Excerpt from Fortunate Son by Walter Mosley, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

“But will he die?"

“I don’t know. He might. But one thing’s for sure . . . he’ll never grow to be a man in the ICU."

 
THE DOCTOR DROPPED Branwyn off at Helmutt-Briggs and then drove back to his home in Beverly Hills. Before he was in the front door, he could hear Eric’s howls. Minas found the boy and Ahn in the nursery. She was holding him, and he was battering her face with pudgy fists. The boy had been screaming at the top of his lungs until his milky skin turned red.

“He won’t stop," Ahn told the doctor.

Minas took the boy in his arms. Eric fought and struggled and screamed and shouted and hollered. Hot tears flooded out of his eyes. Every now and then he’d stop long enough to be fed, but as soon as the bottle was empty, he started in crying again.

It was like that all day. Dr. Nolan examined the boy for gas and then infection, but he couldn’t find anything and the baby couldn’t talk. All he could do was yell and cry.

At four thirty in the afternoon, after what seemed like three years of tears to the doctor and Ahn, the telephone rang. Minas rushed to it, hoping for some heart attack or stroke that would take him to the peaceful operating room.

“Dr. Nolan?" a woman asked.

“Yes."

“I’m calling from the ICU at Helmutt-Briggs. We were told that you’re familiar with a woman named Branwyn Beerman."

“Yes."

“Well, Doctor," the woman said, “we think that she removed her son from the isolation unit he occupied. He’s gone from the hospital, and the number we have for her on file has been disconnected."

“What do you want from me?"

“Do you know how we can get in touch with her?"

Eric was screaming two rooms away.

“Don’t you have an address for her on file?" Minas asked.

“We don’t have the staff to send, Doctor, and the head of the unit has ruled out calling the police."

“So, again, what do you want from me?" Nolan asked.

“We thought that maybe you knew how to reach her. Her baby might die outside of the isolation unit."

“No."

“No what?"

“No, I don’t know how to reach her."

 
MINAS NOLAN, THE Vietnamese nanny, Ahn, and Eric all piled into the silver Mercedes and drove down to a street off Crenshaw. There were no buzzers at the front door, and the mailboxes had numbers but no names.

On the first floor of the dilapidated, modern building, only one apartment door in the long corridor of doors was open; just inside sat an extraordinarily thin black man wearing only a pair of black cotton pants.

“Evenin’," the man said to Minas as he hurried by with his son and the nanny looking for some sign of Branwyn.

“Hello," Minas replied. “Excuse me, sir."

“You lost?" the old man asked. “You look lost."

“I’m looking for Branwyn Beerman."

“You from that hospital?" the man asked suspiciously.

“I’m a friend of hers."

“Then why don’t you know where she live at?"

“I’ve never been up to her apartment. I’ve only ever dropped her off at the door."

“Oh," the man said, smiling now. “You’re that doctor always takes her home after she visits with her poor baby."

“Yes. That’s me."

“You not comin’ to take her baby away now are ya?"

“No, sir. I’m the one who suggested that she take Tommy out of there."

Copyright © 2006 by Walter Mosley