Scan Girl

By R.A. Bittner

A hospital’s graveyard shift is chaotic on a “normal” day. Irritable, irrational people abound – and then there are the patients! Danni Parker has managed to survive this mayhem for the past year; working as an Ultrasound Technologist. The nights of challenging patients are longer than the sleepless days but with the help of her friend, a sassy Cuban American nurse named Mercedes Perez, she finds a way to have fun living a singles life in South Florida.
One night, between bouncing from one patient to the next, Danni makes the fateful decision to climb the stairs to the third floor where she over hears a conversation that turns her world upside down. Two men, one of whom Danni thinks she recognizes, are discussing the murder of a playboy millionaire. Narrowly escaping detection; Danni now has to convince the authorities that what she heard was real and that she can identify one of the perpetrators.
Unable to persuade the handsome police officer Leo Flynn, Danni must somehow find proof. With the help – or in spite of – her friends, Danni must act before the murderers get away. Or worse yet, they could decide she is next!

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.A. Bittner
• Release date: Jan 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310629754

Book preview

SCAN GIRL

R.A. BITTNER

Smashwords Edition

© January 1st 2014. Copyright by R. A. Bittner. All Rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names and descriptions of characters are drawn from my imagination and any likeness to actual individuals is unintentional and coincidental.

Dedicated to my best friend and partner - my wife.

Prologue

The doctors said that Juan Carlos Perez was lucky to be alive. The searing pain that shot through his chest every time he took a breath made him think otherwise. Nearly two weeks to the day, he had crashed his new Bugatti Veyron into a guard rail on I-95 in Fort Lauderdale. After spinning twice across two lanes of traffic, the sports car was hit broadside by a moving truck.

Juan Carlos was returning home to Miami Beach from a Boca Raton art gala with a leggy blond he had just met. Eyeing said legs and contemplating dessert he did not see the black SUV careen across all three lanes in order to make the turn off onto I-595 leading to the airport. The driver was a transplant New Yorker who had recently moved to the sixth borough and still drove like he was home in Gotham. He stomped on the brake and swerved just in time to miss the truck but found the guard rail instead. He suffered three broken ribs, a punctured lung, and a concussion that bought him a week in the hospital. To add insult to injury, his million dollar car was totaled and he did not get the Bulgarian swimsuit model’s phone number. Lucky for her, she did not break any bones but the air bag bruises put her face out of work for a few weeks.

The doorbell rang again for the third time and Juan Carlos struggled to get out of the arm chair he was forced to sleep in up-right. Though only forty-five years old, his injuries made him feel like eight-five. Between gasps of a coughing fit brought on by exertion, he cursed the name of his house keeper, Manuela. She had five sisters and way too many cousins who each took turns getting sick requiring her to take away from him. He would have fired her years ago but she was a good cook and reminded him of his native Columbia.

Shuffling across the white marble tile floor he took in the pristine view of Biscayne Bay through the floor to ceiling windows that dominated the living area. His white-on-white four thousand square feet home complete with infinity pool and boat slip, was modest compared to some of the neighboring mansions.

The grandiose entry, complete with spiral staircase and stone fountain, earned his abode the name Casa Montana by his friends. His childhood friend and business partner Hector Ramirez loved to chide Juan about his taste in design. The world is mine, he would yell each time he walked through the double oak entry doors, referencing the movie Scar Face. The thought touched off a chuckle which led to a cough, sending a new wave of white hot knives through his chest. He had to steady himself on the banister before proceeding any further.

Ding Dong, the doorbell rang again. Just a damn minute he croaked, unable to raise his voice.

Ignoring the video monitor on the wall, Juan Carlos angrily wrenched the door open to see who was fingering his door bell. Two young black men stood staring at him, not saying anything. Their urban attire hinted that they were not making cold calls to sell anything. The younger of the two had one hand holding up his oversized pants and his glossy eyes where darting around nervously. The larger and older of the two stood more confidently, chewing on a thin unlit cigar.

