John Locke - Wish List Страница 17

“I want it to be reported. They were going to hunt me down, shoot me like a fuckin’ animal. I’m going straight to the cops. I’ll bring those assholes to their knees!”

The copilot turned around in his chair and looked at me. “Everything all right?”

I nodded. Then said, “Buddy, look at me.”

When he did, I said, “You’re not going to tell anyone about this.”

“What? Why the hell not?”

“Because for once in your life you’re going to do the right thing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I promised the Wish List people you’d keep your mouth shut.”

“Why?”

“So they wouldn’t kill your wife.”

He went quiet awhile, but not long enough to suit me. “You really think they’d kill Lissie?” he said.

“I guarantee it.”

“But you could stop them.”

“I just did.”

“But only if I say nothing.”

“You got it. Finally.”

We landed in Richmond, and I said goodbye to the pilots and got a rental car. Buddy’s back was getting worse, so I took a look at it.

“It’s infected,” I said.

“I’m not surprised. Hurts like a sonovabitch.”

“Don’t worry about the seatbelt.” I buckled it to keep it from dinging, and he sat on it. I fired up the car and pulled onto I-64 heading west. “The news gets worse, Buddy.”

“What could be worse than the past few days?”

“You’re dying.”

“What? No! It’s just an infection. Look, take me to Jewish Hospital, and drop me off. I’ve got great insurance.”

“Buddy, we’re in Richmond, Virginia, not Louisville. I’m driving you to a private facility that houses the finest surgeons in the world.”

“Mr. Creed, really, you’ve done more than I could have hoped for. I mean, Jesus, you saved my life. So please. Don’t worry about me. Or Lissie. We’ll be fine, I promise. I’m no Donovan Creed, but I can take it from here.”

“You’re not listening to me. You’re dying.”

“Look. I’m not a tough guy, we both know that. But this is just a simple surgical procedure.”

“If it’s not removed properly, the device in your back will detonate and blow out your spine.”

“Excuse me?”

I pulled off at the next exit, found an abandoned Popeye’s Fried Chicken restaurant, and parked behind it.

“I’m taking you to Sensory Resources, a branch of Homeland Security. There are surgeons there who can take that thing out of your back tonight. But you need to understand, after this, things will never be the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re dying. And not because of the device.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve got full-blown AIDS, Buddy.”

He laughed. “Right.”

“I’m serious. Ever ask yourself why Jinny Kidwell paid you a million dollars and let you have sex with her?”

“Of course. So I asked her.”

“And she gave you that bullshit story about paying back into the system?”

He nodded.

“Jinny Kidwell has AIDS. She heard about Wish List, filled out the form, and asked for a cure for AIDS.”

“They’ve got a cure for AIDS? Who are these guys?”

“The kind of guys who began giving her the treatments, and told her if she wanted to complete them she’d have to perform some tasks.”

“Like fucking me.”

“And paying a million dollars.”

“Are you honestly trying to tell me that I have AIDS?”

“I am.”

“Mr. Creed, AIDS doesn’t work like that. You get HIV first. Then, years later, if you’re unlucky, you might get AIDS.”

“I’m not familiar with the normal progression of the disease. But it doesn’t matter in your case because the injections they gave Jinny caused you to acquire the disease, and accelerate its progression at an abnormal pace. I’ve been told by a very reliable source that you’ll be dead by December.”

“You swear to God?”

“It’s true.”

“Swear it. Swear to God.”

“What are we, eight years old?”

“What about the antidote? If they gave it to Jinny, they can give it to me. I’ll do whatever it takes. Call them. I’ve still got the million. I’ll pay it. Tell them. Tell them I’ll have sex with anyone they say.”

“You really think someone’s going to put having sex with you on their wish list?”

“That was just a for instance. I’ll do whatever. Please, just call them. Tell them I’ll do whatever they want. I’ll kill someone. Hell, I’ll kill ten people. Babies, if they want. I’ll—”

“Shut up, Buddy. Babies? Jesus. Anyway, there’s no more serum. There was only one batch ever made, and the guy who invented it died, leaving no records behind. Only one patient will ever receive the treatment, and that’s Jinny Kidwell. And you, Mr. I’ll Do Anything, Even Kill Ten Babies—are shit out of luck.”

