Redemption

By James D. Beeson

Overview coming soon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493164912

James D. Beeson

James Beeson was an Indiana farm boy till his father died when he was ten. He was never without a job. His mother cobbled together the means for maintaining a home for him for the next seven years without the intrusion of any governmental or charitable institution. He skipped the twelfth grade, enlisted in the navy, and was sent to Notre Dame University for his premed studies in their college training program. He graduated from Indiana Medical School in 1949 at the age of twenty-two. He is a board-certified anesthesiologist (retired). He had five fine children by his first dear wife, who died in 2002. Two of his sons are also anesthesiologists. In 2003, he married his wife’s best friend, who was a widow. He retired in 1996 and was a caregiver for six years. He began writing books in 2009. He enjoys cruising, dinner with friends, Cubs’ baseball, Jaguar football, good Scotch, and the love of his adored wife. He is chronically happy and healthy as of 2016.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Gino Doretti, formerly known as Gino Capetti, had been a well-paid assassin. The company in northern Virginia that employed him had been dissolved when their communication system had been compromised by a snooping federal agency.

He had plenty of money accumulated from his multiple contracts, so he could disappear from the northern Chicago area where he was a Capetti and reemerge in the southern part of Chicago as a Doretti. He had never been arrested nor fingerprinted.

He had perfected his lethal talents as an expert sniper in the U.S. Army, plying his wares in Iraq and Afghanistan. He terminated with ease and effectiveness when ordered to do so. No misgivings—no remorse—it was just a job.

After his discharge from the military, he bounced around from minor jobs to even more minor jobs. He became restive and finally was put into contact with the Virginia connection. Their business model was to provide their clients with the ultimate solution to perceived problems.

Children were exempt, but women were equal opportunity targets. One such lady was the younger daughter of the most successful illicit drug provider in northern Florida. Nora Ortega’s husband and his brother had perfected this enterprise. When he was assassinated by a would-be-rival group in Miami, she inherited the throne.

Tailoring Mrs. Ortega’s daughter’s exit to the client’s desires, a small but potent bomb was placed in contact with the lady’s car battery, under the guise of a battery replacement. It was a closed-casket affair.

Gino became restive again, not only was he bored with his life in Chicago, but he was also thoroughly disenchanted with Chicago’s weather. Go figure.

He decided to emigrate—but to where? He’d really appreciated the amenities that his brief stay in Jacksonville had offered. It had been nearly two years since the bombing incident, so he rightly figured that it had by now become a cold case. So why not?

He rented an inexpensive condo in Jacksonville and settled into enjoying the abundant water-based opportunities, such as sailing and fishing. Always a low profile.

He had made very few mistakes in his career and could not have been expected to anticipate the big one he made in coming to Jacksonville.

He elected to visit the site of the bombing on the second anniversary thereof. Bad decision.

Gino had not even heard of Jacque LeBeau, the mystic Haitian and confidant (among other things) of Nora Ortega. Jacque had visions, for lack of a better description, and his unique faculty had made him invaluable to the Ortega enterprises over the years.

Jacque knew that the assassin would visit the bomb location on the second anniversary of its occurrence. An unsuspecting Gino fulfilled that vision and was abducted by Jacque.

Gino was astounded that he was not tortured and killed. Nora and Jacque surprisingly decided to turn him into the local police after assuring themselves of his guilt. Jacque had sent photographs of Gino to the two good witnesses to the battery changing, and they had positively identified him. How did he get their names? Nora had friends in high places.

Jacque’s associate contacted Lieutenant Jay Hutchinson, who had worked the bomb case. The two of them agreed to the transfer of Gino from being a guest of Jacque’s to being a resident of the Jacksonville Jail.

Jay and his associates showed up at the appointed place and time to find Gino handcuffed to an old bicycle frame. Jay found that to be weird with a capital W, but there he was for the taking—Miranda, transfer, on to mug shots and fingerprints. His former captors had been nowhere in sight.

CHAPTER ONE

Lt. Jay Hutchinson and his fiancée, Gaye Maple, were having dinner at her country club with two other couples when his cell phone sang out. Jay ordinarily was reachable, and since the ringtones were the same for tragedy as comedy, he excused himself and answered it.

Officer Perry, sir. I was instructed to advise you that Gino Capetti has escaped from police custody.

He what? Jay said entirely too loudly.

Yes, sir. He faked appendicitis, was taken to St. James Hospital, where he knocked out the examining doctor, changed clothes with him, and walked out the door, telling the guard outside that he didn’t think the patient had appendicitis. The guard thanked him and sat back down.

And why wasn’t the guard in the room? an agitated Jay asked.

There’s only one way in or out of the room. It’s on the fourth floor, and the windows don’t open, the officer said.

No trace of him or where he went? Jay asked.

No, sir. We have an APB out on him.

I imagine Sheriff Garret will take a dim view of that guard’s performance, Jay said.

I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes tomorrow, the officer said.

Thanks for the information. The doctor okay?

Yes. They said he was rather excited to be a part of Gino’s escape.

The doctor needs to get a life, Jay concluded.

When Jay returned to the dinner table, Gaye asked, Something that just couldn’t wait?

There’s nothing for me to do right now. Remember that Ortega girl who was killed by a bomb? Well, her killer just escaped from police custody at St. James Hospital.

How on earth? Gaye asked.

Faked appendicitis, knocked out the examining doctor, switched clothes with him, and walked out right by everybody.

The guard couldn’t tell prisoners from doctors? one of the dinner guests asked. Gaye gave him a withering look, and he amended before Jay could respond. Sorry—that’s thoughtless of me—sorry.

It’s okay. I’ve wondered the same thing myself, Jay said.

At that point, the conversation turned to happier items, such as Gaye and Jay and their upcoming wedding.

