A Bad Day for Mercy (12 page)

“It’s the green-bellied saw beetle,” Stella said. “Practically extinct in this county. Let me just…”

She opened her Tupperware and removed a couple of items. “I can do a simple re-creation for you of the, um, effects on the, er, strata of sustainability. It’s the best way to show it. I mean, so dramatic. Say that your floor—what is this, anyway?” she asked, noting the unusual grain of the polished floor.

“Oh, that’s bamboo! Totally sustainable. I had the tile ripped out, it was like this seventies gold color? Really wrong, man.”

“Uh-huh. Well, anyway, say that the floor is, you know, the planetary mantle.”

She ignored Chip, who was looking at her as though she were deranged, and knelt down on the floor.

“Here, come on down with me.”

Doug obliged, evidently without a second thought. Hard to fault the boy for his enthusiasm or good nature.

“Now right here in the middle of the table leg, say that’s the loam. That’s where the green-eyed beetle nests, and—”

“Bellied,” Doug said. “Didn’t you say, green-
bellied
beetle?”

Stella blinked. “Yes. Yes! The thing is, that whole damn beetle is green. Everything, from the little feelers to the wings to the tail, all green. Part of our research is into its, uh, pigmentation. But anyway, so here it is nesting in its loam…” She waved her hands at chest level and then wrapped them around the brace attaching the leg to the tabletop. “And then the beetle rises up on the cottonwood shrub, to a branch. Here, put your hands on the branch there…”

To her amusement, Doug didn’t hesitate but wrapped his hands—nice ones, strong and long-fingered and sprouting a bit of nice dark hair at the knuckles, which went a long way toward countering the emasculating effects of his unfortunate pants—around the brace.

“Yeah, like that. And then comes the threat, the thing we are here to talk to you about today, the completely terrible…”

While she rambled, she opened the zip cuffs and then slipped them quickly onto Doug’s wrists, looping them through the triangular space made by the brace. In a matter of seconds he was shackled to the table.

“There,” Stella said cheerfully. “Now excuse me, if you don’t mind—when I stand up these here knees of mine are liable to make a variety of unwholesome sounds, but that’s just middle age for you. Which I guess you know all about, being a man of medicine and all.”

She stood in stages, crackling and popping. A series of squats that she had added into her cardio regimen had given her some temporary soreness while her muscles registered their surprise and irritation over the novel moves.

“I don’t get it, man,” Doug said, as Stella sat down in the chair and snapped the top back on her Tupperware. In the other box she had a small handheld battery-powered prod and a nice set of Crown chisels, but she was hoping that she wouldn’t need them today. Instead, she reached in the purse for her SIG and laid it on the table. No need to go waving it around just yet—she was guessing that just the
suggestion
of violence would be enough to put this tree hugger into a state of cooperation.

To her mild disappointment, he merely regarded her with wounded surprise.

“Aw, man, you’re here to
rob
me? Not cool. Not cool at all.”

“No, Doug, we’re not here to rob you,” Stella said. “You ain’t really got anything I need. I mean, I’m sure you get a ton of use out of that six-burner stove of yours, cooking up your barley and dandelion greens and all, but I don’t really have room for it. Plus I already got a friend with a skateboard, which I imagine he’d lend me anytime I want.”

“You don’t even recognize me, do you?” Chip asked, with an aggrieved note in his voice. “I’m the dude that takes care of the labs. I’ve seen you like, half a dozen times.”

Stella turned to Chip impatiently. “You might want to stop there,” she said. “Usually in these circumstances we try to limit what-all we tell the person we’ve just tied up about our
selves
.”

“And you,” Chip said severely. “I think you’ve been holding out on me, Aunt Stella. I don’t believe most ladies your age tote handcuffs around with them in the car. Does Gracellen know about this?”

Stella paused and fixed Chip with a baleful glare. “Let’s get one thing straight here right now, Chip. Your stepmom sent me up here to help you, and that’s what I aim to do. But I’m not about to have an ex-con gambler who I’ve known since you had braces and that unfortunate mullet passing judgment on
me.
Yes, there are … things … that I do that my sister knows nothing about, and if you want my help—and lemme tell you, from what I seen here the answer to that is a pretty clear ‘yes ma’am’ ’cause it don’t appear you and Natalya got the juice to do much of anything ’cept fuck things up more than they already were—so anyway, if you want my help, you keep your opinions to yourself and you keep everything you see—every word I say, every move I make—in the vault. As in, secrets that
die
with you.”

