FanStory.com - Spirited Justice Chap 17by Begin Again

Background
"Beauty, Brawn, or Brains" was a global platform showcasing women's diverse talents, yet murders, accidents, and deceit haunted the pageant worldwide. Was there a common link or merely coincidence?

"Something's off, Boss."

Tango stopped outside the SUV and looked back at the high-security prison, its imposing walls and watchtowers casting a shadow over the surrounding area.

Poppa nodded. "I agree. I felt the tension wasn't because of the riot or Whitaker's stabbing. Our cool reception —"

"Cool — it was darn right cold!" Garth chuckled and adjusted his Stetson. "I almost thought I was going to have to clock that woman. She was a woman, right?"

"More like a tank in woman's clothing." Tango grinned. "She wanted to take you on, and I don't mean in any womanly way."

"She might have given you a run for your money — just saying!" Poppa opened the car door and climbed inside. "You are a little out of shape."

"Yeah, you better get inside, pal, or any more remarks like that, and you'll find yourself walking." Garth closed the door and walked around to the driver's side. As he slipped behind the wheel, his mind was already in motion. "We all agree that some things aren't adding up, right?"

Both men agreed.

"I want an undercover team inside, and I mean like yesterday. If something we need to know is going down, I don't want them to have time to cover it up."

Tango dug his phone out of his pocket. "I'll contact the Director, and he can connect with the Attorney General and anyone else in the Justice Department who needs to put their stamp of approval on it."

"Make sure they know it needs to be done ASAP. I know Crockett. He'll put it off till next week."

From the backseat, Poppa added, "I'll get the staff digging into the warden's background and our friendly guard. We'll go from there."

"Good," Garth replied, his voice firm. "Let's head to the hospital. If Whitaker survives, he might be our only link to whoever's behind this."

Garth's thoughts were on high alert. Was the riot just a cover for the attack on Whitaker? And if so, what did he know that made him a target? Who would risk something so big, and why?

The answers might be waiting for them in the ICU, but time was running out. Hopefully, Thomas Whitaker was still alive.

********

Jose stumbled through the narrow alley, his vision blurring as he fought to stay upright. The cool morning air stung his lungs with each ragged breath, and each step felt like dragging his feet through wet cement.

Blood seeped through his fingers, dripping from the deep gash on his hand — a wound far worse than he'd initially thought. His heart pounded in his chest. The beating he'd taken the night before had left him bruised and battered, but the blood loss from the fresh cut was what threatened to bring him down.

He forced himself to keep moving, one agonizing step after another, his hand pressed tightly against the wound to slow the bleeding. The alley seemed to stretch on forever, a tunnel with no end in sight, and for a moment, he wondered if he'd collapse before he even reached his car.

But he couldn't stop. He wouldn't stop. Not here, not now. He had to get to the car. He had to make it.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Jose reached his car, leaning heavily against the cold metal as he fumbled for his keys. His hands shook violently, slick with blood and sweat, and it took him several tries before he managed to unlock the door and collapse into the driver's seat.

The gash on his hand throbbed, sending sharp jolts of pain up his arm with movement. His mind raced, trying to process what had just happened and think of what to do next. The logical part of him knew he needed help and medical attention before he bled out or passed out from sheer exhaustion. But the other part of him, driven by fear and desperation, knew that calling an ambulance wasn't an option. Not with everything at stake.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think through the fog of pain and fear. He couldn't call his father. That was out of the question. Carlos couldn't know what he'd gotten himself into, not yet. But there was someone else he could call, someone who might be able to help him out of this mess if he played his cards right.

Angelo.

Jose reached for his phone with trembling fingers, his breath hitching as he scrolled through his contacts. The screen seemed to blur before his eyes, but he found Angelo's number and pressed the call button before he could second-guess himself.

As the phone rang, he leaned back against the seat, closing his eyes and willing himself to stay conscious. He had to convince Angelo to help him. He had to stay in control, keep his wits about him, and not let on how bad things were.

The ringing stopped, and Angelo's voice came through the line, sharp and alert. "You've got guts, man."

"You — know I — was on the jet?" Jose swallowed hard, fighting to keep the tremor out of his voice."

"I know — and a lot more. Who were those men at the airport?"

Jose closed his eyes, squeezing them tight as he tried to focus on what Angelo might know. "Nobody important." A wave of nausea swept through him. Time was running out. "I — I need your help, Angelo. I'm in trouble."

Angelo snapped, "Call your friends. I'm not one of them. Goodbye." The suggestion hit Jose like a slap in the face.

"Angelo, don't hang up!" Jose gasped, his panic flaring into anger. "If not me, think of my father. He would expect you to help me."

"You're right. He would, but you're not worth the risk of my life or anyone else's, Jose. So, you call your father and tell him I quit."

"I can't!" Jose's voice was fading. "I'm begging —"

After a long pause, Angelo spoke, his voice deceptively calm. "I'll come, but it's going to cost you."

Jose gritted his teeth, but he choked from the pain. "Anything — just come. My car — in the alley — Eagle Plaza."

"Naomi's place?" Angelo's rage spilled into the phone. Steadying his voice, he added, "I'm on my way."

Jose let the phone slip from his fingers as the call ended, his head lolling back against the seat. He had no choice but to trust Angelo now. But in the back of his mind, a gnawing fear took root.

Had he just made a deal with the devil?

*****

Angelo stared at his phone and then at Naomi. Dr. Jake had been there earlier to check on her progress, insisting she should be hospitalized. Aware of the risks, Angelo had refused. Jose's phone call told him the stakes were even higher now.

