by Regina Doman
“I wish I could,” Fish said, and he meant it. “I know how difficult this is going to be for you. But if I wait, things will probably only get worse. I don’t want to promise to ease out of the job if it turns out I can’t.”
“But this is so very unexpected, and so very unlike you. Are you in trouble? Is there anything I can do?”
“No, I’m not in trouble, not now,” he said. “And I very much have appreciated the chance to work with you and to—”
She put her head to one side. “Does this have anything to do with Mercy College? I understand from Dr. Brock that you were involved in one of the protests there.”
He reddened, but shook his head. “No, it doesn’t. It’s something personal.”
“I just would hate to see you get pulled into all sorts of counter-productive activities like that ludicrous episode,” she said, and shook her head. “You have such potential, Ben. I have admired you before for not making waves, for being able to work with those you disagree with instead of antagonizing them. Please don’t let me see you become like those Catholics from Mercy College, causing fights instead of working for peace. Promise me that.”
Inside he flinched. “Well, Dr. Anschlung, I’ll definitely be working for peace.” But it might involve some fights, he finished silently.
“Donna, do you know anything about makeup?” he asked abruptly that Friday night after they had come back from visiting Rose. He and Donna had never exactly had a real conversation, not since she had confessed her lie to him. Trusting Kateri’s judgment, he had accepted her as part of the group, but had rarely spoken to her.
“Yes. What do you need it for?” she asked, looking at him warily.
“To hide my scars,” he said. Kateri, the only other person in the car with them, looked at him keenly, but said nothing.
The blond girl studied his face uncertainly. “I think I could,” she said. “I did the makeup for the play, but that was stage makeup. You want something that will look normal by regular light, right?”
“Yes. And if there’s anything else I could do to change my appearance, I would appreciate any suggestions.”
“What are you trying to look like?” she queried.
“A tough from New York,” he said, smiling ironically. “I know, I’m asking a lot.”
Kateri said, “That’s a good choice, actually. You look like the quintessential English professor right now. You might not be recognizable if you were say, wearing leather and chains, with your hair slicked back.”
“What about if we dyed your hair black?” Donna said, squinting at him. “You could pass for Hispanic, if I deepened your skin tone.”
“That works. I speak some Spanish, if it comes to that.” Fish said. “Or at least do the accent convincingly. So you think you can transform me?”
“I think so,” Donna nodded. “When? How much time do I have?”
“At least two days, maybe more. And, if I haven’t mentioned this already, this has to be a complete secret. I can’t tell you what it’s for.”
“I understand,” she said, and her voice was firm.
He glanced at Kateri, whose expression was reserved, but her eyes were smiling.
A week later, the call came on his cell phone. If he would send someone to the laboratory at the back of the hospital, there would be a street door there that would be open. The surgeon who would be obtaining the organ would be there to receive the first payment of five thousand dollars, half of the total price. Then they would arrange for the reception of the kidney matching the specifications the double-agent doctor in New York had given them.
He relayed this information to Bear, and told him not to come. Blanche was in the first stages of labor. Instead, he sought out Alex.
“I can’t tell you much,” he said. “Except that this could be dangerous, and could have legal consequences. As in, severe legal consequences.”
“What do you need me to do?” was all Alex said, folding his arms.
“Drive me to the hospital and be waiting to pick me up as soon as I come out. Stay inconspicuous.”
“You’re doing a sting operation, aren’t you?” Alex asked.
Fish nodded. “Something like that. I shouldn’t tell you more, unless we manage to pull it off. And don’t tell anyone else what you’re up to.”
Alex stretched. “I think I can drive the car for ya,” he said. “Doesn’t sound too hard. When do you want me to pick you up?”
“Tomorrow at four o’clock.”
“Sounds good. See you then.”
That day, Fish, following the procedure he and Bear had set down years ago, went to confession and then received communion at morning Mass, and prayed a rosary before the Blessed Sacrament. At noon he gave himself into the care of Donna and Kateri, who washed, cut, and dyed his hair.
