn't had many knife wounds, but those he received were usually his most memorable injuries. What made it worse was that the knife dug into muscle, causing agony like he had never experienced before. Donovan rolled viciously to the right as Dominguez drew the knife into another severe arc. It buried itself into the thin mattress. He rolled to the left as the knife arced down again. No skin this time, either, only foam and cotton. The other man lifted the knife high, and Donovan wasn't sure what else he could do other than throwing his body to the floor. The gaping wound and blood loss had slowed down his reflexes. He was done. It was over. The knife came down again, aiming straight for his chest, and Donovan prepared to either move or die or both. Before fate stepped in and intervened in his life forever, the gloriously wonderful sound of semi-automatic gunfire filled the room, contaminating its sterile whiteness with gun smoke. Before blackness took him briefly, Donovan wanted to see the person who saved his life. It had to be one the team. However, his shocked eyes fell on someone else, someone not even close to the team. His brother, his cowardly yellow dog brother, held the weapon in his hand. His bruised face was drawn into a snarl, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the fallen man. Farron, he thought. Oh God. Donovan's world went black.
* * *
The sun began to peek into the room, and Loralei was totally exhausted. She hadn't slept well the night before. She sat up slowly, but ended up falling back against the pillows. She didn't seem to want to get out of bed. You're depressed, she thought. Could be. She was also worried about Donovan. She hadn't heard a word about her husband since she had brow beaten him to go to the hospital. She forced herself to sit up again. What the hell was going on inside her body? She hadn't felt this yucky since her first few weeks of pregnancy. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and was overcome by a wave of dizziness. She had felt this way for a couple of days, but decided it had to be due to the added stress of her life. Shaking her head, she grabbed the robe at the foot of the bed and shrugged into it. Against her better judgment, she crept slowly into the kitchen. No one else in the house was up yet, so her deed would remain unnoticed for now. She dialed Donovan's hotel room, but there was no answer. She didn't leave a message when asked. She hung up the phone and stood still for a moment. She felt bad, she felt really bad. What made the feeling worse was the realization that in a few weeks, she would enter her sixth month of pregnancy. Her husband should have been here for this, should be with her during this time. She missed him, but there was nothing she could do about it right now. She padded back into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. Sleep. Yes, she would go back to sleep. She felt quite rotten.
* * *
Donovan regained consciousness very briefly before he was whisked away for emergency surgery. He grabbed weakly at Jake's shirt and dragged him forward. "Find them all," he said foggily. "Find them."
There seemed to be blood all over him, blood everywhere. Jesus. "We will, Boss, it's okay."
"Loralei doesn't know this. Do not call her. Don't do it." Donovan could see the look in Jake's eyes. He wasn't comfortable with this, not at all. He grasped Jake's shirt as tightly as possible and pulled him downward. Donovan's gaze burned into him. "She cannot know, Agent Shaw, do you understand," he spat vehemently. "She is still not safe. She won't be safe here until they're brought down, until they're all brought down. Promise me. Promise that you won't call and that you won't let anyone else call."
"Donovan, she needs-"
"No," he spat. "Her only need is to be safe. I won't let them wheel me in until I have your word."
Donovan's grip was getting weaker by the second. If he didn't go into surgery, Jake was afraid he might die. Figuring he would regret this decision for the rest of his life, he sighed and nodded, "Okay, Boss, you win. You have my word. I won't let anyone tell her."
Cody, Monica, Jake, Alex, and Farron kept watch in the waiting room. They had had a few updates. It appeared that the knife hadn't sliced through any internal organs, which would have made a bad situation worse.
"You are calling Loralei. Right?"
Jake fixed his dark eyes on Alex's face. He crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. "No. I told him I wouldn't, and I won't."
"Do you think that's such a great idea?"
"Yes," Farron said suddenly. "We will tell his wife whatever he asks. One is down, but there are others. If she returned, she would be abducted before she could even arrive here. When the gang hears of Pablo's death, they won't be pleased. I'm no federale, but I want to help, and I'm asking for your trust."
"Why should we trust you," Jake asked suddenly.
"Why should you not," Farron challenged. "The thing is, I know these men, and you don't. I'm a drug trafficker, yes, but I'm your only link to the heart of the gang. Without me, you'll be floundering before you know it. Frank will be dead, Loralei widowed, and their child fatherless. Either you accept the offer or you don't. I won't ask twice."
The team left Farron sitting. This was something they needed to discuss amongst themselves.
"What else do we have," Alex asked, resigned. "He's been right before, and I sincerely doubt he's running a game. Look what he did to Dominguez. He shot the man before he could kill his brother. What else do we have to lose?"
Jake shook his head. "I can't believe this shit. Listen to you. He's a sleaze, Alex. Look at everything he's done."
"I'm with Alex," Cody said suddenly. "Go with Double Vision until the boss is back on his feet. At this time, we have no one else."
"What about you," Jake asked, focusing his dark eyes on Monica's face. "Have you lost your mind, too? Are you with them?"
She nodded. "I am, Jake. We don't have anywhere to turn right now."
He laughed bitterly. "Great. I'm going to have to watch my back twenty-four hours now."
* * *
A pair of hands began to shake her. She wasn't sure who it was, but it was annoying all the same. She wanted to sleep; she didn't want to do anything other than that. For a moment, she had begun to think it was Donovan trying to rouse her as he always did in the morning. Loralei moaned incoherently, and mumbled nothing more than gibberish that ended with 'Frank.' The hands were persistent. Definitely Donovan. She opened her eyes when she realized that he wasn't going to leave her alone. However, the face she saw wasn't that of her husband. It was Anya. She sighed deeply; she had totally forgotten where she was.
"What is it," Loralei asked sleepily.
