Chapter 34 - Tender Mercies

Nicky stood by the gurney, looking down at Sticks. Across the room, The Medic had his hands in the sink. Bits of song drifted across the room every time he turned his head. Gage did not recognize the language.

“Well?” Modulating his tone proved difficult, but explaining would be worse.

“He’s breathing.” Nicky walked to the sink.

The Medic had finished the cursory cleaning of his instruments. He set down the tray, picked up a stethoscope and came around the gurney.

“Sticks is a tough old bastard. He’ll pull through, providing I get him to hospital soon.” Without asking, he leaned in to check Gage’s heart. He stepped back, crossing his arms. "You’ll live too, but you should lay off the drugs.”

“Very funny. You are well aware of what happened tonight.”

“I am aware of nothing I am not paid to know,” The Medic said. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a vial. “Split this with the young lady upstairs, providing she is still alive.” There was no judgment in his words. It was not his business. He handed the vial to Gage.

“What is it?”

“Poison. What did you think?” The Medic raised his eyebrows, then laughed. “It’s something I’ve been working on for years. Field tests have proven it effective.”

“Field tests?”

“On junkies, mostly. It’s a shame no government will certify me. That little gem could dent the pump epidemic. Might even be enough to win me a Nobel prize.”

“How would you get the prize? Europe is still off limits to you unless something has changed.”

“A misunderstanding between governments.” The Medic shrugged.

“Governments who would be interested in your cure. This could be your ticket back.”

The Medic snorted. “Any government that got its hands on this would do everything in its power to ensure it was never manufactured. Pump is a tool of war, and war is profitable, if not for the people fighting it. We are all better served if it gets around through the black market. Some lab will eventually claim to have made it and there will be no hiding it then.”

“So you give it away and with it potential millions.”

“No. I’m a professional. I add it to the cost of the visit. What do I need with millions? That kind of wealth would ensure my death.”

“Give me a few minutes to take care of this.” Gage held up the bottle. “Then I will drive Sticks to the hospital and drop you off.”

“You can’t go. I have a van coming. The man driving will have his story, but he doesn’t want to be known. I will tell you where Sticks is, but it is too dangerous for you or the young lady to visit him.”

“Tell me,” Nicky offered. “I can check up on him and report back.”

The Medic nodded. “I need information if this is to go smoothly. How well do you know him?”

“We have crossed paths from time to time, but are not close,” Gage said. “The girl knows more. I will get her out of the shower.” He turned to leave.

“Let her finish. It will be some time before the van arrives. He is in no immediate danger. You, on the other hand, should get out of this business before it kills you. Again. Find something less dangerous to do with your time. Like wrestling alligators.”

Gage smiled. “I will take it into consideration.”

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The water was still running when he got upstairs. Deira was sitting in the tub, knees drawn up, crying. She turned to look at him, stricken. He drank half the liquid from the vial and handed it to her.

“This will help.”

“Will it erase what I did tonight?” she hiccupped.

He sighed. “No. It will counteract the drug.”

She drank and handed him back the bottle. “Is he alive?”

“He is. You need to finish your shower. The Medic needs to talk to you.”

“I’m almost done, but you look like hell. Get in.” She stood, adjusted the showerhead, and held the curtain aside.

The water was still warm but would not be for much longer. He let it run over him for a few minutes. She handed him the soap after putting some in her hands. While he scrubbed his arms and face, she washed his back, her fingers digging into his muscles. When she had finished, she leaned against him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“I absolve you,” she said.

“You cannot.”

“Not for everything, but for whatever sin you think you’ve visited on me, I absolve you.”

“Only God can give absolution. Only priests can recommend it.”

“We’ve lost our faith, so take grace when and where you can get it.” She released him, rinsing her hands. They were scrubbed raw.

“Chemical burn?” he asked, taking one hand gently and turning it over. He pulled her into the water to rinse off.

“No. I had a Lady Macbeth moment.” She took a ragged breath. ‘I shot a man tonight, point blank. I’ve never done that before. Somehow it seemed more real than killing with a knife. How stupid is that?”

“He would have raped and killed you, likely with help. You did not have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.” She stepped out, wrapped herself in a towel, and walked out the door, leaving a trail of damp footprints.