Donna had to experiment with the makeup, but in the end used a combination of spirit gum and foundation to smooth out the skin on his cheeks and forehead. With his hair greased back, wearing dark glasses, he admitted that he did look quite different.
That morning, he had been running over his Spanish, praying the rosary in Spanish to perfect his pronunciation. Following past advice he had been given, he changed his walk to the swagger of a tough working for a wealthy New York operator on the underground market.
He had already equipped himself with recording devices, his cell phone, and, of course, his gun. The black leather jacket of reprehensible design that Donna had found someplace hid all those accoutrements easily. She also gave him a few metal neck and wrist chains to wear. The rest of his costume was black.
At four, he tested his costume on Alex when Alex picked him up in a grey Honda. Alex didn’t quite recognize him either.
“Does it work?” he asked Alex, in his enhanced New-York-Hispanic accent.
“You could fool me easily from a distance,” Alex said. “Only someone who’s seen you frequently and up close might not be fooled.”
“Which doesn’t describe anyone I’m likely to meet,” Fish said. “Good.”
Alex had brought dark sunglasses and, following Fish’s example, styled his own hair a little differently than usual. “Not that anyone’s likely to recognize me off campus,” he added.
“Let’s go then,” Fish said, and took a deep breath. “Might as well pray on our way in. We’ll need it.”
He was punctual for the appointment, and slipped into the alleyway behind the hospital, walked up the outside staircase, and opened the back door of the top floor medical laboratory at approximately 5:00, his tape recorder and miniature camera recording. The lab was deserted.
For a moment, he stood in the shadows of the room, scanning the black-topped counters and shining lab equipment. There were windows high in the wall that let in light, but no one could see in from the outside. The lights were off, and he relaxed slightly. Dr. Prosser—if she was the one who showed up—would be even less likely to recognize him.
He waited until his watch said 5:10, pacing briefly in place. Inside, he was tense, but he kept his breathing steady, his face calm.
At 5:12, the door to the lab opened, and closed. Someone had stepped inside. He noted that they did not turn on the lights. He didn’t move, but waited.
The person came down the long room with a slight slapping noise. Soft shoes, a familiar sound. He stepped into the light so that he could see the visitor, and she could see him.
And then he recognized at once that all of his calculations had been off. It was not Dr. Prosser who had come into the room. It was Dr. Murray.
Dr. Murray halted, seeing him, and stared. Then cautiously, she came forward.
“Who are you?” she asked, her dark eyes cautious.
He gave a slight shrug to his shoulders and said, in his accent, “I was told someone would meet me here.”
“I see,” she said. She seemed uncertain as to how to proceed. At last she said, “What is it you want?”
“I am delivering something,” he said, slipping a hand into his pocket
. “Are you the one I am to give it to?”
“That all depends,” she said. “Let me see what it is.”
He stepped forward, and she took a step towards him. He pulled out the stack of bills, and held it out to her, in clear view of his hidden camera.
She took the money and looked through the bills, and then glanced up at his face. Her expression suddenly changed, and he saw what had happened. She was recognizing him.
She started to back away from him, reaching for her pager, but he stopped her by putting his hand firmly on her arm.
“Is there a problem with the money?” he asked, in his accent.
“I know who you are,” she said. “You can’t fool me, Mr. Denniston.”
He had to smile. “I’m here for a kidney,” he said calmly, in his accent. “Isn’t that what you came to sell me?” He tightened his grip.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, gasping. “I just came here—for the results—of a lab test.”
He pivoted so that her exit to the door was blocked. “I came here to buy a kidney,” he said quietly. “I was told you had a virtually unlimited supply. I thought they were exaggerating. But if the hospital is buying its organs through you, I can see where they can get so many so quickly.”
Her face twitched, and her eyes grew haunted. Horror at what he said or at what he knew?
“Dr. Murray, I think it’s time you told me what’s really going on at that facility of yours.”
