Blindsight

“Give me a couple more days,” Franco said. “If I can’t figure it out, I can get rid of Angelo and Tony.”

“But that would mean a war,” Vinnie said. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that either. That’s even worse for business.”

“You know something, Doc?” Cerino said. “That wasn’t so bad at all. I really was worried but I didn’t feel a thing when you operated. How’d it go?”

“Like a dream,” Jordan said. He was holding a small penlight and shining it in the eye on which he’d just performed surgery. “And it looks fine now. The cornea’s as clear as a bell and the chamber’s deep.”

“If you’re happy,” Cerino said, “I’m happy.”

Cerino was in one of the private rooms of the Goldblatt wing of Manhattan General Hospital. Jordan was making late postoperative rounds since he’d finished his last corneal transplant only half an hour earlier. He’d done four in that day alone. In the background Angelo was leaning against the wall. In an armchair next to the door to the bathroom, Tony was fast asleep.

“What we’ll do is give this eye a few days,” Jordan said, straightening up. “Then if all goes well, which I’m sure it will,” he hastily added, “we’ll do the other eye. Then you’ll be as good as new.”

“You mean I have to wait for the other operation, too?” Cerino demanded. “You didn’t tell me about that. When we started you just said I had to wait for the first operation.”

“Relax!” Jordan urged. “Don’t get your blood pressure up. It’s good to put a little time between operations so that your eye has a chance to recover before I work on the other one. And at the rate we’ve been going today, you shouldn’t have long to wait.”

“I don’t like surprises from doctors,” Cerino warned. “I don’t understand this second waiting period. Are you sure this eye you operated on is doing OK?”

“It’s doing beautifully,” Jordan assured him. “No one could have done better, believe me.”

“If I didn’t believe you I wouldn’t be laying here,” Cerino said. “But if I’m doing this good and if I got to wait for a few days what am I doing in this depressing room. I want to go home.”

“It’s better that you stay. You need medication in your eye. And should any infection set in-”

“Anybody can put a couple of drops in my eyes,” Paul said. “With all that’s happened, my wife Gloria has gotten pretty good at it. I want out of here!”

“If you are determined to go, I can’t keep you,” Jordan said nervously. “But at least be sure to rest and stay quiet.”

Three quarters of an hour later an orderly pushed Cerino to Angelo’s car in a wheelchair. Tony had already moved the Town Car to the curb in front of the hospital’s entrance. He had the engine idling.

Cerino had paid his hospital bill in cash, a feat that had stunned the cashier who was on duty. After a snap of his boss’s fingers, Angelo had peeled hundred-dollar bills off a big roll he had in his pocket until he’d surpassed the total.

“Hands off,” Cerino said when Angelo tried to help him out of the wheelchair when it reached the side of the car and the orderly had activated the wheel brakes. “I can do it myself. What do you think I am, handicapped?” Cerino pushed himself into a standing position and swayed for a moment getting his considerable bulk directly over his legs.

He was dressed in his street clothes. Over his operated eye he had a metal shield with multiple tiny holes.

Slowly he eased himself into the front passenger seat. He allowed Angelo to close the door for him. Angelo got in the backseat. Tony started driving, but as he reached the street he misjudged the curb. The car bounced.

“Jesus Christ!” Cerino yelled.

Tony cowered over the steering wheel.

They drove through the Midtown Tunnel and out the Long Island Expressway. Cerino became expansive.

“You know something, boys,” Cerino beamed, “I feel great! After all that worry and planning, it finally happened. And as I told the doc, it wasn’t half bad. Of course I felt that first needle stick.”

Angelo cringed in the backseat. He’d been squeamish about going into the operating room from the start. When he’d seen Jordan direct that huge needle into Cerino’s face, just below the eye, Angelo had almost passed out. Angelo hated needles.

“But after the needle,” Cerino continued, “I didn’t feel a thing. I even fell asleep. Can you believe that? Can you, Tony?”

“No, I can’t,” Tony said nervously.

“When I woke up it was done,” Cerino said. “Jordan might be an ass, but he’s one hell of a surgeon. And you know something? I think he’s smart. I know he’s practical. We might very well go into business, he and I. What do you say about that, Angelo?”

“An interesting idea,” Angelo said without enthusiasm.

12

7:45 a.m., Saturday

Manhattan

Since it was Saturday, Laurie did not set her alarm. But she woke up before eight anyway, again troubled by her nightmare about Shelly. Vaguely she wondered if it would help if she were to see someone professional.