by Evan Fuller
18
Victory
The food and rest allowed by their hosts gave them strength enough to venture through the sewers again, and when at last they made it home, Emery was delighted to find that no disaster had befallen the estate when Green had magicked them out. Juliet had returned daily to check on Oliver and Geneva, and all was well with them. Emery showered and cleaned his wound as best he could, praying the sewer water hadn't infected it, and after a quick meal he went to bed. He arose the next day and went immediately to the hospital, and no amount of lost blood could overcome the triumph he felt as he climbed the stairs to the fifth floor.
It was early, and Dr. Hanssen's secretary had not yet arrived for the day. Emery tapped lightly on the doctor's door.
“Sir Esposti,” the doctor called from inside. “Do come in.”
Emery opened the door and sank into the seat before the doctor's desk, too tired to worry whether he was invited to do so.
Hanssen was smiling. “How are you this fine morning, sir?”
“I've felt better,” Emery said, “but the package is delivered, doctor. I've come to collect payment.”
“Yes,” Hanssen said, drawing out the final consonant, “I had been wondering whether you would actually return. It appears you've exceeded my expectations, which were admittedly far from the highest, young sir.”
The doctor produced a bag and laid it on the desk. Emery reached to retrieve it, but the doctor's long hand swatted his away. “Now,” he said. “Tell me exactly how your errand went.”
“It was pretty straightforward,” Emery began. “My contact took me to Three Dogs' territory, in an area governed by his subject Blackroot. Three Dogs' men took me underground from there. Three Dogs' keep is an old subway station. I gave your package to Three Dogs' guard, and I watched him hand it to Three Dogs.”
“And then?” the doctor pressed, still smiling.
“Then I left, and as soon as I'd gotten a bit of rest, I came back here,” Emery said. It was the truth, or at least a part of it. “That's pretty much it.”
Dr. Hanssen's icy lips twisted further upward. “You embarrass yourself, sir Esposti. As I already informed you, I had my own means of monitoring the success or failure of this errand. I believe you omitted one minor detail between your delivery and your returning here.”
How could he know? It was far too soon for any messenger to have reached him, wasn't it? “A minor detail,” Emery repeated. “Three Dogs tried to shoot me. With the revolver I assume you gave him.”
“Ah, yes, that was the one.” Dr. Hanssen retracted his hand. “You may claim your payment.”
Emery took the bag and slowly opened it. Inside was a case like the ones he had received from Dr. Hanssen before, containing a full year's supply of antibiotics. Enough to treat one person.
Emery's hands trembled. “This isn't what we agreed on.”
The doctor's smile shattered like an icicle cast to the ground. “This was precisely the amount agreed upon in our first negotiation,” he said. “And though you later tried to drive up the price, the unsatisfactory manner in which you fulfilled your own end of the bargain leaves you without leverage. You somehow offended my client enough that he tried to kill you. This is your payment for a job poorly done, and for the hubris you demonstrated on your last visit.”
Emery's memory replayed his confrontation with the poppy lord; his questions regarding Manuel had not pleased Three Dogs, but Emery hadn't thought his annoyance had been that severe. Then Emery remembered something else, something that had happened in this very office. “What did you write on that letter you put in the box?” he asked. His whole body was shaking now. “You cold bastard. You planned this from the moment I said the price had gone up. You didn't even expect me to come back alive; you told Three Dogs—”
“Do not accuse me for your own failings, sir Esposti,” Hanssen hissed, but Emery was almost sure he saw the faintest hint of a smile appear again. “You could not even handle this simple task. You should be grateful I am paying you at all.”
“I'll have your ass for this,” Emery began.
“I think not, sir. You're looking quite pale today. So much so, I think, that I am led to believe Three Dogs may have failed to kill you by a narrower margin than you admit.”
Emery said nothing.
“So perhaps I shall report to Unity that I treated you for a gunshot wound, and they will conduct an investigation into the circumstances under which you sustained it. Perhaps they shall find other things you would rather remain hidden.”
“If I go down,” Emery said, “so do you.”
“I think not,” Hanssen said again. Emery wondered how long he had been preparing this speech. “Where is your evidence? My hands have been completely clean through all of this. You have only your meager word against mine, and sir Esposti, I am above reproach in this city.
“It is time for you to be going,” he sneered. “And let me make myself perfectly clear: if you ever take one step in this floor of my hospital, much less this office, I shall do everything in my considerable power to see that you are cast out of Rittenhouse to live where you belong, among the dogs.”
Emery still had one hand on the bag; the other twitched, ready to reach for the doctor's throat.
“With that settled,” Hanssen said, “is there anything else?”
“One thing.”
Emery took a step forward and spat in the doctor's face. Hanssen cringed and raised a hand to strike Emery, but then he lowered it and smiled again. No insult could lessen the doctor's victory. “Good,” he said. “Now get out of my sight.”
