Past Due - Past Due Part 58
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Past Due Part 58

"Where is he?" I said.

"I don't know."

"Why don't I believe you?"

"Because you are a cynic, Mr. Carl, as well as a coward. I want my notebooks."

"You've made that clear to me, and to him too, I'm sure. Are you going to leave with him this time?"

"I'm a married woman, Mr. Carl."

"Not for long, I figure."

"Oh, I'm not so easily rid of."

"Sort of like syphilis. But still you are packing."

"I haven't yet decided my future path for certain."

"Can I ask you something? One thing that's still not clear to me."

"Ask what you want."

"Were you the one who bashed Lonnie in the head that night?"

"The motorcycle man? I only found out at the last moment that he would be guarding Tommy and the suitcase. There was no telling what could have happened had he spotted Benjamin's men at the meeting place."

"So you cracked his head open."

"I was a switch hitter in softball."

"Oh, I bet you were." I closed the suitcase, pulled it off the bed. "Do you know where he is?"

"No."

"Do you want to tell me where you're meeting him?"

"No."

"He's a selfish psychopath out to further his own rotten ends."

"He always was."

"Okay, then," I said as I walked toward the door. "Just tell him if anything happens to my partner I'll never stop until I destroy him."

"That's between the two of you."

"No, it's not," I said. "You're smack in the middle of it and so I'm holding you responsible too. You know, I must say, Mrs. Straczynski, I look at you and I am stumped. I have no idea of what makes you tick."

"I'm a simple girl, Victor, with a simple view of the world. Everything on this earth exists only for the purpose of providing either for my pleasure or my art."

"Well," I said, "I guess that explains it."

Chapter.

68.

I PLANNED A quick visit to the hospital, just to say hello to my father, to spread some cheer, to banter like a bantamweight, and then I'd be free to finish my preparations. I had planned a quick visit, but Dr. Mayonnaise had different ideas. She was behind the desk at the nurses' station on the fourth floor and when she saw me leave the elevator she nearly jumped out of her chair.

"Victor, I'm so glad you're here. Have you spoken to your father? Have you heard the news?"

"No," I said. "News?"

"Good news," she said, her face bright, her blue eyes shining. "Great news." She stepped out from behind the desk, took hold of my arm, started leading me down the hall. "We've scheduled your father for tomorrow."

"Scheduled? You mean his release?"

"No, Victor. His operation."

"I thought his condition had to be stabilized first."

"But it has. His response to the Primaxin has been terrific. There's no reason to wait. And you'll be really happy to hear that a hole opened up in Dr. Goetze's schedule and she's agreed to do the operation."

"Dr. Goetze?"

"She's brilliant. Really. Amazing. The top pulmonary surgeon in the region. Your father's very lucky."

"Lucky lucky lucky." I glanced at the door to his room, partially opened. "Does he know yet?"

"Of course."

"Has he met Dr. Goetze?"

"Just this afternoon."

"And?"

"And what? Victor, trust me. If you need someone to surgically resect your lungs, you want it to be Dr. Goetze. She practically invented the procedure. The operation is scheduled for tomorrow morning. Your father is fasting now and we'll gently sedate him tonight so he gets a full night's rest. He'll spend the next couple days in intensive care and then, after a few more days of recovery, you can take him home."

"It all sounds so easy. So tell me, Karen, how did a hole open up in Dr. Goetze's schedule?"

She squeezed her lips together. "Oh, you know," she said. "Things happen."

"Yes, they do."

"Good luck, Victor. We're all very hopeful."

"I'm sure all indicators are promising."

My father was lying in his bed, his eyes closed tight, his arms placed at his sides. It was as if he was already in position for the coffin. I think all the death we see, all the funerals we attend, are in some ways practice for the day we bury our fathers. I should have been prepared, I should have been overprepared, but still, to see him there, lying peacefully, without his anger or bitterness, without his prickly personality, without everything that had made him my father, brought me to tears. I don't think I would have felt like that before he entered this hospital, before he started to tell me his story about the girl in the pleated skirt, but something had changed, something in me, and now grief at the possibility of losing him overwhelmed me.

I closed the door behind me, sat down by his bed, leaned my head back, tried to gain control of myself. That was when something started shaking in my pocket.

Yes, I know, no cell phones in hospitals, but I was in the middle of an emergency, dammit, and so I hadn't turned my phone off, just set it on vibrate. I grabbed it out of my jacket pocket and snapped it open.

"Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me," I said softly. "Where are you, Phil?"

"Still outside that damn studio. She went out for a bit of errands, had a drink at that bar of hers, and then went back to her building. You said she had a bed in there, right?"

"That's right."

"It looks like she might spend the night. How long you want me to stay out here."

"Until morning if you have to. If he shows up, call the FBI at the number I gave you. If she goes somewhere, follow and then call me. If we can take care of this tonight, that's what I want to do."

"All right, mate. It's your call."

"We have to find her, Phil."

"I know we do."

When he hung up I raised my chin and let out a great sigh of fear and frustration, and it was that sigh, I think, rather than my conversation, that woke my father, because when I looked down again there he was, eyes open, staring at me. It gave me a start, like a corpse coming to life, and I jumped a bit.

"You look like you seen a ghost," said my father.

"Well, you woke up," I said. "How are you doing?"

"Lousy. I'm hungry. Go get me a candy bar, why don't you?"

"You're not allowed to eat."

"The hell with their rules."

"You're having your operation tomorrow."

"The hell with their operation."

"Your operation. How do you feel about it?"

"All of a sudden you care about my feelings? Well, this is what I'm feeling, I'm feeling hunger."

"I heard the doctor came in and spoke to you."

"Yeah."

"What did you think?"

"Seems to know what goes where."

"So you're okay with the surgeon."

"One can kill me as well as the next."

"I thought you might, you know, not be thrilled that the surgeon is a woman."

He let out a bark. "For the whole of my life, women been slicing me up and taking out pieces. Why should this be any different?"

"Well," I said, patting his hand and starting to stand up. "You need your sleep."

"What, you in a hurry?"

"No."

"You look nervous, you got a date tonight?"

"No."

"With that doctor of yours?"

"We're just friends."

"So where are you off to?"

"I don't know yet."

"Then don't go so fast. I'm getting cut on tomorrow. Don't go."

"All right, Dad."

"All right, then."

"So maybe we can talk," I said.

"Don't get carried away."

"Why don't you tell me about your hopes, your dreams, your aspirations?"

"Screw off," said my father.

"Okay."