Buddy began sobbing. The harder he sobbed, the worse his back hurt. Which made him yell. Then he sobbed some more, which made him yell again, and this went on for more than a minute until I finally said, “Wind it up, will you?”

“What’s to become of me?”

“You’re going to die. Get over it, you miserable fuck.”

“What about Lissie?”

“If it’s true you haven’t had sex with her, she’ll be all right physically.”

“I need to tell her. I need to explain things.”

“If you do, they’ll kill her.”

“Why?”

“Think about it. Jinny Kidwell, the world’s most famous actress, is about to be cured of AIDS. If word gets out, the entire world will change. Desperate people do desperate things, and people will demand answers. The easiest way to prevent that is to kill everyone who can’t keep a secret. Starting with you, and then Lissie. Then both sets of relatives, and all your friends.”

“That’s crazy. They’ll never get away with it.”

“They won’t have to, because it’s not going to come to that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re never going to see Lissie again. You’re not going to see anyone again. You’re going to be isolated from all human contact, save for the doctors and nurses who’ll be taking care of you in a secluded treatment facility.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Maybe so, but that’s the plan.”

“What about the money?”

“Lissie will get half.”

“You’re still planning to take half my money? It’s all I have left!”

“I’m donating your half to the doctors and nurses at Sensory who will be keeping you comfortable as the disease progresses. By the time you die, I’ll have put together an elaborate explanation for why you went missing, and how you died a hero. Better to have Lissie remember you as a hero than to learn you got AIDS cheating on her. Don’t you agree?”

“No. I want to talk to her. Lissie’s a good person. If I explain everything, she’ll forgive me.”

“You think she’ll be okay with getting raped by your best friend?”

He paused. “I’ll skip over that part. She’ll forgive the rest.”

“You’re going to be an invalid. You think that’s fair?”

“She loves me.”

“Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

“Of course I have. But the bottom line is I only care about Lissie. I don’t give a damn what happens to anyone else.”

I sighed. “Maybe I should just kill you now.”

“Maybe you should,” Buddy said, “but you won’t. My sister loved you. She said you were a violent man, but a good one. You know that what happened to me wasn’t fair. You might not protect me from here on out, but you’ll let me end things on my own terms.”

Chapter 16

Buddy didn’t know me as well as he thought.

After snapping his neck I drove his body to my former headquarters in Carroll County, Virginia, and told the medical team that Buddy Pancake’s body was racked with a mutated AIDS virus that had been contracted through sexual intercourse with a woman who had received a treatment that was said to cure AIDS. I suggested that by performing detailed tests on his body, they might be able to backtrack their way into a cure for AIDS. It was a long shot, but what the hell. Buddy’s life might as well stand for something positive.

I spent the night in my old bunk at Sensory. The next morning I put Buddy’s wallet, clothing, lower jaw, and personal effects in plastic bags, stuffed the bags in a big laundry bag, and headed back to the Richmond airport. From there I flew by private jet to Cincinnati, where I met my old friend and sometime employer, Sal Bonadello, crime boss for the Midwestern United States. Sal charged me a hundred grand to fake Buddy’s death in a convincing way. Then I rented a car and drove to Louisville, broke into Buddy’s garage, gathered up his million dollars, and took it back to Cincinnati. Caught another private flight back to Chicago, and got a good night’s sleep.

A few weeks after Buddy’s funeral, I had Callie Carpenter pay a visit to Lissie and present her with a check for a million dollars. Sporting the credentials of a real, live insurance executive, Callie explained that this sum represented the proceeds from an accidental death policy Buddy had quietly taken out years ago.

“This check is from an attorney,” Lissie said.

“We always escrow the funds with a law firm while we investigate our claims. It shows good faith on our part, and makes a difference in the courtroom if a claim is denied.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say,” Lissie said, “except to thank you, and your company. As I said, I didn’t even know about the policy until you called.”

“It’s a shock to you, but we see this happen all the time,” Callie said.

The attorney didn’t exist, but the account did, and Lissie was happy enough with the unexpected windfall not to dig too deeply into the details. I mean, would you?

Buddy had always been a loose cannon and I should have known from the beginning that saving him was a lost cause. I owed his sister Lauren big time, but I think even she would agree that her brother was a toad of a man.

