By Michael Beres
Retired govt brokers hang to a decades-old mystery that may wreak havoc at the usa political system. When a stroke sufferer regarding a high-profile mobster dies mysteriously at a Chicago rehabilitation facility, a fellow rehab sufferer and previous detective launches his personal research. but if his wife attempts to aid him, she is abducted, and soon other sufferers emerge. The mob, relations legacies, health-care scams, a setting, crooked politics, and federal brokers are all associated with the escalating violence surrounding Saint Mel within the Woods Rehabilitation Facility.
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Extra resources for Final Stroke
In the name of what? Why would he do this to her? Why would anyone do this to her? Was it the keys? My God! Who would take care of the keys! 23 M IC H A E L BE R E S As the screams of Antonio Junior being thrown into the air by his father died away, Marjorie Gianetti realized that her husband Antonio must have known this would happen. Yes, he must have known it would one day lead to this. Then the image in the garden faded, and so did Marjorie Gianetti. 24 CHAPTER THREE Steve Babe was doing stroke time.
He’d made it through the automatic double doors and rolled the length of the intermediate section when he heard voices being raised. Apparently a few of the staff were in a room across the hall from the nurses’ station. As he approached the sound of the voices, he kept glancing behind him. He figured someone would come up from behind and he’d be sent back upstairs. But, so far, that hadn’t happened. When he got to the doorway from which the voices emerged, he paused, trying to think of a good reason for being here.
Sergeant Friday, who would have to stoop down to look into a boy’s eyes. Sergeant Friday looking knowingly into his eyes. And so, taking a tip from Joe Friday, who often taste-tested questionable substances, he leaned to the side, reached down, and dipped his forefinger into the retreating puddle on the floor. And on the way down the hallway, as the breeze of being rapidly wheeled the length of the nursing home wing cooled him and threatened to dry the evidence he had so astutely collected on Marjorie’s behalf, he thought, Oh shit, to himself, thought about Joe Friday touching his finger to his tongue in that safer black and white world, thought about germs and bacteria and viruses contained in bodily fluids, thought about who might have pissed here on this floor, figured an octogenarian’s piss wouldn’t stand up to piss collected from a stairwell corner in the projects, hoped to hell Betty hadn’t seen him dip his finger in the puddle or he might end up in the loony wing, and, finally, put his finger to his mouth and took a taste of what, for some reason, he already knew would not be there.
Final Stroke by Michael Beres