The Harvest Scar: Roman Lee

By Cole Steele

An International Medical Tourism syndicate has found its way inside the city limits of Kirkwood. Roman Lee pursues a trail of evidence uncovering a conspiracy at Memorial Hospital and an organization of unspeakable evil.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eric Viele
• Release date: Sep 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223458074

Cole Steele

Cole Steele is a versatile and talented author residing in the United States. With a vivid imagination and a knack for storytelling, Cole Steele has successfully created two enthralling book stories and a captivating short story series. Cole Steele is deeply grateful to the writers who first ignited his passion for storytelling and provided the inspiration to embark on this creative journey.

Book preview

One

Hurry up you two or we are going to be late for your soccer match.  He could hear the scurrying of two sets of feet somewhere upstairs at the end of a hallway.  The next sounds were of soccer cleats hitting the floor and shuffling across it.  We must not be late for the match this morning. Almost immediately his two sons materialized at the top of the staircase.

Ready Father  Jai and Avi Singh were twins born on a cold blustery night in late December.  Jai being the oldest by a mere 15 minutes.  They were very competitive and it originated during the delivery as the sonogram indicated Jai’s feet were pushing Avi away from the birth canal when his wife Prisha was in labor.  The boys bounded down the stairs with their uniforms on ready to play.  He opened the front door and the boys dashed for the new black SUV that was parked in their driveway.

Rohan Singh looked over his shoulder smiled at his two sons and glanced back at his expansive brick home and pulled out of the gated entrance to his driveway.  They arrived at the Kirkwood Soccer Complex almost the same time as their coaches.  Jai and Avi were 10 years old but played in the 12-year-old division recreational league.  They were natural athletes and sports came easy to both.  The boys ran onto one of the practice areas next to the field and began to warm up with their teammates before their match.  Rohan took a seat with some other parents on the bleachers behind his son’s bench.  The women seated behind him were in their late thirties and sparsely had anything natural about them.  Each had breast augmentation along with Botox and collagen filled lips.  They looked more like pornographic actresses than soccer moms.  He overheard them talking about the next procedure they had scheduled and which plastic surgeon they were seeing. 

Saturdays were the one day that Rohan refused to answer his cell phone.  Even if he was on call at Kirkwood Memorial Hospital for the weekend he would purposefully let it go to voicemail in hopes that they would contact the second surgeon in the rotation.  His colleagues sometimes complained about him regarding the issue but it fell on deaf ears of the administration.  Rohan Singh was a gifted surgeon and was like a machine six days out of the week. His IPhone vibrated inside his Puma track jacket.  He took the phone out and read the text from a familiar number.  OR room number five Monday morning 5 AM.

The gentle ocean breeze had breached our bungalow with a hint of sea salt.  I woke hearing the small waves clapping underneath us.  Bora Bora and St. Regis were Monica’s idea.  We had spent the last two weeks on the island resort doing any and everything it could offer.  Our last night had been spent at a five-star restaurant followed with a trip to a local club.  We had to be to the airport by 1:00 PM to catch our flight to Atlanta.  I slipped out of bed accidentally pulling the sheets from Monica’s beautifully toned body.  The Pacific sun had turned her skin into a beautiful bronze color with only a hint of a tan line. Foreigners were constantly snapping pics of her with their phones and even asking for selfies because they thought she was a model from the United States.  I covered her back up and kissed her gently on the cheek.  The stationary on the wooden desk had not been touched until now.  I left her a quick note indicating I was going for a run before breakfast.  Walking down the wooden dock I reached the white sand that was the perfect temperature for running barefoot.  The bartender on the beach was busy stocking his station prior to the day starting. He looked surprised when I asked for bottled water.  This your last day on the Island with us sir?

Good guess you’re very intuitive.  We both laughed quietly.  I took two bottles of water and drank the first saving the second for my run.  I had texted Donnie and Shariff back home and sent them a couple of pics of Monica and I on the Island.  They had replied that they could not wait until I got back home so we could continue our pickup games in the morning at the local YMCA.  They also added that I should at least try and run a little because they did not plan on displaying any mercy on the court.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.  I ran a few miles on the smooth surface of the sand.  Walking into the bungalow I could hear the shower running.  Slipping into the bathroom not trying to make a sound hoping that the running water would cover any peripheral noise I was instantly made.  Roman Pryce were you trying to sneak into the shower with me?  I threw my clothes on the tiled floor and stepped in behind Monica. 

