Smuggling Blood Page 8

  "If you don't mind me asking, sir, what do you need the gun for? That's gonna be a major factor," said the officer, looking at him and giving a gentle smile. "People use these guns for all sorts of things, and they'll definitely want to know what you need it for."

  "I'm not exactly sure how you mean the question, ma'am," Jay said carefully. "It would be in my home. I wouldn't have it out anywhere else and I wouldn't travel with it. It would just be something at my house."

  "Sir, I'm sorry if my question wasn't clear. What I'm trying to realize is what would you use the gun for? Would it be personal protection, or would it be for sporting, or is it a firearm that you have in your family where the person passed away and now you have one in your possession and you want to make sure you're legal?"

  "Well, nobody passed away leaving a gun to me," Jay was becoming flustered with the number of questions coming from the officer, making it difficult for him to come up with answers on the spot. "I really think it's kind of a two-tiered answer. I think I would enjoy getting into some shooting for sport. Target shooting seems like it would be an awful lot of fun. But I also don't live in the nicest neighborhood, and I have serious concerns for my family. There's been a lot of break-ins where we live."

  "I'm sorry, sir, but I think the sporting angle would be a better approach for you," said Officer Sufi, pulling up another sheet of paper and showing it to him. "You see here? They have several different listings and then an 'Other' at the bottom. Personal protection is one that kind of gets looked down on by people. I think many people in the ministry feel like having a weapon for personal protection might be a way of inviting trouble, you know, having someone that's more willing to shoot first and ask questions later. If I were you, I'd go with the sporting gun."

  "A sporting gun? Do you mean like a rifle?" Jay asked, unsure of exactly what he needed.

  "Precisely. If you like target shooting, rifles are what most of the people use. But some people also use handguns. I think if you were a member of a local club that did shooting, you'd have a lot better chance with letters from them" Officer Sufi slid the paper across to Jay. "The reason I say it's so hard for personal protection, is there's a high burden of proof on what you need to be protected from. A rising crime rate is something that the district police here see as cyclical in different areas. Often the criminals move around. And having a gun in different people's homes to fend off the thieves is something that we worry about. Initially, yes, people may use them to keep thieves at bay, but then it's only a matter of time before there's some kind of conflict with the neighbor and the gun comes into it. It's where most of our homicides come from."

  "Well, I can assure you that this gun will be used for nothing other than sporting purposes, or if it came to life or death," said Jay, causing him to smile on the inside, knowing that the weapon would be used for life or death, but it would simply be more used for the death of his son and ending the life of Dr. Patel.

  "Sir, I think at this point, what you should do is gather the documents that you need, and we can set you up an appointment to meet with one of the officers that handles all the paperwork in requests for a firearm," said the officer. "Once you have that appointment, you can bring everything in and speak with him, and he'll let you know anything more that you need, and what your chances are."

  "That sounds terrific. What do I need to do at this point? Would you be the person that I book the appointment with?" Jay asked, feeling the anxiousness build up inside him in having things move forward.

  "I can't set that appointment for you, so let me just open the computer here," she said, pulling out the small drawer in front of her that held the keyboard which she immediately began to click away on.

  "Okay, sir, it looks like the first appointment we have is... Oh, dear. It's ten weeks away."

  "Ten weeks?" Jay asked, shocked, seeing the woman lifting her head at the surprise of how far the appointments were out. "There's nothing earlier?"

  "Well, you could gather all the information and then call us, and we'd put you on a waiting list in case somebody cancels," Officer Sufi explained. "But it looks like we've got twenty-two people on that list as well. The odds of all twenty-two of them picking up spots and then you getting in any earlier, I think, would be quite slim."

  "That does seem like a long time, doesn't it?" Jay said, knowing that if ten weeks went by, his feelings could drastically change, and his vengeance for his son needed to be extricated far more quickly than that.

  "Should I book you the appointment?" Officer Sufi asked, looking to him and waiting for a reaction. Holding his ground, Jay thought of all the things that the officer had said. The appointment may be ten weeks away, but to gather everything he needed would take far longer than that.

  "No, I think I'm just gonna start working on the list. And once that's done, then I'll call you and try to get connected in. I just see it taking a really long time to get everything I need."

  "I agree, sir. I've seen people try to get these items in a short period of time, and there always seems to be some kind of a hold-up. Even if you did have everything on time, you'd be waiting for at least another three months before you had any response on whether you're going to be granted a firearm," Officer Sufi said, trying to explain everything she could to him to make sure he was fully informed. "I'm very sorry, sir. You're not the first person to come in and realize that this process is incredibly difficult."

  "Thank you, ma'am," Jay said, as he turned away and nodded to the officer. Making his way back out the front door, the vengeful man could think of only one thing. "Where am I gonna get a gun?"

  Eleven

  "This is terrific," Gabriella said to herself as she sat in the car and watched down the street, staking out Patel's office. "Just another long line of men and women walking out of a doctor's office. You'd think they have something better to do than spend all their time with this guy." She continued to talk to herself as she saw a person she had seen move in and out of the office for the third time in two hours.