She had been getting more and more worked up while delivering this impassioned speech. Her face was warm, and little dots of sweat had popped out along her forehead. Heck, it was more effort to get Chip up to speed than it had been to subdue the eco-cowboy cowering on the floor.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do now,” Stella said to Doug, after taking a calming breath or two. “Chip and I are going to ask you some questions. You answer straight the first time, it stops there. You give me any shit, or give me cause to think you’re lyin’, I’m gonna make you regret it. And let me add just one more thing. You look at me, you see a nice middle-aged lady with a few pounds to lose, right?”

Doug gave her a goggle-eyed stare that took in her elastic-waist yoga pants, her comfy sandals with the gel soles, and her easy-care faux-wrap top with the decorative stitching around the neckline. He took a closer look at her face, which Stella knew was not at its finest, since she hadn’t managed anything more than a quick splash with cold water in Chip and Natalya’s bathroom, and a swipe of lip gloss.

He grunted in affirmation.

“Well, that’s what I am, I guess—but there’s a little more to me than that. I’ve got like a graduate degree in hurtin’ people. I know all about pain and how to lay it on folks who deserve it, and I know how to do it so’s it don’t leave any evidence.”

Doug’s eyes widened with doubt, but he stayed scared looking.

“Great. So let’s get started, okay? Chip, you just jump on in if you got something extra to say. And pour me a cup a that coffee, will ya?”

Stella took care of the basics first, more from curiosity than any particular bearing on the case. She learned that Doug was twenty-eight, that he’d grown up in Orange County and taken a year off after graduating from UCLA to backpack all over Nepal and Tibet and some other places she’d never even heard of, before entering medical school. He was single, and there were a couple of ladies he saw from time to time.

“They know about each other?” Stella asked.

“They—my schedule—I mean, everyone’s just keeping it loose,” Doug stammered. “I’m at the library around the clock anyway.”

When you aren’t riding that two-thousand-dollar bike around, Stella thought darkly.

“No time for a job, then.”

Doug looked wounded. “The study of medicine
is
my job. Do you have any idea of the hours that we—”

“So besides your basic med student allowance, you might say money’s tight. Got a steady check coming in from home?”

Doug reddened. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business. I mean, you come in my house, you pretend you’re here for a good cause…”

His voice petered out as Stella rooted around in the container and took out a small pair of needle-nose pliers and tested the tips with a flick of a fingernail, holding them up to the light and squinting at them. “Oh, it does pay to buy the very best tools you can afford,” she interrupted. “My dad taught me that.”

There was a long silence while Stella waited for her performance to sink in. When Doug gulped and went a shade paler, Stella set the pliers on the table.

“Those are more of what you might call a novelty than anything else. Good for detail work, I guess, but I got a lot more serious equipment out in the truck. So let’s try again. Money from home?”

“Yes,” Doug said. “Like just about every other intern I know, I get a little bit of help from home.”

“But I’m guessing it’s not enough to cover your, uh, expenses. Am I right? What’d these renovations set you back, anyway? I mean, I’ve seen bamboo growing along the edge of the creek for free, but I wouldn’t know how to cut it down and install it myself, I reckon that takes a specialist. And all these fancy appliances, and the toys on your back porch—that’s got to add up.”

Doug frowned, his bottom lip trembling.

“Look, Doug, pal, I could take all day making you cough up the details, but I’m on a schedule here, so let’s cut to the chase. You’re broke, you’re on the lookout for an opportunity to make some cash. Some of your friends are no doubt selling scrips on the side”—Stella had learned about that gig firsthand when she tangled with a murdering pill-vending crooked doc last fall—“but a nice young man like you, I don’t see you going that route. ’Cause you’re principled. I can see you care deeply about the world, about people, right? So when a fella comes along offering to pay you to do exactly what you’re supposed to be learning anyway, hands you an opportunity to improve your handiwork on a live patient rather than just a head on a tray—why, that had to be an easy jump, right? I mean, who could blame you for taking a short view on the risks and returns. It’s just a few shots here and there. And word of mouth, maybe you were banking on this lady telling her friends and soon you’d have a whole party circuit going like they do in the big city, ladies drinking chardonnay and writing checks while the handsome doctor lines them up for a little light work in the hostess’s kitchen.”