“Mr. Denniston, this is not what you think,” she fumbled. “If this is all due to frustration of yours because of your sister-in-law, I understand—”
“Rose Brier,” he said, dropping his fake accent. “Yes. If you were the doctor her dad was investigating, you would have recognized her name. Maybe you were the doctor who showed up at her christening. Rose could have told you the notes on his research were in the barn. You could have followed her there. Maybe that’s why we never found the notes, because you took them, and pushed her out of the loft to ensure her silence.”
Now she threw her other arm up at his face, but he caught it and pinned it down on top of the other one.
His voice became dangerous. “Look, Doctor. Don’t start fighting with me. I want to hear what really happened, from you. Don’t you think you’ve done enough to protect your dirty secret?”
She tried to wrench her arm away, and he recognized that they were probably equally matched. Pinning both of her wrists with one hand, he drew out his gun with the other. “Sit down,” he said calmly.
Trembling, she sat down on a lab stool. He released her wrists.
“How are you going to keep on denying this?” he asked softly. “I came here to buy a kidney. You could do surgery in that massive facility of yours easily enough. I’ve seen your operating rooms. Whose kidney were you going to get me? Rose’s?”
She said nothing, her face like stone, but she was trembling.
“You’re so lucky she’s in a coma. But I suspect that even having her alive must haunt your conscience. You were so generous to take her into your facility,” he couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Such a kind and compassionate doctor. So you could conveniently keep her under your control.”
Her eyes, which had always seemed dark, widened and deepened. She blinked them rapidly. “Mr. Denniston, if you’ve been talking with my associate Dr. Prosser, I can understand where you get these sentiments from. But you are mistaken regarding me.” Her voice caught in her throat, and she dropped her eyes.
Perhaps she had just come in here for an innocent reason, after all. For a moment he doubted himself. Fatally.
She wiped her eyes and fumbled in her pocket. Then the next moment she drew something out and a blast of burning spray hit Fish full in the face.
His reaction was immediate and almost uncontrollable. His hands went to his face to attempt to wipe the mace from his skin. She didn’t miss a move and went for his gun.
The burning was intense, and his eyes fought to stay open, but he had enough presence of mind to jerk it out of her reach. In the struggle, the gun went off, the bullet hitting the ceiling, and he winced and tried to break away. But she had him by the arms, and he fought her blindly, finally managing to shove her away from him. Stumbling towards the exit, he was feeling his way down the tables, unable to see anything clearly through his nearly-shut lids. He heard a pager sounding, and felt Dr. Murray grabbing at the back of his jacket. He tried to pull himself free and swung at her. Of course, since he was disoriented, he missed, and she shoved him into the counter. He regained his balance and tried to get to the door again.
What happened next he could have predicted himself. Dr. Prosser came into the lab and, seeing the situation, called for a male nurse, who hurried in and body-slammed him to the floor. The gun was pried out of his hands and his arms were yanked behind him.
He found himself with his flaming face pushed into the grooves of the tiled floor while the nurse and Dr. Murray tied his hands behind him with thick white medical tape. They frisked him and emptied his pockets, taking his cell phone and surveillance equipment, and the money.
Dr. Prosser stood over him, and he heard her, even though, between his prone position and his inflamed eyes, he couldn’t see her.
“Madelyn, what happened to you?” the big woman demanded, and Fish couldn’t make out what Dr. Murray, in her soft voice, said. Dr. Prosser dropped her voice as well, and after a long time, the big doctor stepped over Fish’s head. He could feel her gaze.
“Nurse,” she said, “get him up into one of those chairs on casters and tie him down. We’re going to call the police, but we’ve got to discuss this first. Dr. Murray was almost raped.”
The worst thing they did to him was to bind his hands and leave him alone with the mace stinging his face and burning his eyes. Because of the intense irritation, he kept writhing almost spasmodically in the uncomfortable secretary chair they had taped him to, even though he quickly realized he was not going to be able to escape from it. The thick white tape they had used pasted itself to his skin and clothing like glue, and it was next to impossible to get a finger hold. Even when he got one corner between his thumb and middle finger, he couldn’t get it to budge.
