The Magic Bullet

by Andrew Neiderman

  Taylor shrugged. “Maybe it’s the Crest,” he said.

  “Huh?” Warren said. “What Crest? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “It’s a joke,” Allan told him. “An old commercial about toothpaste.” He smiled. “Where did you hear that? I haven’t heard it in some time.”

  “On a show I watch on the Internet,” Taylor said. “These characters were using it to explain everything good that happened. So what do you want, another sample? I’d better keep a tube handy in case I ever cut myself.”

  “I told you not to be a wiseass,” Warren said. “Doctor Parker is an important researcher or something.”

  Taylor smiled knowingly. “What happened? You asked for more money and he agreed? Because I know you couldn’t care much less about helping people with cancer.”

  Warren turned bright crimson.

  “Let’s talk about this ourselves,” Demi quickly interjected. She stood up this time. “Doctor Parker.”

  He rose.

  “Of course. When should I call you?”

  “I still have your number. We’ll call you,” she said sharply. It discouraged him. He thought he had developed a good rapport with her.

  He nodded and started out. He couldn’t help his sense of heavy disappointment. How did he fail To make her realize how incredibly significant all this was? Maybe Joe had been right after all. He should have said the blood was accidentally corrupted.

  On the other hand, Warren looked like he might leap up and choke her for risking losing the money. Then he calmed and nodded at him, confident he would get his way. The money was too great.

  As Allan passed Taylor, he put his hand on his shoulder.

  “I don’t mean to frighten you,” he said.

  “I’m not frightened,” Taylor replied, glancing at Warren. “It’s no big deal to give blood.”

  “This is a bigger deal, Taylor. Possibly you’ve been given a great gift,” Allan said.

  “Who gave it Tome?” Taylor came back quickly.

  “Very possibly your father,” he replied.

  In his heart he knew it was like playing dirty pool by telling the boy that, but the stakes were too high.

  There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do now to get the boy’s white cells. And the most frightening thing of all was that the realization didn’t frighten him at all.

  “You realize you might have just chased twenty grand out that door?” Warren shouted, pointing to the door the moment Allan closed it behind him.

  Demi ignored Warren and headed for the kitchen. Taylor looked at the door and then turned to Warren, who hurried after Demi.

  “You not thinking of telling him’no,’ are you, Demi? We’re talking twenty thousand for just an ordinary pint of blood. I’ve done it a hundred times and for twenty-five, thirty dollars the most.”

  “They paid you for your blood?” Taylor teased. Warren glared at him. “Maybe they were desperate.”

  Demi opened the refrigerator to take out the casserole she had prepared earlier. “I don’t know if you’re thinking this through clearly and thoroughly, Warren.”

  “Huh? What the fuck does that mean? I thought I did a pretty good job of getting him to up his offer.”

  She turned on him.

  “I’m not talking about that part. Yes, you beat him up well. But you didn’t believe that stuff about the patient’seems to be improving,’ did you? Whoever got Taylor’s blood must have gone into a remission as quickly as Jodi.”

  “Remission?”

  “Cure, Warren. This patient must be cured. Otherwise, why would he offer such an amount of money for what people get paid about thirty dollars for?”

  Warren stared at her a moment and then looked toward the front door.

  “I knew I should have held my ground,” he said, completely missing her point. “We should have agreed to nothing less than twenty-five thousand.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about!” Demi cried, her face reddening with frustration.

  “Well, what the hell are you talking about?”

  “A man comes in here and offers twenty thousand dollars for a pint of Taylor’s blood because there’s something about his white blood cells that seriously affects cancer cells. What do you think would happen if that information got out there?” she asked, gesturing at the door.

  “What could happen?” he asked, lifting his shoulders.

  Demi stood there holding the casserole. It was clear to her that Warren really did not grasp the situation or else didn’t care to understand it.

