by John Locke
On the way to the park, I call Lou and ask him to check with the Sensory Resource doctors, who are among the best in the world.
“I already asked them,” Lou says.
“And?”
“They have no idea.”
I hang up and call Dr. Howard, Chief of Staff, who works the day shift.
When he answers, I say, “Hi Doc, it’s Donovan Creed.”
“You know what time it is in Virginia?”
“Yeah. Same as Louisville.”
He yawns. “How’s the face holding up?”
Doc Howard headed the team of plastic surgeons that made me look handsome.
“You made me look like a sissy.”
I hear him chuckle.
“I need to ask you something, Doc.”
“Can it wait till morning?”
“If it could, you’d still be asleep.”
I hear him moving about, probably adjusting himself to a sitting position.
“Okay, shoot,” he says.
“A lady named Rachel gets her first blood test ever. When the results come back, something shows up that is so terrible, so horrifying, the government kills Rachel’s doctor, and sends a professional extraction team to kidnap her.”
“That sounds like the plot of a terrible book.”
“Save your review till after I write it. For now, just tell me if it’s possible.”
He thinks a moment, then says, “No.”
“Are you certain?”
He says, “The lady appears to be healthy?”
“Physically, yes. Mentally, she’s a mess.”
“Can she walk and talk and move around normally?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, to the best of my knowledge, there is nothing to be found in her blood that would frighten anyone outside of her friends and family. If there were abnormal cells or some type of blood disease that hadn’t affected her physical health, her doctor would schedule further tests. If her blood work is completely off the charts, she’s either ill, or the sample got contaminated. If contaminated, they’d simply repeat the test. Beyond that, the notion of a doctor or lab sharing a random person’s blood work with the government is absurd.”
I think about what he’s told me, and work it around in my head. I know I’m missing something, but have no idea what it could be.
He says, “Are you doing anything dangerous tonight?”
“No, why?”
“You know I live vicariously through your adventures.”
I see a van pull up to the park entrance.
“Go back to bed, Doc,” I say. As I hang up I hear him shout, “Hey, you’re welcome!”
Two minutes later I meet the snake guy.
“Be careful of Frankie,” he says. “Water moccasins can bite through burlap.”
“Snake’s name is Frankie?”
“That’s right. Most water moccasins are docile, except when cornered.”
“But not Frankie?”
“No sir. Frankie don’t let you corner him. He corners you!”
Walking back to Sam’s house, carrying the very dangerous Frankie, I hear nothing, but feel plenty. I’m suddenly on the ground and fairly certain someone has shot me in the head with a high-powered rifle.
16.
I’ve been shot before, but never in the head, so I’m not positive how I’m supposed to feel less than a millisecond after the hit.
But I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to be feeling fine.
My first thought is that Lou might have set me up with the snake man, or one of his buddies who may have been hiding near the drop off spot. But I didn’t hear a gunshot. As quiet as it was, I should have heard a gunshot, had there been one, even if the assassin used a silencer.
I wait a few minutes to make sure no one is hanging around to finish me off, then run my hands over my head, but find no lumps or bruises. I realize it’s dark, but blood feels like blood regardless of the light conditions, and I don’t feel any. Just to make sure, I get to my feet and walk to a lamp post and look at my hands and still find nothing.
Whatever just happened had been internal. Had I suffered a mini-stroke? I lift my hands over my head, something that’s supposed to be hard to do if you’ve had a stroke. I speak out loud: “Sal Bonadello lives in Cincinnati.” I repeat the sentence and listen to see if I’m slurring my words. I don’t appear to be. Then again, maybe only others would be able to tell.
But I feel fine. Slight headache, nothing more. Whatever it was, lasted only a fraction of a second, but hurt like hell. Could I have an aneurism? A brain tumor? These are happy thoughts.
I go back and retrieve Frankie the snake from where I’d dropped him, then he and I head for Sam’s house.
17.
When I get back to Sam’s and check the camera screens, I see he’s still in his office, working. So I’m stuck in a tiny cubicle with a poisonous snake that’s trying to get out of a burlap bag. Each time I set the bag on the plywood floor, it moves toward my leg. I try hanging it from one of the hooks at the top of the eave, but that puts the bottom of the bag within inches of my body. I could put Frankie outside, but it’s cool out, and I don’t want to make him docile. I decide to let him hang where it is, and make a point not to get too close.
Thankfully, I don’t have to wait too long. Sam shuts his computer off at one a.m., and heads to the master bathroom to get ready for bed. He sets the alarm and takes his sleeping aid, and I wait for it to do its job.
I wait an hour before wrestling Frankie through the crawl space. He’s highly agitated. The bag is thumping and rolling, and I have to extend it as far as I can from my body. Finding my way down the brick ladder in the dark is much harder than climbing up it had been a couple hours earlier, but I manage.
I know about Sam’s alarm system. Specifically, I know he has contact alarms on all the doors and windows. He also has glass break alarms. But if I can cut the glass without shattering it, I can climb in through his basement window.
