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And that is the god's honest truth.
When he raises an eyebrow, I tell him what I spent the better part of my morning doing—giving my own personal memo to the council that I'm not backing down from this. Because even though I'm not allowed to kill him...it doesn't mean I can't fuck with him in my own way.
“I might have planted some seeds in a few reporters' heads this morning. Those seeds being that Travine's actually the one behind it all and that's why he's so hellbent on pi
I focus on the traffic ahead of us and grin. “And when they still seemed apprehensive...I hit them with a dose of logic. I wouldn't have a damn thing to gain from the assassination of both mayors...but Travine would.”
When I look back at Jackson I notice he's smiling now too. “He doesn't stand a chance, brother. Karma's going to hit him right in the ball sack a few times before he meets the barrel of my gun and I blow his miserable, perverted existence off the planet for good.”
“How is she?” Jackson then asks and my stomach twists.
How do you tell someone that you almost committed the most heinous act on a woman you're hopelessly in love with in a fit of jealousy, anger, and the darkest thoughts you've ever had a few nights ago?
Ignoring his question, I pull into the entrance of Bellevue Hospital. Despite Ford's participation in bringing down Travine the first time he ran for mayor, I know he's now one of Travine's pawns. Travine just wants him to suffer a bit before he pardons him for good. Hence why he's currently spending some time as a psych patient.
But unfortunately for me, since Travine is an official associate of theirs now, I know the DeLuca's have Ford under strict orders to be protected during his stay here.
Jackson looks at the building and laughs. “Can't say I disagree with him being here out of all places.”
When I throw a pair of white scrubs at him, his laughter comes to a halt. “What do I need these for? I thought we were just go
That's when I laugh, because Ford's not going to be roughed up a little.
I pull my own white scrubs over the jeans I'm wearing. “We're not walking in. We're sneaking in.”
Jackson follows suit but I don't miss the look on his face. “Why? You're a mob boss, I thought you could pretty much do whatever you wanted. You did at Rikers.”
Since I can't tell him that the rules have changed for me when it comes to Ford now—I simply say, “I don't want too much visible blood on my hands since Travine's keen on painting me as the bad guy on the news. I need to lay low, so it's better if we just sneak in as orderlies.”
I slip my shirt over my head. “If you don't want to, I can make this a one-man job.”
“Fuck that,” Jackson says as he finishes putting his scrubs on. “I've been practically salivating for the chance to beat the shit out of him.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I let Alyssa get her payback the way she felt she needed to because it was important to her...but it doesn't mean there aren't still times where I'm not chomping at the bit to turn his face into hamburger meat.”
I slap his back. “Let's go.”
All things considered, it really shouldn't be so easy to sneak into a locked down psychiatric unit.
Jackson shoots me a look as we walk down the hallway and I know he's thinking the same thing.
I expected and came prepared to run into some kind of trouble, but other than a few smiles from the nurses, no one's questioned us yet.
“What room is he in?” Jackson whispers and I shrug.
I had my men hack into his medical file and have it on my laptop, but there's no room number listed.
“We should have brought Tyrone with us, he could have used that Southern charm of his to charm the nurses.”
“Yeah, but then we'd have to hear one of his Dr. Phil talks about turning the other cheek and letting bygones be bygones.”
Jackson snorts. “True.”
We walk down another hallway and after checking a few rooms, we come up empty.
“You're go
“Why me? Before Lou-Lou, you were the regular Don Juan, not me.”
“Yeah, but now my way of prying information from people involves threatening and torture. Therefore, my flirting skills are a bit rusty. Plus you're way less intimidating looking than me.”
He gestures to the pretty nurse at the end of the empty hallway. “We'll do it together. I'll do the talking, you just stand there and try not to shoot anyone.”
He stuffs his hands in his pockets and starts whistling when we approach her. “Hi there, sugar,” Jackson says in the strangest combination of his own Boston accent and Tyrone's Southern one.
I shoot him a look, but he ignores me and gestures between us. “Sorry to bother you, but we're new here and I was hoping you could help us out.”
The nurse looks up from her med cart and I don't miss the way her eyes bounce between the both of us. “I wasn't aware they hired new orderlies.” Jackson opens his mouth but a smile stretches across her lips. “Thank god, because we are so understaffed lately. What can I help you two with?”
“We were told by our supervisor that we needed to check on a certain patient...problem is he forgot to tell us what room the patient was in.”
“What's the patient's name?”
“Ford Baker.”
The nurse pales and I instinctively reach for my gun. “I'm sorry, but I think you were misinformed. There's no patient by that name here.”
Shit.
She goes back to focusing on her med cart and that's when I step in.
I look at the name on her badge and give her a smile of my own. “Listen, Heather...I'm not sure you understood what my friend meant before.”
“What—”
I lean in close. “By supervisor...he wasn't referring to the shit stains in cheap suits who sit behind their crappy desks and make the schedules.”
“But—”
I grab her elbow and lug her into an empty room, with Jackson following close behind me. “Heather, this can go one of two ways. One—you can either tell me what I need to know. Or two—I'm going to stuff your body into that med-cart of yours...after I personally remove each one of your joints with a pair of pliers.”
Beside me, Jackson mutters a curse.
“Oh my G-god. You're a-a De—”
I cover her mouth with my hand. “Be careful, I'm worse than the candyman, sweetheart. Because unless you're in my bed, you never want to repeat my name too loud or too often. Got it?”
She nods and I take my hand off her mouth. “Now tell me where Ford Baker is.”
“It will be hard for you to find his room on your own, I'll have to bring you there myself.”
I gesture for her to lead the way and her hands start shaking as she locks her med cart up. “Please don't kill me,” she whispers.
“He's not going to kill you,” Jackson says and I scowl.
“Not if you start walking and bring me to his room I won't.”
We follow her down a few hallways until we come to another hallway and finally come to a door. When we enter that door, she unlocks another door. “He's under orders to be kept in here for 24 hours a day.” She looks around nervously. “Sometimes he's violent, but mostly he's just exhausted and sleepy, probably due to all of the medication he's on. It's the strangest cocktail I've ever given.”
Jackson's brows furrow and he looks at me. “Your doing?”