  “Someone desperate could come after him,” she said softly and nodded toward Taylor. “Or people might call and beg for some of his blood. Do you have any idea what that could mean, could do to us? This is a small community. News travels very quickly, especially news like this. It would be national news!”

  “That’s what you’re worried about?” Warren waved the idea off. “You heard him. He’s not going to let it out. He’s not stupid. He wants it all for himself and his work. Don’t exaggerate.”

  “I don’t care what he said. I don’t like it,” she said and turned to put the casserole in the oven.

  “You don’t like an easy twenty thousand dollars? You know how hard I work for twenty thousand? The aches, the blisters, the bullshit…”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Warren. I’m very frightened. Leave it be for now.”

  Before he could respond, Taylor stepped closer.

  “You don’t have to argue about it anyway,” Taylor said.

  Warren turned to Taylor.

  “Why not, genius?”

  “I’m not doing it no matter how much he offers us. Forget about it. I can’t.”

  Warren glared at him. “And why’s that?”

  “I already promised it to the Red Cross,” Taylor lied. He looked serious enough to convince Warren.

  “Huh?”

  Taylor shrugged. “I signed a pledge at school. You can’t give any more blood for a while.”

  Warren studied his face and then turned to Demi. “You’re both fuckin’ nuts,” Warren said and stormed out. He slammed the front door and then came back in instantly. “You parked right behind me again, Demi.”

  “The keys are in the car, Warren,” she called back.

  He left, slamming the door even harder.

  “What’s the casserole?” Taylor asked as if nothing in the world had occurred during the last half hour.

  She smiled at him. “Your favorite: lamb.”

  “Great,” he said. “Stop worrying. Maybe he won’t come back,” he added.

  This time it felt really good to laugh. She laughed so hard that she almost cried.

  Taylor went back up to his room, and she went to hers to shower and change for dinner. Warren didn’t come back for dinner. She waited as long as she could and then she served herself and Taylor. She knew Warren was in a bad sulk and was just trying to punish or frighten her, but his behavior caused her to seriously consider the option of ending their relationship. Regardless of what she considered the positive aspects, his clear disregard for Taylor’s welfare opened her eyes wider. She even began to toy with the idea of leaving the area, maybe take up her cousin Steve’s offer to help her get her real estate license and work for his firm in Las Vegas. It was booming with new homes and one of the fastest growing populations in the country.

  “I don’t mind helping people,” Taylor said when they began to eat. “I just don’t like the idea of Warren making money off it, Mom. I don’t like the idea of selling my blood period.”

  “I know. I wasn’t comfortable with us taking the thousand.”

  “I’m not stupid though. I know lots of people make lots of money from health care, especially drug companies. Maybe this doctor even.”

  “I’ll tell him no. I’ll tell him not to come here anymore, Taylor.”

  He continued to eat.

  “But I don’t like not helping people, maybe lots of kids my age or younger.”

  “
I know, honey. Maybe we’ll think of some other way. Let’s not think about it anymore tonight.”

  “What will you do about Warren?”

  “We’ll see,” she said. The truth was she didn’t have an immediate solution and was hoping it would just come. “He won’t like what I decide. He might leave us.”

  “Gee, how will we breathe?” Taylor asked.

  Once again, he gave her the chance to laugh and relax.

  “You’re a remarkable boy, Taylor, miracle blood or not.”

  Warren didn’t return until after midnight. Fortunately, he was too drunk to start arguing with her. In fact, he barely made it into the house, dropping himself on the sofa in the living room. Taylor discovered him first and told her when she came into the kitchen.

  She didn’t make any effort to wake him. He didn’t wake up while they had breakfast, nor did he wake up before they set out for work and school. She had To move his car out of the way.

  “This isn’t going to go on much longer, honey,” she promised Taylor as they drove off.

  “I guess there really are all forms of cancer,” he said.

  She looked at him. He really and truly was a very bright kid, she thought.

  He shrugged.

  “I’d gladly donate blood to kill this one.”