Sam thinks he has tempered glass on his basement windows, and he’s partially right. I replaced two of the windows while he and Rachel were on vacation in Cancun the first year I lived with them. I set the snake on the ground by the window, and go to the trees to get my duffels. Once back, I remove the equipment I need to cut the glass. I place the suction cup on the window pane and don my gloves and goggles.
There’s some light, but not enough for this job. I dig through my bag until I find one of several penlight flashlights I brought. I flip it on and hold it in my mouth while getting the glass cutter out.
Forget what you see in the movies. In real life, no one cuts a circle out of a pane of glass. And even if I could, it wouldn’t do me any good, because the point of making an opening is to get your hand in the glass so you can crank the window open. Which would set off Sam’s alarm.
Sam has a keyless entry, and had he not set his alarm I could have gone to his garage door and punched in the backup code I entered into his system years ago. I’m sure that would still work to get me inside. But Sam sets his alarm to go off instantly when he’s home, and even though I set up a backup code for myself that would probably work, the alarm would still be on long enough to wake him up.
So I’m betting the farm on being able to cut a large enough hole in the glass to climb through. Of course, if I botch the job, I’ll just knock Sam unconscious and try to beat him into cooperating. It won’t work, but it’ll make me feel better.
You have to cut a glass window in a single swipe from one side to the other, or top to bottom, using firm pressure through the entire motion. But glass is unstable, and even when your technique is perfect, it can break.
Fortunately, I’m very good at glass cutting, and quickly open a space large enough to climb through. After doing so, I reach back out through the window and grab the burlap bag. Then I go in the utility room and retrieve the replacement window I’d hidden behind one of the HVAC units a couple years ago, and place it beneath the open one. Lou�
��s cleanup crew will replace the window, giving me continued access to Sam’s house in the future, should I desire it. Next, I go up the stairs to the main floor, open Sam’s bedroom door, and make my way into his bathroom. Once there, I lift the toilet lid, untie the sack, and dump Frankie into the toilet. He wants out, but he’s disoriented enough to where I can shut the lid before he escapes.
Then I have a different problem.
Frankie is so agitated he starts thumping the toilet lid. I sit on the lid twenty minutes until he finally gives up. Then I remember Sam’s alarm is still set, so I walk to the end of the hall where the alarm panel is located, and type in my alternate code. As I suspected, it works. Then I go back to Sam’s closet and hide until I hear the snake banging the lid again. I go back in the bathroom and sit on the lid another ten minutes to keep it in the toilet bowl. The whole time I’m thinking this is the last time I’m working with a snake. When Frankie settles down again, it’s back to the closet. Around four a.m. I hear Sam get out of bed and trudge to the toilet. I hear the shriek that tells me he’s found Frankie, and the blood curdling scream that tells me he’s been bit. I hear him slamming the snake against the wall, and then the bathroom light comes on and he runs for the phone while screaming my name.
I hear him make the call to 911, hear him open the front door.
When Sam passes out, I administer the anti-venom, find his cell phone, remove the battery, and put it in his Sponge Bob pajama pocket. Then I go to his bathroom to hunt down the injured snake. I find him instantly, tucked in against the baseboard, under the sink. I work Frankie back in the sack, very carefully, and place him on the front passenger seat of Sam’s car. Then I go around to the back of Sam’s house, replace the bricks, put my tools in one of the duffel bags, and carry them to the garage and put them in the back seat. Then I go in the house, get Sam’s car keys from the countertop where he keeps them, open the garage door, and start the car up. When I get to the end of the driveway, I put Frankie in the mailbox, which is the cue for Lou’s guy to come get him. With any luck, Frankie will live to bite again.
As I exit the neighborhood, I see the ambulance approaching Sam’s house. Since it’s four in the morning, they’re not running the siren, just the flashing lights. I pull over to the side of the road, to let it pass, then I drive myself to the private airport where the Lear 60 is waiting to take me to Virginia.
18.
Present Day:
It’s Saturday morning, a little after ten.
Detectives Brightside and Caruso have just left Sam’s hospital room. I know, because I’m sitting at my old desk at Sensory Resources, watching on my live camera feed. I’m impressed and a little surprised that Sam didn’t tell them anything about me. But that’s a good thing, I think. It could mean he’s decided to help me. Or it could mean he doesn’t trust them. Or it could mean nothing. I watch Sam try to reach his cell phone, which has been placed beyond his reach. Not that it matters, since there’s no battery in it.
Since nothing’s happening in Sam’s hospital room, I call Ruth Henry, and break the news that I won’t be able to attend Dr. Dee’s funeral. While I’ve got her on the phone, I say, “By the way, I met Nadine last night after talking to you. The young lady she brought to see Dr. Dee was her granddaughter.”
Ruth doesn’t seem to know how to respond, so I keep talking. “Anyway, Nadine said they were expecting to hear from the office about her blood test results. Do you recall if they ever came back?”