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The Medic was talking with Nicky, but his gaze was fixed on Sticks. Afraid of what she might find, Deira approached the gurney. Her hand fluttered over her mentor, finally coming to rest on his cheek.

“You’d better pull through, old man, or you’ll never know how the story ends. And I won’t let you haunt me while you figure it out.” She knew he couldn’t hear her. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow.

“You are friends?” The Medic appeared at her side. He had a soothing voice but did not presume to console her.

“Yeah.” She couldn’t say more.

“Does he have guns?”

“Of course he has guns.”

“Do you know what kind? Can you get to them?”

“Two nine millimeters, a .22 caliber. Too many rifles and shotguns to catalog. The handguns are accessible. Probably a couple of shotguns if I looked in the usual places.”

“I need a nine millimeter handgun.”

“I have one.” She looked up.

“No, it must be his. The hospital will be required to report a gunshot wound to the police.”

“I don’t think I should drive,” she said.

“That is taken care of.” Gage’s voice wrapped around her, heavy but not comforting.

“I have a pass key to the building. The gun safe is in his office. Same pass key will get you in there. Key to the safe is taped to the wall behind the water cooler, in the room across the hall.” She turned and walked out of the room, numb.

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Gage met her on the stairs, took the pass key, and told her to wait in the apartment. She retreated without a word.

Handing the key to Nicky, he hesitated. “We will need to talk tomorrow.”

“See to your girl. She’s not handling this well. I’ll call tomorrow or if anything comes up you should know about.” She got into her car, the engine too loud in the night.

The van pulled up a few minutes later. Gage helped load Sticks.

The Medic handed him another vial. “You may find some use for this. You have connections I don’t.”

“You know a bit too much about my business dealings, my friend.” He put the vial in his pocket.

“Enough to know you’re as fond of rescuing people as I am and as wary of governments.”

“Is the usual payment arrangement sufficient?” Gage asked.

“Nicky has taken care of that.” The Medic hesitated. “It’s not my place to say, but that’s never stopped me. If that young woman is yours, I can’t think of a better reason to get out of this business.” He got in the van. Gage locked the gate and the storefront. Nicky and The Medic had cleaned it up well enough. Professionals could do the rest.

He reset the alarm and climbed the stairs, drained but not tired. The drug was still working. The Medic’s antidote only took away the side-effects. Time would take care of the rest.

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Deira paced from the living room to the kitchen. The apartment shrank in on her. She picked up a knife and threw it at the wall. It landed with a satisfying thunk, handle quivering.

“Practicing? Or did the wall offend you?” Gage stood by the open door.

“I hate feeling helpless.” She retrieved the knife and set it on the counter. “At least I don’t feel like throwing up anymore. What was that stuff you gave me?”

“My future.” He turned on the radio, flipping through stations until he found what he wanted. Classical music filled the room, a testament to her insistence on good speakers. She didn’t press him about his answer. Or his choice of music. It suited him.

“We will not be able to sleep.” He walked over to the couch, his glance an invitation.

She shook her head. “I can’t sit. I’ll go nuts thinking about Sticks.”

“We cannot do anything but wait. I will call Nicky in the morning for an update.” He sat on the couch, laid his head back and closed his eyes. His hands moved with the music. He knew the piece.

She had to move. Pacing had not helped. She took a broom from the hall closet and went to clean her room. Splinters littered the floor. She stacked the larger pieces and swept up the rest. Then she turned to the regular mess. Most of her clothing joined the shards of wood in the trash bag. She stripped the bed, throwing out the sheets. There were too many traces on them. She threw a clean quilt over the mattress.

The pile on the bed grew, made up mostly of her remaining clothes. She found her knife by the dresser and added it to the stack. It would be enough. She threw everything in her suitcase and returned it to the closet. Then she went to clean out the bathroom.

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For once, he did not want to help her. She had to do what she thought was right. She was following the plan, and he would not stop her. But he couldn’t watch.

He let the music wash over him, intricate patterns giving way to soft strains. He picked out the themes and followed them, all the while listening to the rhythm from the other room. She moved in time to the music. He wondered if she noticed.

In his mind, they were dancing. The strings slashed at him, leaving ribbons of welts. Each strike of the drums landed like a blow until bone deep bruises throbbed, keeping time. The keening oboe pierced him, a final sacrifice. Underlying all, the clarinet mourned. He turned his body to shield her so she would never have to know he bled.