  “I know,” she said.

  She drove on, wondering how Dr. Parker was going to react to her refusal to sell any more of Taylor’s blood for now.

  Who knows, she thought, maybe Jodi will need it again. Family has to come first.

  Yes, that would be her reason. It was weak, she knew, but for now, it would have to suffice. Perhaps she would add that after some time’s gone by, she’ll reconsider. She’ll make it clear that what she’s saying is the best he can expect and, hopefully, that will be that.

  Frankie glared angrily at the wall. The second chemotherapy treatment really made him sick. He seriously considered ending it and maybe going off somewhere alone to put a bullet in his head. What the hell was five years or less going to be like if he would shrivel and weaken during those years to the point where no one feared him? He was being tortured to death with this chemo treatment anyway.

  Every time that Paul Wellman went by his door, he fumed. Seeing someone with the same diagnosis so healthy and happy was truly like salt rubbed into a wound. Finally, Paul Wellman, who clearly had learned Frankie was as sick as he had been, stopped in.

  “Hi there,” he said.

  Frankie looked up at him. The man’s face was bright, healthy looking. He had dazzling blue eyes. But the more Frankie looked at him, the angrier he felt.

  “Yeah,” Frankie said. “I wish I was high.”

  Wellman laughed.

  “I know what you’re going through,” he said. “I’ve been where you are. You gotta have hope.”

  His first thought was: I wish I had the strength to belt him in the mouth. But then, like everyone else around here, he was curious.

  “How long you been here?”

  “Weeks,” he replied. “I was in stage four.”

  “Stage four? So you were a lot worse than me?”

  “That’s right,” he replied, smiling from ear to ear. He drew closer to whisper. “They told me I had less than two percent chance for a five-year survival.”

  “So what that second doctor gave you, that changed all that?” he asked him.

  “Second doctor?”

  “Yeah. The one who gave you some shot or something the other night?”

  Wellman shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I went through a full series of chemotherapy, just like you’re going through. Nothing else.”

  “That’s bullshit. I don’t get it. What’s the big secret? Was it expensive?”

  “There’s no secret. There’s nothing else to tell.”

  “You were here weeks and weeks, and then you just got better one night?”

  “I’m not asking any questions,” Wellman said, waving his palms at Frankie and backing up. “I don’t want anyone telling me I’m dreaming. In fact, I’m checking out this afternoon and just wanted to wish you good luck and…”

  “That’s bullshit,” Frankie said more vehemently. “I saw the guy give you the shot. And it wasn’t your regular doctor who’s my regular doctor, too. He must be some hotshot specialist they called in to help. Who was it?”

  Wellman looked honestly confused. He shook his head.

  “I don’t know what to tell you. No one’s mentioned anything like that Tome or my wife. To tell you the truth, I’ve been so out of it, I guess I wouldn’t remember even if I had been told. But I assure you, my wife would know, and I’d know today. Just keep your chin up,” he said nodding. He continued to back away as if he had concluded being too close to Frankie might restore his cancer.

  Frankie glared at him so viciously that Wellman spun around quickly and fled.

  “Bullshit!” Frankie shouted after him. “You selfish bastard!”

  He fell back against his pillow. The outburst and effort had exhausted him. He mumbled curses and eventually fell asleep.

  That evening Nurse Dakota came back on duty and brought him something to help fight the nausea. He had just told Marilyn, who obviously couldn’t stand being in the room anyway, to leave. She made him nervous. She was probably planning to leave him for good anyway, maybe to return to Vegas. Rats deserting a sinking ship, he thought. He was in a bad funk when the nurse entered.

  “So what’s everyone saying about that Wellman guy, a miracle?” he asked her disdainfully after he swallowed the medication.

  “I wouldn’t deny that,” she replied and started out. She paused. “I supposed you have to have some faith. You have the best doctor. Doctor Weber’s had two remarkable recoveries this week.”