  An apple core, an empty water bottle, and two magazines sat on the floor of the passenger's seat as Gabriella wondered how long it would be before someone knocked on her window, wondering if she needed help.

  ‘This is bullshit. I gotta get in the game,’ thought Gabriella in her mind, knowing that the time was now to move forward and have her first engagement with their target. Removing herself from the car, she walked up the sidewalk with confidence in her stride, despite knowing that her looks held her out in front of everybody as an outsider.

  "Excuse me, ma'am," Gabriella said politely, holding the door open for another woman who had tears in her eyes.

  "You should leave here now," said the woman through her tears and keeping her voice low. "This is not a place that takes care of people. This is a place that preys on people."

  "I'm sorry, ma'am," Gabriella said softly, as the woman turned away and the words hit the back of her head. Moving into the waiting room, Gabriella moved up to the window that was closed over with glass, with the receptionist sitting behind it.

  Letting her hand knock lightly on the glass, Gabriella looked at the woman sitting there, talking to a woman on her right who was inputting data into the computer. The woman in front of Gabriella paid no mind to the knocking finger, and continued with her conversation until the knocking came again.

  "One moment, please," the woman said as she raised a finger to Gabriella, giving her a stern look and turning back away to continue her conversation.

  With a large exhale, Gabriella folded her arms in front of her, and looked across the room at the overwhelming number of people that were waiting to see the doctor.

  A dozen people sat around the outside of the room, most of which were either coughing or huddled over at the waist, looking as if they were in dire need of an emergency room rather than a local doctor's office. The clientele had a wide range. It appeared like half the room held middle-class people who were there with family members, and then the other half were
people that had come from the street. Unwashed and uncared for, they sat in huddled groups, not speaking to each other or anyone else.

  "Can I help you?" said a voice holding a strong attitude of irritation as the window slid open and the receptionist looked up a Gabriella.

  "Hello, I'm here to see Dr. Patel. I don't have an appointment," Gabriella said.

  "No appointment?" the woman behind the glass asked as if she didn't hear her.

  "Yes, ma'am. I said I didn't have an appointment. Is that going to be a problem?"

  "There aren't many doctors' offices you can go to without an appointment," said the woman in a smarmy tone of voice. "This isn't the free clinic."

  "So does that mean I'm not gonna be able to see the doctor?" Gabriella asked, trying to cut through with the woman and find out exactly what was happening. "Do I need to set an appointment?"

  Rolling her eyes and pulling open the computer, the woman tapped away, not indicating whether she thought Gabriella would be able to have an appointment or not.

  "What are you here for?"

  "I said I was here to see Dr. Patel," Gabriella said calmly, trying to make some sense of the way the woman spoke in circles, obviously trying to exert some authority over her. "Is there some kind of a problem between us right now? Did I interrupt something?"

  Taking her eyes off the screen, the woman looked up at Gabriella, making stern an eye contact. "No, did I say you did?"

  "Well, no, but it seems like you're a little bit irritated with me."

  "I just don't know if I'd be so aggressive with the person that handles the appointments for the doctor," the receptionist snapped, turning her eyes back to the computer. "So again, I'm asking you, what is the nature of your visit?"

  "I'd like to give blood," Gabriella explained, not willing to get in a war of semantics with the woman who controlled the appointment book for the doctor. Knowing that the battle would be fruitless and that there would be no way she could win, Gabriella dropped her defensiveness and let the woman win the battle, that she knew was more about ego than anything else. "I just know that the doctor has an incentive program for people that give blood."

  The heads around the room turned to look, no matter if they were middle class or that of drug users. The immediate knowledge that someone was there to give blood put hope in the middle-class members' hearts, seeing a woman who was clearly of their status and not the others in the room that they feared would be giving their blood.

  "If you're here for blood, I need to know if you've come before."

  "No, I'm sorry, I haven't. This is my first time," said Gabriella.

  "Please take a seat. I need to check on something."

  Sliding the window closed, the woman got up from her seat, and disappeared behind the door that sat at the far end of the little room she was in. Gabriella made her way to the closest seat, sitting down and closing her legs at the knee. As she looked around the room to the other people there, they didn't want to make eye contact. She knew that some were there to buy illegal blood, and some were there to give blood legally and illegally, and that created an atmosphere where nobody wanted to be identified. Another one of the places that held a dirty little secret that everybody knew about but nobody spoke about.

  After ten minutes, Gabriella saw the door to the side of the sliding window open up.

  "Ma'am, you can come this way," said the receptionist, pointing at Gabriella and waving her hand quickly, letting her know that speed was of the essence.

  "Thank you so much," Gabriella said, standing up and moving through the doorway in front of the woman.