He slumped into the chair beside Naomi's bed, lifting her fragile hand into his and whispering her name. His mind raced, torn between the urgent need to deal with Jose and his growing frustration with the situation. He'd promised Jose he'd come, but how could he leave Naomi in such a precarious state? And why did he feel so torn between vengeance and necessity?

Without realizing he'd spoken aloud, Angelo said, "Eleanor, I need you."

Eleanor's ethereal presence appeared in the room, her shimmering aura casting a soft, calming light. She materialized behind Angelo.

"I'm here, Angelo," she said softly.

Angelo looked up at her, desperation in his eyes. "Naomi's condition is worsening, and I need to find Jose. I can't leave her like this, but I also can't afford to waste any time."

Eleanor's gaze was calm and focused. She moved closer, laying her hand on his shoulder. "She needs more help than you or your doctor friend can give her. I have a friend who knows someone with a private hospital. She'll be safe there."

"It would have to be a fortress for her to be safe."

Eleanor pressed her thin lips together and nodded. "I assure you, Angelo, it is. It's protected by the one and only Frank DiVito."

Angelo's eyes widened in surprise. "The mobster?"

Eleanor chuckled softly. "Yes, he has that reputation, but he is also a close childhood friend of Garth Woodman, my FBI contact. He has a benevolent side and manages one of the finest medical facilities in the world."

Angelo was taken aback. "A gangster running a top-tier hospital? That doesn't sound right."

"Sometimes people are more than they appear," Eleanor said with a gentle smile. "Frank's facility is indeed a fortress, and Naomi would be safe there. He has a sense of honor that makes him an unlikely protector but a trustworthy one."

"Oh, Eleanor, I don't know what to do. I need to get to Jose, yet I'd prefer to watch him die. I need to know what he knows and to do that; I need to keep him alive."

"Believe me, I understand."

"You do? Because I certainly don't."

"Listen to me, Angelo. I can't reveal the future, but I can steer you in the right direction. I can help you with Naomi if you trust me. You must go to Jose — before it's too late."

"But — Naomi." His worried eyes shifted to the woman on the bed.

"I'll contact Garth to facilitate the transfer to Frank DiVito's hospital. It's highly secure and will provide the best care for Naomi."

Angelo's eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you."

Eleanor squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "You're making the right decision. Go and get to Jose."

With a deep breath, Angelo made his decision. He knew he had to trust Eleanor and take action. "Alright. Get Naomi to Frank's hospital. I'll deal with Jose."

He quickly gathered his things and prepared to leave. As he was about to step out, Eleanor's voice stopped him.

"Remember, Angelo, to be careful. Time is of the essence."

*****

Angelo's mind raced with a flurry of thoughts, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly as he navigated the streets. The Eagle Plaza building loomed in the distance like a menacing sentinel. A fleeting image of Naomi crossed his mind, her pale face and labored breaths haunting him. He swatted the air as if to dispel the vision, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He had to save Jose, no matter what it took.

A blaring car horn jolted him back to the present, the other driver shaking a furious fist as he sped past. Angelo's anger surged momentarily, but he quickly steered his vehicle back into its designated lane, his focus sharpening. This was no time for distractions.

Turning onto a narrow side street, he headed toward the alley entrance where Jose was supposed to be. As he approached, his eyes narrowed, scanning the surroundings. Two shadowy figures caught his attention, their faces obscured. They were wrestling a limp body into a beat-up sedan, its paint peeling and windows cracked. His heart sank as he recognized the bloodied figure — Jose.

Angelo cursed under his breath. He hadn't gotten to Jose in time. The urgency in his chest transformed into a cold, steely resolve. He made a split-second decision to follow the car, hoping it would lead him to wherever they were taking Jose. Maybe there still would be a chance.

He trailed the sedan at a safe distance. The car snaked through a series of backstreets before pulling into the underground parking lot of a seedy hotel. Angelo parked his car a few spaces away and watched as the two men dragged Jose's barely conscious body from the sedan and loaded him into a black SUV with tinted windows.

Angelo's eyes narrowed as he watched their movements. These weren't just low-level thugs; their efficient, calculated manner revealed them as professionals. They moved with a purpose, their faces expressionless as they handled Jose.

As the SUV pulled out of the lot, Angelo quickly grabbed his phone, snapping a photo of the license plate just before the vehicle disappeared around the corner. He knew he had to act fast; time was slipping away.

Dialing a secure number to Mexico, he waited as the line connected. Carlos was Jose's only hope now.

It rang once before Carlos' gruff voice answered. "Hello."

Angelo didn't hesitate. Keeping the SUV in sight, he said, "Carlos, it's Angelo. We've got big trouble."

"With my son?" Angelo detected a quiver in Carlos' voice.

"He called me for help, and when I got there, I saw two thugs putting his bloody body into a car. I'm following them. My guess is these guys are professionals. I got a plate number, but you'll have to send in someone fast."

The silence on the other end of the line was chilling. Finally, Carlos spoke, his voice cold and measured. "Send me the details. I'll handle it from here. Keep following them, but do not engage. Do you understand?"

Angelo's jaw clenched. He knew Carlos was right, but the thought of letting someone get to Jose first didn't sit well with him. But he muttered, "Understood. I'll keep you updated."

Hanging up, Angelo sent Carlos the plate number and other details, then resumed his pursuit. The black SUV was still a few car lengths ahead, but he knew this was only the beginning. Whatever Jose had gotten himself into, it was now a matter of life and death — and Angelo was caught in the middle of it all.