  “What do you mean? Who else got cured?”

  “A little girl he was treating. She had leukemia.”

  “So?”

  “She made a complete turnaround. She’s actually back in school already. So keep hopeful, Mr. Vico.” She continued out. “Hey,” he called. “Yes, Mr. Vico?”

  “You ever find out who the other doctor was, the one I saw treating Wellman?”

  “There’s no record of any other doctor or treatment, Mr. Vico. You’re just a little confused. It’s not unusual,” she said, smiling, and left.

  “That’s a bag of bullshit!” he cried. Tears came to his eyes. “You’re all just…liars.”

  He lay there fuming and then thought that maybe there was a miracle, but one someone made happen. They weren’t going To make it happen for him, he decided. That’s why they wouldn’t tell him anything. They didn’t think he was worth it. Dr. Reuben probably told Dr. Weber who he was and made him sound like John Gotti—not worth saving.

  “We’ll see about that,” he said and reached for the phone.

  “Where’s Tony?” he asked as soon as the bartender answered.

  “Just walked in with Marilyn.”

  “Just walked in? Where the hell were they?”

  “I think she did some shopping. I don’t know.”

  “Yeah, well, tell him to turn around and come back here.”

  “Back to the hospital?”

  “Where the hell do you think I am, the Four Seasons? Tell him to bring me the suit I have in the office.”

  “Okay.”

  He sat up as soon as he hung up. He was dizzy and weak, but he was determined.

  If I’m going to die, he thought, I’ll die in a real fight, not in some hospital room seeping into the bed.

  A little over an hour later, Tony arrived with his things and helped him get dressed.

  “I’ll be stronger once this shit wears off,” he told him, embarrassed by how he had to depend on him to help him tie his fucking shoelaces.

  Nurse Dakota came rushing in when she was told what he was doing.

  “Where do you think you’re going, Mr. Vico?”

  “Home,” he said. “I don’t want any more of this stuff you’re serving
.”

  “You can’t do that, Mr. Vico. Let me call Doctor Weber. He’ll…”

  “Don’t bother calling him,” Frankie said. “I’m going to pay him a visit.”

  He started out.

  “I’m afraid you don’t understand, Mr. Vico. You’re in treatment with a serious illness. You just don’t walk out like this,” Nurse Dakota said.

  He looked at her.

  “Why not? I didn’t walk in like this,” he said. “Did I? Thanks for helping me. I’ll send all my enemies up here for your tender loving care.”

  He continued down the hallway, pausing only to look in at Wellman’s bed, which was being changed and made ready for a new patient.

  The memory of Allan Parker standing there returned.

  They’re all lying bastards, picking and choosing who they think should live and die. All doctors think they’re gods anyway, Frankie thought.

  “Let’s go,” Frankie told Tony. “I have people to see, and you might have some heads to crack.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Allan looked like he was having a heart attack when he closed his cell phone and turned to Joe and Toby Weber. She was finishing up with the children’s breakfast.

  “What?” Joe asked.

  “She’s refusing!” Allan said. “All that money I offered, and she’s refusing! Not To mention the huge contribution to end some terrible human suffering, children’s suffering,” he added, nodding at Joe’s daughters.

  They both looked up sharply. His outburst frightened them.

  Joe rose quickly and urged him out of the kitchen. They went into his den.

  “What was her reason?” Joe asked.

  “She told me she wanted to be sure her son could donate if her niece needed it again. No matter what I said about that, she held onto it. She said maybe she’d have a different answer after they were sure Jodi was doing fine.”

  “She’s afraid. Any mother might be,” Joe said. “Let it go for now. She’s right. Let some time pass. It’s all happening too quickly. People have to be talked into things, even things that benefit them and others. Besides,” he said, smiling to attempt to change Allan’s dire mood, “I’m sure you came on like gangbusters.”

  “No. I don’t think I did. I was calm, reasonable. I offered serious money and explained and…”