"You've been sleeping for hours," she said, her concerned eyes [Frank's eyes] focused on her face. "I was starting to worry. Are you okay?"
"Oh yes," she said, "I'm okay. I'm just so tired. I haven't been this tired since I first became pregnant."
Anya took note of her paleness. She didn't appear to be fine at all. "You're due in a little more than three months, right?" Loralei nodded. In this stage of her pregnancy, she should have been feeling good, not bad. "Maybe you should see a doctor."
"No, really, I don't think it's necessary. I'm upset and depressed. I don't know what's happening with Frank, and I haven't heard from or about him in a while. He's in the hospital, and I'm not sure what's going on." She felt fresh tears welling in her eyes. Goddamn. When would this hormonal thing go away? "I miss him."
Anya nodded. She didn't know how Loralei handled having her husband in such a dangerous line of work. How did she cope? Frank was her brother, and she often found that she was beside herself with worry. What must this do to his wife? She smoothed a few tendrils of hair from Loralei's forehead. "Dear sister in-law, I totally understand. But I must insist you see a doctor soon. You know Frank. If he finds out his pregnant wife is ill and didn't see a doctor, he'll go through the roof."
She smiled a little. "That's putting it mildly."
"Will you go if I call my doctor and make an appointment," she asked.
"Yeah. God knows Frank doesn't need anything else to worry about."
* * *
Much, much later, Donovan was reclining in bed. Actually, reclining wasn't even close. He was more or less cringing. The pain from the knife wound was enormous, despite the stitching. It completely overshadowed that in his head. He felt quite lucky that none of his internal organs had been injured. He wasn't thrilled when he heard his recovery would take several weeks, and he would have to spend some of that time in the hospital. However, for the moment, he was alive. He noticed that outside his room, a cop or a guard had been stationed. It was almost funny. If he weren't in such pain, he might have laughed. The nurse had offered him morphine, but he refused. His mind needed to stay sharp and focused. He gazed at the telephone beside him. Donovan wasn't sure how long it had been since he last spoke to Loralei. Calling her was risky business, but for all purposes, Dominguez had completed his mission. Ortiz probably hadn't been notified yet. Of course, unbeknownst to Donovan, the candy striper who mentioned Mateo to her boyfriend hadn't been working when Farron gunned down Dominguez. If she had, another assassin would have been summoned within moments.
* * *
"Bianca," Anya whispered shaking her head. Her little girl was curled up against Loralei again. She was completely fascinated with her aunt.
"You can leave her," Loralei whispered. "She keeps me company and gives great hugs."
Anya sighed and shook her head again. Loralei hadn't exactly gotten great news at the doctor earlier this evening, and she had been crying off and on for hours. Hopefully what she had come to tell her would help. "Frank is on the phone."
She exhaled a deep breath. "Thank God. I'm about half out of my mind right now." She climbed out of bed, mindful of her niece, and put on a robe. She approached the phone, her heart beating hard. I will not cry. I will not cry. She picked up the receiver, and said, "Baby?"
He closed his eyes and bit down on his bottom lip. The pain was evident in her voice, but she was fighting hard not to let it show. He loved her so much for her strength, he thought he might cry. "I'm calling to let you know I'm all right. It was just a concussion, nothing more." You have effectively skipped the knife injury, you big liar.
Somehow, some way, she didn't quite believe that. His voice seemed pained. He was no more than thirty miles from her, but it felt as if he were an ocean away. "Frank, why do I feel like you're hiding something from me?"
Even over the damn phone, she could read him. "I'm hiding nothing. There was a slight complication in the case, and I'm not sure how long this will take. I hope that soon, you can go back to Chicago, and we'll be together again."
"Frank," she said shakily. Her impending tears were fighting against her desperately, and they would probably win the battle. "I have to tell you something."
"Loralei, what's wrong?" He wasn't aware that he was gripping the phone so tightly that his knuckles were growing white.
"I went to the doctor today at your sister's insistence," she began, "there have been some problems."
Donovan felt the rush of adrenaline entering his body, trying to blank out the pain. "Problems? Goddamn it, you need me, and I can't…"
"No," she said softly, "wait. Don't beat yourself up. It's not life threatening, and the baby is fine. It's some type of weird anemia. I'm not sure; I don't remember all the medical jargon. It's making me really tired, but I'll be fine. I wanted you to know."
He gave up. He allowed his own unshed tears to slide slowly down his cheeks. "Until I return to you, I want you to stay with my sister. I know she'll take care of you. I want to come to you so badly, I can't stand it."
"No, Frank, it's okay. I understand. I-I just miss you."
He didn't want to hang up, but he knew he must. The longer he kept her on the phone, the easier it would be to track her down. He was growing increasingly paranoid as each day passed. "I miss you, too, more than you know. I have to hang up now. I'll call as much as I can." He felt horribly for misleading her, for basically lying to her, but he had to protect her at all costs. "With all of my heart, Loralei, I love you."
"I love you, too, baby. Go-"
"No," he spat, interrupting her. "I don't want to hear you say that. Why don't we just fade out and hang up? Don't you think that's better?"
Uh God, this is killing me, she thought. "Yes. Lots."
He drew the phone away from his ear and hung up while he still had the courage to do it.
* * *
Jesus Ortiz glared at his new compadre, Miguel. The young trafficker was quite upset that he had sent Dominguez to take out Mateo instead of him. The indignant young fellow had been itching to help exact revenge. Ortiz liked Miguel. He had spirit. He was considering putting him in Mateo's place beside his soul hermano, Pablo. Mateo Luis was dead. Finally. It was time to get back to business. An amazing shipment of pure cocaine was expected in a day or two, and it would bring in millions of dollars. Miguel jumped at the chance to run the drugs for him. Yes. Miguel would work out nicely.