Incredibly disagreeable situation, he thought, blinking his streaming eyes and shaking his head furiously in a further attempt to clear them.
They had left him in a windowless room that must have been very similar to the one Kateri had been dragged into. Its only furniture was a small conference table and a few upholstered chairs. The male nurse they had left guarding him came in every fifteen minutes to check his bonds. He was apparently nervous about his job, and applied more tape when he seemed to think it necessary. Under this kind of surveillance, Fish gave up trying to free himself in hopes that his situation would change.
He did ask the male nurse for water for his eyes, and on the second trip in, the man reluctantly sprayed down Fish’s face with a water bottle and dried it with a towel, which removed some of the stinging. Eventually Fish discovered he could keep his eyes open for longer periods of time, even though the aggravation of the mace continued. He kept trying to rub his face against his shoulders, attempting to get more of the irritation off his skin. All he really managed to do was ruin his makeup job, which he supposed looked silly now.
Misgivings continued to grow in his mind about what he had just done. Supposing he had guessed wrong, and Dr. Murray was innocent? He knew she had disagreements with the hospital, and might not be involved with the trafficking in human organs. She did come to examine patients in the hospital on consultations. She ran tests on them, and she probably used the laboratory. Dr. Prosser, when she gave orders to clear the lab, might not have thought to include her colleague in the warning. And the attitude he had taken with her—grabbing her arm and pulling a gun on her—would have made even an innocent person react the way she did. She might well have thought he was insane, or had evil motives.
I approached this in the worst m
anner possible, he upbraided himself, trying to wipe his face fitfully on the shoulders of the awkward leather jacket. I was basing everything on assumptions. First of all, I listened to those crazy nuns, against my better judgment. Then I set up an illegal investigation on what might be a baseless charge. Even if there’s some truth to it, I probably have just played right into the criminals’ hands by going after an innocent woman. Blunder after blunder. He didn’t even want to imagine what Dr. Anschlung would think of him when she heard of this. Well, she tried to warn me…
He grimaced through his tears, wriggling his useless hands once again against their bonds. Very badly done, Ben. Very badly done.
With a sigh, he stared up at the sterile white ceiling, feeling the tears pooling in his eyes, and wished for the umpteenth time that the doctors would get through their discussion and decide his fate, so he could at least get on to the next bad thing.
After what he estimated was at least an hour and fifteen minutes, they came back for him, Dr. Murray and Dr. Prosser and their male guard. They sat down in comfortable chairs across the table and stared at him.
He tried to stare back, but with his eyes still pouring out tears, it was difficult. I must look truly, truly pathetic.
“So, Mr. Denniston,” Dr. Prosser said at last, in her full, familiar voice with a touch of mockery. “Can you give any explanation for your actions?”
Fish balanced his possible idiocy with the benefits of sticking with his original plan, and chose the latter. A strong front, he told himself with a groan, might still be useful.
“I’d like to ask you some questions first,” he said. “Such as what happened to Tennille LeBlanc, the nurse who worked here for so many years? And what happened to the mother of Daniel Brier, who was brought here with a broken ankle?” Fish took a breath and licked the tears from his mouth, wishing he could have his tear ducts removed. “Which brings me to the question of what happened to Rose Brier when she started picking up her dad’s interviews with Nurse LeBlanc. Dr. Murray, you were one of the last persons to see her before she fell, although you willingly gave us other names to investigate. And according to my sources, your hospital was willing to sell me an organ from someone in a coma, and sent Dr. Murray, the surgeon over, to take the money and set up the transaction. The problem was, she knew me and I knew her. Selling human organs, especially from comatose patients, is incredibly risky. How much longer do you think you can keep all this from coming out? It’s going to catch up with you eventually.”