  "First room on the right, please," the receptionist said, before Gabriella took the hard right turn and walked into the room, that was manned with nothing but a chair and a small table next to it for the patient to lay their arm on while they gave blood. "I'm not sure if you know this, but Dr. Patel comes in and takes the blood the first time himself. You're very lucky that he's here today. He'll tell you about the program and what can help you, and what the fees are for people that donate their blood. I could tell you, someone that looks as put together as you will get top dollar after a drug test comes back clean."

  "That's great," said Gabriella. "No worries about drugs with me. I stay as far away from that as I can."

  "That's great, ma'am. Just stay here," said the receptionist, returning back to her same tone of irritation that she had at the beginning of the contact.

  Sitting in the room, Gabriella looked around, inspecting everything that she could see. It wasn't like other doctor's offices, that held artwork on the walls and a variety of medical tools to check everything from blood pressure to wounds that people had gotten out on their daily journeys. This room was stark and empty. Plain white painted walls, and a bulb that sat in the one light that hung from a stand was not sufficient to give quality light for any kind of medical examination. On the far side of the room, was a stool that held a packet containing the needle and the bag to draw the blood into, and nothing more. It was obvious to Gabriella that this was a mass project that the doctor had engaged in. There was no need for fluff of any kind, and he chose not to hide anything about what he was doing.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  The door slowly slid open just two seconds after the knocking. Similar to in other parts of the world where Gabriella had seen doctors, the warning knock was a tried and true symbol of their training, an action that doctors would do to make sure you were comfortable with their presence coming into the room, despite the fact that before too long, you would be discussing the most intimate details of your health, and more than likely be standing in front of them with nothing more than a light, open-back gown covering your body.

  "Come in," Gabriella said, reacting to the man's knock.

  "Good morning, young lady!" Dr. Patel greeted, coming through the door with a big smile and extending his hand to her and shaking it vigorously. The charm of the man was immediate and overwhelming. His positive attitude shined through brightly, and the confidence that he exuded would let any patient feel as if they were in good hands.

  "It's very nice to meet you, doctor," Gabriella said, smiling at the man. "I've heard so many good things about you and the community."

  "Well, thank you so much. And I must say, I don't recognize you from the community." He smiled at her and pulled over a small stool to sit on. "Most of the people in the neighborhood, I've met. I've been here quite a while doing my work. It's hard, but it's worth so much. Are you new to India, New Delhi?"

  "Yes, just got here. I'm a writer and I'm hoping to do a book on the area," Gabriella explained, trying to sound like she wasn’t bragging. "It's a fiction book, but I'm hoping that by being here, I can be inspired."

  "You're going to take our little city of New Delhi and write a book about it? I love it. What kind of literature do you write?"

  "Well, it's the fiction, I enjoy that. But I was hoping to write something that really captured the flair of India and especially New Delhi. Maybe something with action, a thriller, set here, that takes in all the beautiful sites and areas around it."

  "Well, I can tell you that most people love New Delhi. It's a wonderful mix of old and new. We have people here that are in their nineties or over a hundred years old, and their minds are sharp as a tack," Doctor Patel tapped his finger to his head as he said this. "Take advantage of them. They have stories that you could probably put into your book that would be fantastic. They have seen it all, from British occupation right through to the modern day. I only wish some of them could live long enough to see New Delhi and India take that next turn into being a world power. It's coming. It's close. But we're not quite there yet."

  "That's wonderful. It sounds like this place just might capture my heart."

  "Has nobody captured your heart yet?" Dr. Patel asked, leaning in closer to the woman. "I know I wear this ring, but it doesn't mean that I'm not a man who still feels."

  "Doctor, please, you're making me blush," Gabriella said, resisting
the urge to lash out and punch the man in the face. "Besides, I'm an American, and I'm not sure how much your clientele would enjoy an American being with one of the highest-standing members of the community."

  "Oh, dear, you have things all wrong. India and New Delhi, we're in modern society, and despite the fact that ninety-nine-percent of the people here look alike, the one percent never feel like they're excluded, and never feel bad."

  "So racial harmony?" Gabriella asked. "Do you think I won't endure any kickback from others that think I shouldn't be here, or that I'm somehow having some kind of cultural appropriation, being a white girl writing about India?"

  "Well, it would go a long way if you were with me," he said, smiling again and reaching his hand out to gently touching her knee before pulling it away.

  "I think I'd rather get established first, doctor, and then maybe we could talk about going out for a drink or spending some time together," said Gabriella, attempting to sound coy and interested in the man's advances.

  "I think that would be just wonderful," Patel said with a smile, as he reached back and grabbed the bag containing the instruments to perform the removal of the blood from her arm. "Now, let me tell you a little bit about my program… People that come here to give blood know what I'm doing, first I have the blood removed from people and then it is sent on to the government to go through its testing. Everything is completely legitimate, despite what they tried to do to me in the press and the court. Those gentlemen, for some reason, were upset that I was helping people on my own, and having them have to wait in what was essentially ration lines for blood."

  "I had read about that," said Gabriella, "and I can honestly tell you, I was so alarmed by the way the government treated you. All you did was simply find another way to get people the help they needed. It's what most pioneers do."