I don’t want my cars washed and I don’t need any work done, Juan Carlos said sternly. It wasn’t the first time the over- priced, useless security team that guarded the gated community let someone who did not belong through. Ordinarily he would let them wash his truck or boat but today he was sour about the intrusion.

We don’t want to wash your damn car, the older one said. The two raised their oversized shirts and pulled out black 9mm hand guns. The younger one fumbled to remove his and nearly dropped it.

Juan Carlos did not immediately react. This was not first time a gun had been pointed at him. Growing up on the mean streets of Bogotá, guns were a way of life. Sizing up the situation, he knew he could rush the younger man and disarm him. The older one posed more of a problem. He hoped they would take his wallet and some jewelry and get lost.

So this is a robbery. You punks want to take my stuff, huh? Juan Carlos said puffing out his chest, ignoring the pain.

No, what we want is you, the older thug said, brandishing his weapon.

What could you possibly want with me, Juan Carlos asked, confused. He and the Columbian Cartel had had a rocky relationship in the past, but things had been lucrative for both sides lately. He washed their drug and gun money through his real estate deals and made millions in the process. Besides, they had never used outside muscle before.

The older thug gave a wide smile revealing a mouth full of golden teeth. I want the five G’s I get on delivery.

Chapter 1

Ten minutes. That is how long Danni Parker had until the dashboard clock turned to eleven pm and she would be late - again. One more time and I will have to write you up, her boss had warned. He was a sucker for a sob story and should have written her up multiple times already. She was a few minutes late the day before and was pushing her luck.

The rumble of the engine in her shiny new cherry red Mustang GT kept time with the power chords of lead guitar riffs played by her favorite rock band. Inside, the car was a cool sixty nine degrees; outside, the thick air was eighty-eight degrees with a hundred percent humidity - typical for a South Florida August night. Reclined on the cool camel leather seat, she squinted to see through the foggy windshield at the expansive complex of buildings that houses one of the Broward counties’ largest hospitals.

From her vantage point the structure seemed ghostly quiet, but Danni knew looks were deceiving. Inside, a frantic evening in the big house awaited her and at that moment she could not be bothered. Closing her eyes, she sat back, tapped her fingers to the music, and asked herself again, for the hundredth time, how she got here in the first place.

A little over three years ago she was reclined much like she is now on her parent’s sofa when her father walked in with the newspaper and dropped it on her lap. Get off the couch and find a career or I will find one for you, he grunted as he lumbered into the kitchen. He had just spent the day in the freezing cold, running electrical wire for an office complex that was being built. Coming from a long line of blue collar tradesmen, he wanted more for his daughter than a life of hard labor.

How rude! she thought. Not daring to answer back. It had only been a few months since she dropped out of college and her father never missed a day to remind her. She had been an average student in high school and had no clue what to study. However, she was the oldest of two, and first to graduate. She had the pressure of Daddy’s expectation to succeed to contend with. So, she went to a state school with a lot of her friends and found it hard to stay focused. She skipped a lot of classes and partied too hard. College just wasn’t doing it for her. The classes were long and boring and seemed pointless. The only thing she truly majored in was beer games with a minor in Judge Judy.

She returned home one weekend and had a long talk with her mother who suggested that she come home for at least a semester and re-group. Her father thought she should just buckle down and try harder but in the end her mother convinced him that it was the right decision.

The want-ads where pretty thin. In the age of social media, companies stopped using the newspaper to advertise. Not wanting to start another fight she decided to at least leaf through the want ads that her dad threw at her. Business was not her thing; she already tried that. She could not see herself welding, so that was out. Along the margins were multiple ads promising just what she wanted- get your degree in less than two years - Nursing, Respiratory Technician, Ultrasound, and Radiology Technician. She never really thought about health care, in fact the thought of being around sick people did not appeal to her at all. (But two years?) She hit the computer for some quick research.

Radiology was out. A Google search was not needed to know that radio repair was not her thing; she could barely work her CD player. She decided to check out the others and they all seemed do-able. With a few calls to the local hospital she was