Move Micah and now slip that jab.  Anthony Salvano the owner and head trainer of Champs Gym was leaning in against the outside of the ring monitoring the sparring session with a towel on his shoulder barking instructions.  Micah Pryce under the suggestion of his older brother Roman had begun to box again.  He had won a few local club fights and had recently mowed over some more seasoned fighters from a larger neighboring city.  His confidence had been building with each successful victory and recently his wins were becoming routinely easy against some good talent.  Mr. Tony as Micah called him was a task master demanding perfection always.  No matter what it was that related to training or simply tying the laces on his gloves Mr. Tony wanted it perfect all the time.  Micah thrived in such an environment as he was a perfectionist in his own right.  Micah was sheer raw talent that Salvano immediately recognized could be molded and formed with the right conditions into a contender.  He had seen it all before with many falling by the wayside because of an addiction or domestic issues.  Micah had a jaded past but he was different in many ways than all the rest.  He seemed to thrive on constructive criticism and he didn’t always need positive reinforcement.  His work ethic was unparalleled and relentless.  Micah was often found waiting in his car in the parking lot for Mr. Tony to open the gym in the morning and asked to leave when Mr. Tony simply wanted to go home at night even after spending the extra time with him.  Micah fought with a combination of skill, strategy and controlled rage that made him dangerous.  Salvano noticed that after just a few fights Micah would take the first round or two to pick up tendencies and weaknesses and turn them against his opponent.  Micah was running out of club fighters who could at least go more than three rounds with him.  A promoter had contacted Salvano regarding Micah stating that he had watched a few of his latest fights on YouTube and wanted to give him a fight on an undercard at the Palace of Auburn Hills in the next few months.  His opponent if they accepted the offer was going to be Miguel Rosario from Chicago who was an up and coming fighter in the welterweight division.  The promoter promised it would be an interesting match up to say the least with a guaranteed purse of fifty thousand dollars going to the winner while the loser would collect fifteen.  Mr. Tony was going to tell Micah when the sparring session was over.  Time!  Grab some water Micah.

Denys Kazan awoke in his apartment early in the morning hours with a splitting headache and a raging fever.  He went to sit up in bed and it made the pounding inside his skull feel like he was getting belted with an aluminum baseball bat.  At least his side ached considerably less or perhaps it was masked by the headache. The bleeding appeared to have stopped from the five or six-inch incision although the crimson stain was now stuck against the gauze.  He slowly peeled it away careful not to pull out any of the sutures.  His arms and hands were sweaty now from the slow and steady task.  His intense desire to quench his thirst directed him down the hall to get a drink of bottled water from the refrigerator in the kitchen.  Feeling worse by the minute his internal temperature grew hotter and hotter causing him to feel nauseated to the point of vomiting.  Deciding against the water at the last instant he fell into the bathroom and crawled inside the bathtub and turned on the cold water.  The ice-cold liquid was a temporary relief on his skin.  He drank some of the cool water but immediately vomited it right back up along with part of his lunch from earlier in the day.  His throat burned instantly from the regurgitated stomach acid that had splashed up into his esophagus.  He should have gone back to the hospital or a least a doctor’s office after he went home early from his job at the warehouse.  His girlfriend Michelle had mentioned she could stop by and make him some dinner but Denys refused stating that he simply wanted to take something for the headache and sleep it off in his own bed. 

The cool bath water had now filled up the tub and had made its way over the edge.  Denys Kazan did not bother to shut the water off.  He had expired at approximately 3:14 AM from sepsis and high blood pressure that caused the walls of his arteries to burst open inside his heart.  It would take several more hours for the water to reach the hallway of his apartment building.