“Well, I’m just the receptionist,” Ruth said. “I set the appointments and greet the patients. I don’t really get into the actual workings of the office.”
“Of course,” I say. “Is there someone Nadine should ask for about the blood test?”
“Ricki would be able to answer her questions. But we’re closed till Monday.”
“Right. By the way, do you happen to know which lab the office uses for blood work?”
“You’re going to a lot of trouble to help an old lady friend of the family,” Ruth says. “Why don’t you come back to town and help me forget about my ex?”
“I’ll do it, first chance I get.”
“Just so you know, I’ll do anything you want.”
“What more could a guy ask for?”
“Corlis.”
“Excuse me?”
“We use Corlis Medical Laboratory—CML—for our blood work.”
“I’ll pass it on to Nadine.”
“She won’t need to contact them. I’ll make sure Ricki gives her a call on Monday.”
“That’s really sweet of you.”
“Come on back, I’ll show you the definition of sweet.”
“I’m practically calling my travel agent already!”
She blows me a kiss goodbye. I return it, then buzz Lou.
“Corlis Medical Laboratory,” I say, when he enters my office.
“What’s that?”
“The place Dr. Dee sends his patient’s blood work.”
“I’m sure we scanned them for a match,” he says. “But I’ll send someone over there to do an on-site search.”
“Thanks.”
“How’s the patient?” Lou says, looking at one of the two screens on my desk. One shows the side view with Sam in the foreground and the doorway behind him. The other shows Sam from the foot of the bed up, so I can focus on his facial reactions.
“No change,” I say.
Lou starts to leave, then stops and says, “It’s good to see you, Donovan.”
“You too, Lou.”
He says, “I’ve got a riddle for you.”
“Go ahead.”
“Two men are on opposite sides of the earth. One is walking a tight rope between two buildings, at the 95th floor. The other’s getting oral sex from a 95-year-old woman. They’re both thinking the same thing. What are they thinking?”
I shrug.
“Don’t look down!”
I smile and say, “It’s good to be back.”
Ten minutes after Lou leaves my office, I see movement on the screen, and notice a doctor has entered Sam’s room. I turn up the volume.
19.
“Mr. Case, I’m Dr. Elton Drake. I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
“Let me guess,” Sam says. “The snake died after biting me?”
Dr. Drake gives a humorless smile. “If only.”
“Let’s hear it, then.”
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to amputate your left leg.”
“What?”
“Not the entire leg. Just to the knee.”
“Oh, just to the knee? Well, how fortunate for me!” Sam says, sarcastically. Then adds, “This is ridiculous. This isn’t the 1800’s.”
A nurse joins them, and starts fiddling with Sam’s IV.
“You were bitten by a water moccasin,” Dr. Drake says.
“Big fucking deal. You’re not cutting my leg off. There’s antivenom available for water moccasin bite. I’ve read about it.”
“You’re referring to CroFab, a serum derived from four species of pit vipers.”
Sam raises his head, closes his eyes a moment, then opens them and recites, “CroFab is a combination of venom components from American pit vipers including three types of rattlesnakes and the water moccasin.”
“Very impressive,” Dr. Drake says.
“There’s more,” Sam says. “‘Untreated, a Water moccasin bite can cause severe pain and tissue damage that can result in the loss of a limb or even death. Treatment with CroFab, within six hours of a snake bite, is virtually always effective.’”
“Are you finished?”
“No. ‘Use of CroFab is contraindicated in patients with a known hypersensitivity to papaya, or certain pineapple proteins.’ I have no issues with those fruits, so I’m within the statistical safe range.”
“Truly astounding.”
Sam waves his arm. “Whatever. My point is, in this day and age, people don’t die from viper bites. Nor do they need their legs cut off.”
“Is that your poor imitation of a hissing snake?”
“Snakebite Severity Score. It’s a scale used to assess the severity of envenomation in a patient.”
“So?”
“There are six categories. And yours is off the charts.”
“You’re saying I could die?”
“There’s a treatment algorithm. We’ve followed it carefully. You’re already on the maintenance dosing. You’ll live, but the damage to your left leg is too severe.”
“Why would the poison collect in my lower leg? The bite was on my nuts.”
“It just felt that way,” Doctor Drake said.
“What do you mean?”
“The snake bit your inner thigh. If we were just talking about that bite, you’d probably be fine by now.”
“What do you mean, ‘that bite?’”
“You reported being bit once. But you were also bitten on the calf of your left leg.”
“That’s impossible.”
“The snake must have found you on the floor after you passed out.”
“This is the first I’ve heard about that!”
“Not true. I personally discussed this with you several hours ago.”
Sam stared ahead, blankly.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Case, I know this comes as a terrible blow.”
“A terrible blow? Ya think? I’ll tell you a terrible blow: the one I got from your daughter last night. That’s a terrible blow!”
“There’s no reason to attack me personally—”
“It’s bullshit!” Sam yells. “I’m not allowing it! I won’t sign the consent form!”
“Sam, look at me,” Dr. Drake says.
