Callie's Last Dance (a Donovan Creed Novel) (15 page)

47.

“HI BEAUTIFUL!” I say.

“Hi Romeo,” Callie says.

She’s pale, her voice is slurred.

She says, “I’m so sorry, Donovan.”

A tear trickles down her cheek.

“We’ve got a plan.”

“If it involves kickboxing, you’ll have to start without me,” she says, forcing a weak smile.

“We’re taking you to Sensory as soon as you’re stable enough for MedEvac.”

“Why?”

“We found a doctor who might be able to get you on your feet again.”

Her eyes light up. “No shit?”

“No shit.”

She sees Dr. P. standing behind me.

“Who’s your boyfriend?”

“Dr. Petrovsky.”

Callie frowns. “You’re still palling around with Darwin?”

Dr. P. looks around, nervously. “Please, my dear,” he says. “Let’s refrain from using the D word.”

“You trust him?” she says.

“Sometimes.”

“Is this one of those times?”

“Yes.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Rest. Enjoy the drugs. But get stronger.”

“You want me to multi-task at a time like this? Good thing I’m a woman.”

“Why’s that?”

“Women are better multi-taskers than men.”

“Bullshit.”

“You disagree?” she says.

“Of course. Men can have sex and a headache at the same time.”

“The headache is an excuse. We say that when we don’t want to have sex. You didn’t know?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’ve still proven me right.”

She arches an eyebrow. “How so?”

“Men don’t have to have sex, but when it’s available, we don’t want to leave it on the table. So if we’ve got a headache, or if there’s a ball game on in the next room we can deal with the headache, listen to the game, and have sex, all at the same time. We’re the ultimate multi-taskers.”

“When it comes to sex.”

“And football. And eating.”

“I can’t think of three things less important to a happy life.”

“You just need the right dinner, the right team, and the right sexual partner.”

“Any suggestions?”

She gives me her come-hither look.

I smile and give her a kiss.

She says, “You owe me a dance. Even if I’m in a wheelchair.”

“At Sal’s party you danced alone. I let you down.”

“I agree. So how do you plan to make it up to me?”

“By doing everything in my power to help you regain the full use of your dancing legs.”

“And if I do?”

“You’ll never dance alone again.”

“Say it better.”

“From now on I’ll dance with you every time you ask.”

“For the rest of your life?”

I nod.

She laughs.

“What?”

“You
hate
dancing.”

“But I love you.”

“I appreciate your love. But don’t start wearing a dress, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now quit hanging around,” she says. “Go fetch my doctor!”

48.

DR. GIDEON BOX enters his office so briskly he doesn’t see us sitting on his sofa.

Then he does.

Instead of being startled, he frowns and says, “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Creed. This is Dr. P. We’ve come for a consult.”

“I don’t do consults unless they’ve been cleared by our advisory board. And how the fuck did you get in here?”

“We walked in,” I say. Then add, “That’s pretty salty language for a pediatrician.”

“Pediatric surgeon,” Dr. P. says, correcting me.

Dr. Box tries to correct me further, saying, “You didn’t just walk in here. We’ve got security.”

“You mean we’re not really here?” I say.

“How about I call security, and let them sort it out,” he says, reaching for the phone.

Before he can press the button to summon security, I’ve crossed the room and ripped the cord from the wall. I notice he’s leaning on his desk, supporting himself with his right hand, fingers outstretched. I grab my knife from the sheaf on my ankle and quickly stab the desk between each of his fingers, one after the other, over and over, increasing my speed with each thrust.

When I stop, he says, “That’s rather dramatic, don’t you think?”

Under the circumstances, him being a world-class surgeon and all, I’d have to say Dr. Box is one cool customer.

“We’ve brought x-rays,” I say. “I need you to take a look and give me your opinion.”

“Fuck off,” he says.

Dr. P. says, “We flew here from Cincinnati to get your opinion about a surgery.”

“Round trip or one way?”

“Private jet.”

“I’m impressed. But the answer’s still no.”

I say, “This patient is very important to me.”

“Why should I care?”

I look at Dr. P. and ask, “Do we really need this guy?”

“I think so. Don’t kill him yet.”