Doug’s mouth had fallen open, and real fear had replaced his indignant expression.

“Only … when things go a little sideways, when a patient has an unfortunate reaction, the kind of thing you might have been able to prevent if you’d done everything the way the
real
doctors do it—when she ends up puffed up like a trout who had a stroke—sorry, Chip—that little sideline gets shut down fast. Am I right?’

Doug didn’t respond, but Chip’s face darkened with anger and he looked like he was about to jump in with comments and suggestions of his own. Stella rolled right over him—second opinions weren’t helpful in situations like this.

“And you suck it up and decide you’ll have to go back to the bank of Mom and Dad, like you should’ve in the first place, only unbeknownst to you, the gentleman who retained your services is one very, very unsatisfied customer. Benton Parch, you remember him?”

“I—I never knew his name,” Doug said. “It was a cash transaction.”

“Cash—like, he was wanting his cash back, right? How much did you stick him for, anyway?”

“Look, I
told
him I’d get it for him, if he’d just be reasonable, but he didn’t want to wait, and he wanted me to pay extra. Like,
way
extra. Called it punitive damages. I mean, nobody’s sorrier than me about what happened to, to the lady, but it might—I mean, it probably, in a few months that swelling’s going to take care of itself and that texture’s going to improve and I don’t see where, I mean where am I going to get my hands on fifteen thousand dollars?”

“Where, indeed,” Stella said drily, letting her gaze travel from the expensive appliances to the man’s shoes, which she would bet cost more than all of hers put together.

“I
know,
right?”

“So he starts talking about going to the authorities. About
exposing
you. And then what’s going to happen—you’ll be tossed out of the program in a heartbeat, I imagine. Far as I know, doctors aren’t supposed to start getting crooked until they’ve been in the business for a while.”

Doug shook his head. “He never said—he only wanted his money. I said I’d try to get it, I
am
getting it, it’s just … it’s taking longer than I thought. I have to, uh, my dad, he’s gonna come around, I just have to explain it in a way he can understand.”

“Your dad won’t give you the money, is that it?” Stella demanded. “He’s tired of buying skateboards and gourmet coffee for his grown son, figures it’s time you learn a lesson?”

“Look, if this, this guy
Parch
sent you, you tell him I’m good for it. End of the week, I know I can have the money wired by then. Or look, I can send along collateral. I got stuff—my watch, that’s worth almost what I owe him. Hell, I’ll give you the keys to my car.”

“Nice try,” Stella said. “You’re a first-rate actor, Doug. Maybe you should consider that line of work, in fact, seein’ as you’re kind of a butterfingers in the operating room. Only you and I both know that Benton isn’t waiting around to get his money back anymore. You took care of that, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Doug wailed.

“Luckily, I know just how to make sure,” Stella said softly. “Chip, honey, I need you to go wait in the truck.”

Chip needed a little convincing before he agreed to leave them alone, but once he did, it didn’t take too long for Stella to get what she needed out of the young man on the floor. A few rounds with a basic C-clamp and a little horsehair crop led her to believe that he really
hadn’t
done anything to Benton, who he truly did intend to reimburse.

Stella had become a sort of truth machine, more reliable than any lie detector or serum that she was aware of, and she’d refined her art to the point that she was a master of the light touch. She did only what was needed and no more, so that when she was finished with Doug he was a blubbering, babbling, pants-wetting shadow of his former self, but his injuries were nothing that a couple of days on the couch with a gallon of ice cream wouldn’t fix.

Not only had he not taken Todd, however, he had never been to Chip’s house, didn’t even know where it was.

“I’m sorry this was a dead end,” Stella said tightly, as she snipped his restraints and packed up her supplies. “Sorrier than you know. Now, you remember what I told you? Tell me all four things.”