CHAPTER TWO

Gino knew that the longer he was held in custody, the harder it would be to escape, and escape was the only way to avoid a lifetime in prison. He knew that the police were sensitive to medical emergencies with inmates, and who can argue if you report symptoms suggesting acute appendicitis?

Gino’s complaints of severe abdominal pain brought about his prompt transfer to the hospital where he bypassed the emergency room and was admitted directly to a ward bed. The on-call surgeon showed up in less than an hour and was examining Gino’s abdomen when the next thing he knew, he was waking up in that hospital bed in his underwear. His head also ached from the blow that had rendered him unconscious. He put on a robe that was in the room and stumbled out the door to find a very suddenly surprised and upset guard.

Rubbing his head, the doctor said, His appendix was normal.

CHAPTER THREE

Gino had the ability to blend in with whatever group he might be with—chameleon-like. As such, he simply walked out of the hospital and into the night. As if it had been prearranged, which it wasn’t, an anxious parturient and her anxious significant other had just hurried into the hospital, leaving their car with the motor running. Depositing his wife in the admitting clerk’s hands, he rushed back to where he had left his car. His car being nowhere in sight, he returned to the clerk and asked if the valet parking extended to his missing car. It didn’t.

Gino’s mind was working feverishly as he sped away from the hospital. He would have to go by his old condo to pick up money he had sequestered there, and then he’d need clothes, toiletry articles, whatever.

There was no crime scene yellow tape at the condo area. No key! Can’t get one from the manager. Break the door down, pick up things, and run like hell—that would be it.

The condos were built on the cheap with flimsy hollow doors and thin walls between units. The door splintered with his first shoulder thrust. He was in and out within two minutes. He was surprised that the commotion hadn’t roused a single person. His neighbors were used to hearing things that go bump in the night, and the door’s destruction sounds were ignored.

He drove to just outside Tallahassee and got a room in a dingy motel, paying cash, which was graciously accepted. Before he went to bed, he checked his car’s trunk and found a small tool kit which included a small screwdriver. He took it out, and being unobserved, he traded license plates with another motel guest. He figured correctly that anyone seeing his car and finding no plate match would go away, and the owner of the car whose plates he’d taken would be oblivious to the plate change for some time to come.

After a refreshing full night’s sleep, he departed the motel and drove all the way to New Orleans. He knew who to contact there for his new identity needs. A printing company in the less affluent part of the city welcomed him—and his money.

He left the company as Gene O’Brien, with a realistic passport and a Louisiana driver’s license.

The original Mr. O’Brien had expired three years earlier. Gino had come across his name when he found Doretti’s. A Social Security card would be easy to get when he had time. Right now, he needed to get to a clinic in Tijuana, where he could have his appearance altered.

It took three days of hard driving to get to San Diego, but the car never faltered. He checked in to another motel off the beaten path and paid for a two-week stay. He next made a few calls and found a chop shop that would take his borrowed car off his hands and into total obscurity. Having done that, he bought a solid secondhand car with new California license plates.

Gene figured a moment of truth would be when he presented his fake passport at the Mexican border. Not to worry. More scrutiny was given on the passports of people coming the other way.

He spoke enough Spanish, and the townspeople knew enough English that he was able to find the clinic in short order.

The clinic’s plastic surgeon interviewed Gene himself.

Marital problems, alimony—that sort of thing. He needed to drop out of sight for a while. Motives were of no concern to the clinic. Yankee dollars were, however.

We can do you tomorrow, Dr. Ramirez told him.

What will your fee be? Gene asked.

Five thousand U.S. dollars—in advance, the doctor said.

How about three thousand up front and the other two or three after, if I’m happy?

The doctor picked up on the three. No hesitation. Si, señor. Be here by eight o’clock tomorrow morning. Nothing to eat or drink after midnight tonight. You haven’t been on aspirin, have you?

Not at all—I don’t take pills of any kind, Gene told him.

Good. It will take me about three hours. You can spend the first night here at the clinic. I am good at what I do. I have to be. Some of my clients would be very upset if I did otherwise. Gene was reminded of the flurry of decapitations in the area not so long ago and understood.

Out the door and on to one more seedy motel for a one-night stand. Morning—no coffee—oh well. What price beauty? he thought.

Gene removed his shirt for the procedure when requested by one of the most attractive women he’d seen in ages. She was Maria, Dr. Ramirez’s nurse assistant. Any other time and he might have explored her tastes with relish. He handed the doctor the three thousand dollars without being asked and was thanked in Spanish as well as English.

Maria started an IV on him, and he didn’t even feel the needle. He saw her insert some medicine through the IV tubing, and shortly thereafter, he became amnestic for the next three hours.

He came back to reality somewhat as the bandages were being applied to his head. Openings were left for his eyes and mouth and little else.

An hour later, his head had cleared and his face began to sting—but not too bad. He was led a bit unsteadily to a room with a comfortable bed.

Bathroom’s over there, Maria said, pointing to it.

I’ll be back to check on you in a couple of hours. Take the pill there if the stinging gets too bothersome, she said.

Damn! She really is pretty! he thought.

Gene looked in the mirror in his small room at the clinic. His reflection reminded him of some old black-and-white movies of the Invisible Man. His face was swathed with bandages, with only small holes for his eyes and his mouth. There was no way to gauge the success of the surgery, but he was confident that Dr. Ramirez was competent.

He had dozed off and was briefly startled when he heard footsteps in the hallway outside his room. Brief because his door was then opened, and he saw Maria in her fresh starched uniform.

How is our favorite patient from today? Maria asked.

I’m your only patient from today, he countered.

So you are, she said and began checking his bandages.

No leakage—that’s a good thing, she told him.

He couldn’t