“Who are you guys, really?” Dr. Box says. “Is this some sort of joke? Am I being secretly filmed? You, old guy: you look familiar. Are you guys strippers?”

Dr. P. and I look at each other.

Strippers
?

I’m in my early forties, he’s in his late sixties.

“I’ll ask you again, nicely,” I say, trying to sound nice. “I’d appreciate it if you look at these x-rays and MRI films and tell me if you have the ability to perform this operation.”

“Tell you what,” he says. “I’ll thumb-wrestle you for it.”

“Dr. Box,” Dr. P. says. “This is Donovan Creed.”

“So?”

“He’s a government assassin.”

“Doesn’t mean he has thumb strength.”

“He recently crushed the bones in a bouncer’s hand like the man had rickets. He will absolutely break your thumb. If he does, you’re of no use to us.”

“George Washington,” Dr. Box says.

“Huh? What about him?” I say.

Dr. Box reaches his hand into his pocket and pulls out a pecan.

“George Washington’s the only man I’ve ever heard of who had enough thumb strength to crack a pecan.”

“So?”

“If you can do it, I’ll look at your x-rays.”

“Toss it here.”

He does.

I catch the pecan, study it, and frown.

“Something wrong, Mr. Creed?”

“This is made out of lead.”

“In that case I guess we’re through here.”

Dr. P. tosses me his wallet.

“What now?” Dr. Box says.

I remove Dr. P.’s driver’s license and hand it to Dr. Box.

He reads the name out loud. “Dr. Eamon Petrovsky.”

Then looks at Dr. P. and says, “Never heard of you.”

Dr. P. raises his eyebrows.

Dr. Box says, “Just kidding. You’re my hero. Swear to God, I thought you were dead. Show me the films.”

Dr. P. shows him the films and explains Callie’s condition and situation using medical terms I can’t begin to understand.

“What do you think, Doctor?” Dr. P. says.

“Child’s play.”

“Excuse me?” I say.

“This operation is beneath me. You’ll have to get someone else.”

“Are you fucking with me?” I say.

Dr. P. sees I’m losing my temper. He holds up a hand to stop me from doing something I might regret. He says, “Dr. Box, I’m told this is an impossible operation.”

“For a dentist, maybe.”

“No surgeon in the country will touch it.”

“Typical,” he says. “My
nurse
could successfully perform this operation.”

“Would you do us the honor of giving Callie Carpenter the use of her legs?” Dr. P. says.

“You got a picture of her?”

“Excuse me?”

“Is she hot?”

I take out my cell phone and pull up a picture of Callie.

“Holy shit!” he says.

“Will you perform the operation?” Dr. P. asks.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“The hospital will never approve it.”

“Why?”

“You know why. It’s too risky. There’s not enough upside. Best case? She regains full use of her legs. Worst case? She dies.”

“She’ll take the risk,” I say.

“Of course she will,” Dr. Box says. “But the hospital won’t. If it was a matter of life-and-death, maybe. But it’s not. There’s every reason to believe she could live another ten, twenty years.”

“Ten or twenty? She’s only twenty-six!” I say.

“Don’t worry, she’ll age pretty quickly from here on out.”

“Suppose I can get the hospital’s approval,” I say.

“You’d still need mine,” he says.

“Do you care to keep living?” I say.

“Not really.”

“No?”

“What have I got to live for? I hate my job. I hate people, and they hate me. My girlfriend moved away and I’m about to lose the greatest surgical nurse who ever lived. I’ve…”

“You’ve what?”

He smiles.

“What?”

“You’re Donovan Creed.”

“That’s right.”

“From Las Vegas.”

“You know me?”

“I’ve heard your name before.”

“Where?”

“I’ll tell you another time. Unless you decide to kill me now. Speaking of which, nothing would make me happier than to have you kill me. I’d
pay
you to kill me.”

“What’re you, insane?”

“Possibly. Or maybe I’m too sane to want to keep living like this.”

“I’ll pay you a hundred million dollars to perform this operation.”

“And if I refuse you’ll kill me?”

“Worse.”

He licks his lips, enthusiastically. “Tell me!”

“I’ll kidnap you, rip off your nuts, sever your spinal cord, and make you spend the rest of your miserable life the way you’re sentencing Callie to live.”