Mega Dealership owner Royce Plainfield had just closed the deal to acquire a Mercedes franchise.  He would now be one of only a select few auto dealers in the nation to have all brands both foreign and domestic under one operation.  His domestic flagship store had all brands including GMC, Chevrolet and Ford.  His used car lots were spread out throughout the United States and he had his own subprime financial company.  The Olympus Group specialized in financing those who could not get a loan under traditional underwriting standards.  Royce Plainfield had watched several potential buyers lost due to conservative lending institutions hesitation to loan money.  His finance company thrived no matter the economic climate.  He had shut off and location devices installed on all the vehicles they financed.  The vehicles he sold were less than desirable often breaking down on customers in just a few months.  Even with bad publicity from this part of his empire he was a wealthy man.  He had everything one could ask for except his health.  He underwent dialysis a couple times a week at his mansion on a secluded 100 acres of land just outside the limits of Kirkwood.  The latest visit with his personal physician resulted with a prognosis that his kidneys were deteriorating rapidly and that he should get on a transplant list.  The transplant list came with a caveat.  Because of his age and declining health, it was more than likely he may never receive one.  The lists of qualifying recipients were in the tens of thousands and only a few hundred donors a year did not come close to remotely filling that need.  His thoughts went to his financial empire that had taken so long to build.  The prime years of his life finding the right people for his organization that shared his vision for the future.  Leaders who were successful were difficult to find and lure away from their endeavors.  Just like eagles they did not fly in flocks.  He certainly could not relinquish control to his careless hard partying sons for they pursued a lifestyle that would have made Charlie Sheen blush.  Royce Plainfield was a resilient man and was not going to be deterred.  He would go seek a second opinion or find the right connection to move up the list.  No matter the circumstances he was not leaving this world without a knock down drag out bloody fight. 

Marko Gulka was headed back to the airport in Shanghai to return his rented Black Audi and board the plane back to the United States.  His International business was booming with demand so high that he could often dictate terms and price.  His latest trip had taken him to a Ghost City on the outskirts of Shanghai.  Rapid development of several high-rise apartments had been abandoned because a lack of tenants.  If you had enough money and the right connections you could have an apartment wired for electricity, running water and high speed internet.  This would provide one with almost complete privacy and autonomy.  Marko had come to deliver his financial offering to the local authorities in person.  He was given two sets of keys along with a warning that there was little police intervention so if he needed any help he was pretty much on his own.  This is what he thought he had heard through the interpreter.  Marko Gulka was not concerned as he had been alone in a lot worse places than an abandoned apartment building.

The flight back to Atlanta from St. Regis seemed to last an eternity.  Flying in first class did help in terms of leg room and amenities but it didn’t make the plane fly any faster.  I had considered watching the Shawshank Redemption for a second time on the inflight movie that was playing but decided to test the Wi-Fi signal instead.  I watched the second half of the London Atlanta game on Monday Night Football.  London had a good team this year.  The franchise was purchased in its fourth year by Sir Leonard Hathaway.  An English billionaire who had made his fortune in biotech companies pushing the industry light years ahead of its time.  He wanted to give back to his country in terms of good entertainment.  He had paid for the expansion of Wembley Stadium that now boasted the world’s largest outdoor sports venue seating up to One hundred and fifty thousand people.  I watched as a wide receiver from Atlanta was carted off the field due to an apparent concussion.  He read the defense to early thinking it was man to man.  The defensive back had back peddled about eight yards or so letting the receiver go by him. When Atlanta’s receiver turned, and caught the ball London’s safety blasted him so hard it knocked his helmet off.  It made me think of my short stint with the Knights and my own health.  The after effects of the concussion that ended my career were now being held at bay with the assistance of a medical breakthrough in pharmacology.  I took a pill in the morning and again in the evening to prevent the onset of any post- concussion symptoms.  The league was still settling suits from a decade ago when the treatment did not exist.  Players had filed class action suits.  Instead of litigating the League thought it was more effective and better for the image of the game to settle out court.  Part of the settlement was an increase in any living player’s pension.  The vicious hit by the safety made me also think of Torrey Temple.  He was the son of my partner back at the police department in Kirkwood.  Torrey had accepted a full ride to the University of Michigan and was now their starting safety.  I had mentioned to Lonnie that Torrey should get a CAT