He did have great taste in women, though.

Jinny Kidwell?

Are you kidding me?

And Lissie?

Wow!

Epilogue

Although Victor’s people came through for Jinny Kidwell and administered the serum, it didn’t take. She’s no longer with us, as you know (unless you’re from another galaxy). Even then you’d know, since her funeral was beamed to space satellites and viewed by more than a hundred and ninety million people around the world.

She’s now known as “The Face of AIDS,” and her posters can be found at every rally.

The doctors at Sensory were unable to extract anything useful from Buddy’s body to produce a cure for AIDS, and the disease has now surpassed bubonic plague to become the fifth leading epidemic in the history of the world.

Buddy has been dead for six months, and Lissie finally decided to move on with her life after meeting a great guy at the local community college where her support group meets every Tuesday night. His name is Matt Pike, and weeks into the meetings, when they finally got together for coffee, he somehow managed to rekindle feelings inside her that had been dormant since Buddy passed. He’s not only handsome and charming, he seems to know her every thought and emotion, which he proved by allowing their relationship to progress at a comfortable pace. He’s a keeper, the most thoughtful man she’s ever met. I know all this because I listen in on her phone calls.

Last Tuesday Lissie finally agreed to meet Matt for dinner tonight at Z’s. I worry what he might try to do afterward, when he brings her back home. She’s vulnerable and he’s smooth, a bad combination. Lou Kelly performed an extensive background check on him and everything came back clean. Moreover, Matt seems to be a decent guy. Still, I wonder if I should have let things get this far.

One of the things Lissie and her friends like best about Matt is that he’s not in a rush to get her clothes off.

I like that about him too, and I hope that trend continues.

But I worry.

He’s a man, and like I say, she’s vulnerable. So I’ll be watching their every move from my command center in Lissie’s attic. This afternoon when Lissie came home, I saw that she’d bought several sets of sexy bras and panties. I watched her try them on, watched her check herself out in the mirror. She’s looking fine and knows it, and I’m happy for her.

I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. This isn’t voyeurism. Sure, I’ve seen Lissie naked hundreds of times while living in her attic these many months. But that’s not why I’m here. Not entirely.

I originally moved in because I wanted to keep an eye on Lissie, to make sure none of the Wish People came back to bother her. I was particularly concerned about Rudy and Perkins, the limo driver. These two would know Lissie was alone, and I couldn’t bear to leave her unprotected. I knew going in that Victor’s people had installed a number of high-quality pinhole cameras in the ceilings, but I expanded the grid to cover every square inch of the premises.

And I’ve watched over her ever since.

To, you know, make sure she was safe.

But over the days and weeks that followed, I found myself becoming more and more attracted to this precious creature. The hardest part was watching her cry herself to sleep every night, knowing her tears were being wasted on a hapless loser like Buddy. But grief is something that has to run its course, so I spent those nights lying on the attic floor, ten feet above her bed, wishing there was something I could do to comfort her.

Then Matt came along. In many ways, he’s been her salvation.

But again, I worry what might happen.

I’m depraved. Victor and Hugo are possibly worse, Rachel’s crazy, Nadine’s a mercenary skinflint, Rudy, Perkins and Sal Bonadello are gangsters, Lou Kelly’s a killer, Pete was a philanderer, Jinny was morally bankrupt, Buddy was slime, and his old, lonely neighbor shits himself.

The point is I don’t get to meet many saints in my line of work.

But Lissie’s one.

How Buddy managed to win her is beyond my ability to comprehend, but it puts me in mind of something my grandfather once said: “A woman’s love is like the morning dew. It’s as apt to settle on a horse turd as it is a rose.”

Rudy surfaced.

He showed up at Lissie’s a couple nights ago. I saw him casing her house from across the street for over an hour. I didn’t do anything about it. “Live and let live,” I always say. In fact, I didn’t kill him until he tried to enter through the garage.

I’m here for Lissie. And for now, I’m allowing Matt to be a part of her life. I just hope he doesn’t do anything to spoil my trust.

There aren’t many sincere gifts a guy like me can give a woman like Lissie, though she deserves so much after what she’s been through. I’m giving her the gift of my protection, which of course is insignificant compared to what she gave Buddy.

She gave him her love.