Under the Knife(84)

A perfectly ordinary scene: just two friends hanging out in the park. Why couldn’t his life be more like theirs? More, you know … normal?

“Shit,” Raj breathed. “Does anyone else know? Anyone else burdened with the details of your weird love life?”

“No. We kept it secret. You know that. That’s the way she wanted it. She was afraid that—she said that she didn’t want people talking, passing judgment on her. She didn’t want people to think she was sleeping around to advance her career.”

“God. And you’re otherwise so vanilla, man. So normal.” Spencer couldn’t help but scowl at him. “Really. I mean it. I’m serious. It’s been, what: a year? More than that? She told you things were over between you two. Why can’t you just move on?”

“I don’t know.”

Raj sighed. “It’s just weird, man. You haven’t been stalking her again, or anything, have you?”

Spencer didn’t answer.

“Have you?”

He dropped his eyes.

“Oh, shit. You are.”

“It’s not stalking, Raj.”

Raj leaned toward him over the table. “The hell it isn’t. Shit, I mean, listen to you, man. You should hear yourself. Are you still running by her house?” Raj peered at Spencer’s face. “Oh my God. You are. That is so disturbing.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“We live in the same neighborhood. My … route just happens to take me along her street. That’s all.”

“You’re stalking your ex-girlfriend, and now she’s had a psychotic break.” He picked up the California roll again and bit into it. “That’s a pretty fucking disturbing coincidence, Spencer.” Rice flecks flew out of his mouth.

Spencer balled his fists. “I’m not stalking her. It’s—you— You wouldn’t understand.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t. I don’t. Because it’s weird, Spencer. Normal people don’t do this kind of thing.”

Spencer rarely got angry. But his nerves were frayed by what he’d seen that morning, and his temper flared. He struggled to keep it under control. “You never liked her, did you?” he growled.

Raj defiantly chewed on the roll. “No. I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because she never treated you right, man. She’s a cold-hearted bitch who didn’t deserve you. Keep things between you a secret?” He guffawed. “I mean, really—that sucks. It’s like she was embarrassed about you, man. She knifed you in the gut. Practically ripped your heart out and held it up to your fucking face.”

Over the years, his parents had often remarked to Spencer that, the angrier he got, the softer he had a tendency to speak. Raj had to bend way, way over the table to hear him when he said: “What do you know? Who the hell do you think you are?”

Raj finished the remains of the roll and said, “Your friend, man.”

“My friend.” Spencer nodded. “My friend.”

He stood up and pushed his uneaten lunch toward Raj.

“Here,” he said coldly. “Just keep shoveling food in your face, my fat friend.”

“Where are you going?”

“What the hell do you care?”

Spencer stalked away.

“Spence,” Raj called after him.

Spencer didn’t turn around.

“Come on, Spence. Hey. I’m sorry, man. Come back.”

He pointed himself toward the OR to check on his patient, who’d be awake in recovery by now, and to change out of his scrubs.

His next stop after that would be the ER.





SEBASTIAN


Sebastian was suspicious.

He was sitting in his car in a quiet section of the Turner parking garage, thinking.

I’m a man of my word, Finney had told him.

With a straight goddamn face!

The hell he was. Sebastian sensed something was up. No way that what he had in store for Wu—what he wanted Sebastian to do to her—was the whole story. Plans within plans. Finney was a cold, calculating son of a bitch, and there was little doubt now in Sebastian’s mind that Finney was playing him. Or at least trying to.

But that was okay, because the gears in Sebastian’s brain were spinning. Planning options. Hedging against nasty surprises. Calculating endgames. Bastards far craftier than Finney had tried to play Sebastian before. And regretted it.

Sebastian wanted his money. He needed his money. Sammy and Sierra’s money. And he’d be goddamned if he didn’t get it. Sure: He’d considered taking the million and just walking, right there, in the park. Maybe I should have. That would have been the smart thing. The safe thing. Money enough for the co-pays, and the damn parochial school; money enough to find a decent place for the kids in the suburbs.

The problem was: It wouldn’t last. A million didn’t go far these days. Even if he made it stretch, within a few years he’d be right back where he’d started: scratching out a living doing this shit.

And then there was Sammy.

They never say cure, Brother.

Why is that, do you think?

He clutched Alfonso’s dog tag through his shirt. How many more goddamn co-pays in Sammy’s future? Maybe none. Hopefully none. But if there were, he and his sister would need deep pockets. Sammy deserved the chances the kid who’d killed Alfonso had never had.