Page 8
My father, hugging me with pride the day I passed the test and knew I’d be an RN.
My mother, many years before, kissing my head and murmuring soft words I can’t remember.
I wish I could so badly.
I’ve heard of this before.
My whole life, flashing before my eyes, because I’m about to die.
A whole age passes before the tall, lethal-looking bossman speaks again.
He kneels in front of the doctor like a smooth machine and touches his hand lightly against the very tip of the blade.
“Doctor, you lie about as well as you do your job. That’s going to cost you another finger on top of the two I said we’d take tonight. I wonder how you’ll stuff people’s insides back together with one hand?”
Okay. Some good news.
He saw through his lie.
But oh my holy crap, did he just say he’s taking off Dr. Grubert’s fingers?
The not-so-good surgeon’s face tangles into pure terror. He starts trembling again, his face going red with tears.
“Still two fingers left. That’s mighty generous, all things considered,” the guy with the coppery-red hair says.
“You heard him,” the bossman says. His glacial voice matches his eyes. “Three little piggies it is. Hold out that paw.”
When Grubert starts to beg—and I mean really, sickeningly beg—I feel bad for him.
The front of his slacks go dark.
I think he’s peed himself.
“Okay, okay! So, yes… so… so the kidney wasn’t sourced exactly right. It didn’t check all the boxes, I know, the procedural standards, but… it was a perfectly fine organ. Why let it go to waste with a paying client?” Grubert laughs nervously. “That Texas oil tycoon—hell! With the way he drinks, he’ll need another kidney in five years! It was an investment. I didn’t use your guys but nobody was planning to cut you out. Honest to God, I swear you’d get paid and—”
Oof.
His last-ditch plea gets met by another ruthless punch to the gut from the shadow boss.
Dr. Grubert folds, smacking the pavement again. I get the funny feeling Shadow Man is holding back from hitting him much harder, too.
This time, I’m a little glad.
It’s sickening how he talks about patients like a meat market.
And it serves him right for trying to implicate me in—whatever this is.
Some kind of illegal transplant scheme?
I still don’t know and I’m afraid to find out.
“Don’t you dare talk money with me, you tapeworm. That’s not your place. The problem is, Doctor”—the title sounds more like a badge of shame when it rolls off the boss’s tongue—“you lied to me.”
Grubert hangs his head, trying not to cough blood.
“You went behind my back. Took an organ from outside suppliers that wasn’t proper quality. That’s no use to me or for the big man. You got my ass raked over the coals, and we’re not letting it happen again. The men who procured it have already been dealt with.”
Sweet Jesus.