“You’re a rude personality,” he says.

“You’d be wise not to forget that.”

He says, “I actually believe you kill people for money. But you also torture them?”

“Sometimes.”

“Are you any good at it?”

“I excel at torture. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve got a list of people who need to experience pain in their lives. And I’m tired of waiting for them to get sick.”

“I have no idea what that means,” I say, “but it sounds like we’re about to forge an agreement, yes?”

“I hope so.”

Dr. Box isn’t shitting me. He goes to his computer and prints out a list. Twenty-two names with addresses, phone numbers, relatives, and personal notes.

“The people on this list have wronged me,” he says.

“And?”

“I want them tortured.”

“To death?”

“No. But thoroughly.”

He pauses, then says, “And I want to watch.”

Taken aback, Dr. P. says, “What kind of doctor
are
you?”

“A vengeful one,” he says.

49.

I LOOK OVER Dr. Box’s list.

“These are mostly housewives and clerks.”

“So?”

“And your notes.”

“What about them?”

I pick one of the names and start to read. “Chelsea Lloyd. Housewife. Married to Eugene Lloyd, sales rep, Commerce Real Estate. Laughed at me at Senior Prom.”

I give him a look. “You can’t be serious.”

“She laughed at me. Made fun of the way I danced. Have you ever been singled out for ridicule among your peers?”

“No.”

“It’s devastating at that age.”

“But you’re a grown up. You’re
past
that. You’re a world-renowned
surgeon
! Meanwhile, this woman, Chelsea, is married to a sales rep.”

“Your point?”

“We don’t have to torture her.”

“We don’t?”

“No. We’ll send her a copy of your press kit.”

“I don’t have a press kit.”

“By this time tomorrow you will.”

“How will you manage that? Elves?”

I start to deny it, then realize he’s being facetious.

I say, “Success is the best revenge. My people will create the world’s most impressive press kit and send it to all the women on your list. When they see who you’ve become, they’ll shit.”

“You think?”

“Absolutely. Not only that, they’ll drive their husbands crazy reminding them how they could have married Dr. Gideon Box. They’ll bring it up all the time. But every time they do, they’ll remind themselves how badly they fucked up. That’ll be torture enough, don’t you think?”

“No. But it’s a start.”

“Anyway, here’s the thing. It’s not practical to torture people and let them live to tell the police. So we can either kill them, or we let it go.”

He thinks a moment, then says, “Okay, here are my terms. One, you’ll create press kits and send them to everyone on both lists.”

“You’ve got another list?”

“Yes, of course. There are more than fifty names in all.”

“You must have been the world’s worst dancer!”

“They’re on my lists for different reasons. You want to hear the rest of my terms, or what?”

“Go on.”

“Two, you’ll pay me the hundred million dollars you promised.”

“Contingent on the operation being successful,” I say.

“Same thing.”

“Just to clarify, Callie regains full use of her legs.”

“Of course. But I want the money held in escrow,” he says. “With the attorney of my choice. Deposited today, before we leave.”

“Banks are closed.”

“First thing in the morning.”

“Done.”

“Number three, my surgical assistant, Rose, has to agree to come.”

“Is she in town?”

“Yes, but she’s hard to pin down.”

“Fine. Surely that’s it. I mean, you said the operation was child’s play.”

“Child’s play for
me
. But I have one more demand.”

I sigh. “Let’s hear it.”

“After Ms. Carpenter regains full use of her legs you’ll fly back and have dinner with me and two guests at the place of my choosing.”

“Locally?”

“A short drive.”

“Me and Callie?”

“Just you.”

“Who are the guests?”

“You’ll find out at dinner. Not before.”

“Should I be prepared for a physical confrontation?”

“No, of course not. This will be a civil dinner in a fancy restaurant.”

“Of all your demands, why does this one concern me the most?” I say.

“Because it’s beyond your control?”

He’s right.

Dr. P. calls Dr. Barnard and asks if Callie is fit to fly.

“Absolutely not,” Dr. Barnard says.

“What if we were in the field, under battle conditions?”

“No sooner than tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll have a MedEvac on your roof at six a.m.”

“Without my cooperation,” Dr. Barnard says. “Against my strongest recommendation.”

“Noted.”