Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
Carmine's mouth was wide open. Saliva was soaking the blanket underneath his head. His tongue was sticking out at an odd angle, unnaturally pale, while his gums were slowly taking on a bluish color. He had his eyes wide open, too. To everyone's horror they were completely glassy and unfocused. His legs were rigid, the muscles overstretched and paralyzed. He didn't react to anything, neither touching nor calling him had any effect. If not for his horribly ragged breathing and the irregular line on the monitor that showed his heart rate, they would have thought him dead.
Chance watched the vet filling a syringe. "You're not going to put him down, are you?"
"If he is beyond rescue…", Ames tried cautiously, putting her hand on his arm.
"That's not what I meant." Chance swallowed drily. "If you can't save him, I'll… I…"
"We'll leave you alone with him, bro", Guerrero nodded, fully understanding. As gruesome as it sounded, if this was his dog, he'd want to do the same thing Chance was hinting at now. Death through a bullet, fired by an expert, was a 100% pain free, extremely quick way, to end any kind of misery for good. Injections always carried the risk of not being strong enough or being oddly processed by the body. A gunshot was safer.
Just then the vet shook his head. "For now I'm only trying to stabilize his cardio-vascular levels. It will definitely be a battle uphill, but right now there's still a chance he might make it."
Chance wondered if the doctor was only saying that because he was one of Guerrero's… clients… and apparently Guerrero had promised him to end their … business relationship… and hand back certain photos if Carmine made it.
"I'm still impressed how fast you got those test results…", the vet continued.
Ilsa didn't feel like smiling but for a fleeting moment she felt a bit better. It did pay to have a Pucci wing at San Francis. The lab had treated Carmine's blood sample with top priority.
"You've been giving him pills against osteoporosis as a preventive measure, right?" The vet studied the test results again.
"Only for a couple of weeks… in combination with a diet." Ilsa desperately wished she had fed Carmine more. Maybe then he wouldn't have been after the mint so quickly.
"Might be they save his life." The doctor began setting up a drip infusion. "These anti-osteoporosis pills contain a substance that worked like a retardant against the main elements of the poison. The symptoms you're seeing right now are scary, I know, and his age might pose a problem, too, but as far as I can see his liver is still unharmed, his intestine, his stomach… the next few hours will be decisive."
… … …
Ms. Cleves was not understanding at all when Ilsa told her in no uncertain terms that she could either spend the night in the warehouse's guestroom, where she would be safe, or walk out the office and most likely, considering that someone had undergone great trouble to poison her personal chocolate mints, not see the next sunrise.
"But don't you want to find out who tried to poison me? This would make such a great opening for my article!"
"We want to find out who poisoned Carmine, yes", Guerrero chimed in, calm and matter-of-factly, as usual. "But tonight no one is going anywhere."
Grumbling and muttering like a teenager, Ms. Cleves finally retreated to bed. A blanket of silence fell over the office, only interrupted by the occasional clinking of glasses being set down, the low humming of the monitor that controlled Carmine's vital functions and the dog's labored breathing. After about two hours Ilsa had the impression that it was growing more steady, calmer and deeper, but she was worried it was just wishful thinking.
At midnight a second vet appeared, taking over the night shift from his colleague. Just like the first doctor he was a renowned expert in the field of canine treatment.
"You've been collecting vets?", Winston asked Guerrero.
"They come in handy", he shrugged in reply.
Yes, of course… vets could stitch up bullet wounds just like any regular doctor and most medicaments they kept in their offices could be given to humans, too.
Around three in the morning the ringing of the telephone suddenly ripped through the office's quietness. Winston got to the receiver first. "Number suppressed", he said.
In the guestroom they could hear Penny Cleves complaining about all the ruckus in the middle of the night. "How am I supposed to write good stories when I can't concentrate after too little sleep?"
Nobody paid her much attention, though, since at the ringing of the phone Carmine had lifted his head and looked around, expression still a little dopey, but a lot less zombie-like than a couple of hours ago. Chance was immediately by his side, cautiously stroking his back.
Winston took the call and activated the speaker.
"Mr. Chance", a very familiar voice said. "I've heard you're looking into the crash of the DC-9 in 1982… We should talk."
Tony Belvilacqua.
… … …
You don't tell Tony Belvilacqua he needs to call back later. You just don't. It equals up to ordering a hit.
On yourself.
Guerrero hooked up a video connection to the monitor in the conference room. From there they had full view of Carmine and the vet without letting Belvilacqua know what was going on.
"It has come to my knowledge that this wannabe reporter, Penny Something, wants to suggest that Galotti is responsible for the crash", Belvilacqua began. "She wants to write an article about the tensions between our families, recount events that better remain forgotten, reopen old wounds…"
Ever since the almost wedding between his grandson and Galotti's daughter the relationship between the rivaling families had become significantly better and they had actually started combining their efforts. Ilsa's powerpoint presentation had made a lasting impression… Nobody needed a walk down memory lane.
But, as it turned out, this was not the point.
"Galotti is innocent", Belvilacqua stated, and suddenly his voice was laden with all sorts of emotions: Regret, pain, anger and, most of all, deep sadness. "The crash was no accident. Bird strike, my ass… But Galotti is innocent."
The old man took a deep breath.
"More than three decades have passed and I still don't know who's responsible for Donatella's death. Whatever you need, Chance, you got it. But find my niece's murderer."