Taking Care Of The Mobster

I’ve noticed my heart malfunctions when I’m around her and have chalked it up to the effects of the pain meds I take every day. I’m beginning to suspect now that it has nothing to do with the meds and everything to do with Abby Smith. Since meeting her, I’ve experienced a lot of indescribable emotions.

I’m happy, though...more than I’ve ever been. And that’s all that matters

“I’m so glad you let me have this,” I say, raising my coffee cup. “It feels like it’s been forever.”

Abby turns to me with an amused chuckle. “It’s just been a few weeks without caffeine. It couldn’t have been so bad.”

“Of course, it was,” I argue, shaking my head. “It’s almost like a drug craving. You wouldn’t know.”

“Actually, I might have an idea,” Abby says, half turning away from the TV so she can look at me. “So, there was this one time when I was twelve. I got sick, and the doctors said not to have certain foods for a while, chicken inclusive. Now, you should know that I love chicken. All kinds of chicken, roasted, crispy, boiled, fried...everything. But for months, I had to hold my breath and close my eyes every time I saw a piece of chicken. It was torturous.”

I laugh at the comical expression on her face as she says this. “So, what did you do about your chicken predicament?” I ask after my laughter has wound down.

Abby shrugs. “One day, I took some money from Beth’s purse and snuck out to a chicken place across the street. Unfortunately, I ate so much that I landed right back in the hospital.”

“Oh no, you didn’t,” I say, shaking my head incredulously. Even as a child, she’d been daring and audacious. Those are traits I’ve noticed behind that fearful reservation of hers.

“Of course, I did,” Abby responds with a chuckle. “For years after, though...I couldn’t stand the thought of chicken.”

“Good thing I listened to my nurse then,” I say, shaking my head ruefully. “I couldn’t stand the thought of not being able to stand coffee.”

“I see what you did there,” Abby says. Her laughter mingles beautifully with mine as she shakes her head at me.

Suddenly, there’s a sound at the door, and we both turn in that direction at the same time. Mandy is standing by the doorway, sweeping the scene with a cold gaze, her eyes filled with ill-conceived disdain.

“When did you get in?” I ask, sitting up in surprise.

Mandy walks further into the room and lowers herself onto one of the couches and gracefully crosses her legs.

“I can see you both were so busy laughing that you didn’t hear me knock on the door,” Mandy says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I mean...what if I was one of the bad guys.”

“None of the bad guys have my door combination,” I say, rolling my eyes at her.

“What’s the party about, by the way?” Mandy asks, completely ignoring Abby’s attempts at a greeting. “I thought this was a sick man and nurse situation here. You both seem too chummy for comfort. If the nurse’s work here is done, she might as well leave.”

“Mandy,” I say in a warning tone.

Abby stands abruptly and smiles at no one in particular. “I’ll be in my room,” she says and turns toward the direction of the stairs without waiting for a response.

“I’m sure we won’t be needing your services anytime soon,” Mandy calls after her with a scoff, then turns to me, shaking her head. “How do you even let her sit with you? She takes up half of the space on the couch with her massive backside.”

“One more insulting word about Abby, and I won’t sit still,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her in warning. Mandy gets my warning because she lets out a huff and lowered her gaze in defeat. “What’s got your hackles up, anyway?” I ask.

“I’ve been calling you,” Mandy says in an accusing tone.

“Well...I’m not taking calls at the moment,” I reply. “As you very well know, I’m a dead man.”

“Including mine?” she asks.

“My phone’s upstairs,” I say simply. But then, I notice the urgency in Mandy’s seemingly relaxed pose. “What’s wrong? Is there a problem?”

“Trouble’s brewing,” Mandy says, reducing her voice to an urgent whisper. “Word on the street is that Cross is planning to sell the sole distributorship of his new drug to Don Pablo.”

“What!” I bark. “That shit is dangerous. Besides, he promised the sole distributorship to me.”

“Well, that was before you died and stopped sending him ridiculously large paychecks,” Mandy says. “You know that shit is going to sell like crazy. We need to own it, Carlos.”

“You forget the most important thing, Mandy. That shit killed the test subjects,” I say, shaking my head. “Two people died. Cross’s new production can’t be sold to people.”