For Blood or Money
21. To Die or Not to Die; That Is the Question
OH! GOD DAMN!
The sudden jab of pain startled me awake, but waking didn’t lessen the pain. It radiated from the very center of my chest out into every limb of my body. I gasped once for air and felt my ears go numb and every sound disappear. My hair felt like it was standing on end with the electrical force that was frying my head.
Shit! Fuck! Stupid son of a bitch! Stop it. Stop the pain. Jesus Christ, don’t do this now. I can’t stand it.
I knew tears had puddled in my eyes because I could feel them dripping into my ears, but I couldn’t get my eyes to open. I had them clenched tight like my fists were clenched at my sides. Even my toes were curled and I could feel cramps climbing my legs multiplying the pain with spasms in my lower back.
Stop it, you stupid mother-fucking cock sucker! I’m not going to die here! I’m not!
I had to get control. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t call for help. My voice wasn’t working, and I wasn’t breathing. I could feel sweat running off of me, dampening the sheets.
Breathe you worthless pile of shit! Breathe! Take in air and let it out, asshole!
I fearfully let a little of the air that was caught in my lungs escape and rapidly sucked in enough to replace it. It wasn’t enough. I’d have to do better. A little out, a little in.
You cowardly pussy. That won’t do it. Breathe, goddamn you!
More air out. More air in. If I wasn’t dead yet, I wasn’t about to die now. With a shuddering gasp I released all the air in my lungs and sucked it back. The pain shot through my chest in waves. I sobbed the air in and out now.
Open your eyes, you cowardly bastard! I can’t. You have to. Open them up!
I got my eyes open in slits that admitted enough dull glow to know that I could see light of some sort.
More!
My vision swam in and out of focus on nothing that I could recognize. I heaved a deep sigh, risking having my lungs explode, and blinked repeatedly. I still couldn’t make out anything definite. What was happening? I couldn’t see anything but a white blur with fine lines gathered at one corner of my sight. But I realized that I’d become distracted and the pain had lessened. I focused all my attention on the white blur and blinked again. The ceiling swam into focus. In one corner an industrious spider had stretched a net that was black with dust.
You are not going to die in a fucking hotel room where the maid forgot to clean the corners!
I focused on my toes and willed them to unclench, to relieve the cramp in my calves. With every breath I drew I focused on my limbs, demanding that they relax. I felt my hands unclench. I didn’t try to move them. A low hum was coming to my ears now and, as I concentrated on breathing, it gradually overcame the pounding of my heartbeat. There was nothing much to hear, but I could hear the presence of the room in the low hum of the heating and an out-of-phase electrical circuit.
I knew what all these things were and I wasn’t going to die. Not now. Not here.
Damn.
I was exhausted. I lay there on my back breathing and trying to come back to reality. I was so tired. I let my eyes drift closed again and was asleep.
I was awakened by a golden-haired vision leaning over me. The long curls were only partly caught up in a knot in back, and stray wisps floated around her face.
“Riley?” I thought. Apparently the words didn’t make it out of my mouth. What would Riley be doing here?
“Dag! Wake up. Dag!” No, not Riley. Angel. Was I going to wake up every time I thought I was dying to a beautiful woman leaning over me? I could get used to it. She was certainly lovely.
My eyes were wide open now and I looked squarely into her face. I knew it was Angel, but it wasn’t the face I was expecting. Had I ever actually looked at her face? Well, of course, I could recognize her. But I hadn’t noticed that she had brown eyes with little dark streaks running through the irises. Why did I just assume she had blue eyes? I’d made disparaging comments to myself about her bottle blonde hair. Had I looked at it? Had I seen any more than I expected to see—a beautiful woman selling herself for money and power?
She had no mascara on. Apparently it was morning and she hadn’t put on her makeup yet. I could see a faint tracery of lines around her eyes, silent witness to the fact that she was not quite as young as I originally thought, but not more than thirty even so. I could see how, in the future, they would deepen, and that the result would still be beautiful, but perhaps more dignified. In age she would be like Ingrid Bergman. It occurred to me to ask if she was Swedish.
But concern and worry tinged the beauty. Perhaps there was too much of a difficult life hidden beneath her usual makeup, which was exposed as she now looked at me without its mask. A hint of shadow beneath her eyes spoke of too little sleep and too frantic a life. I wondered how much of that care and worry she had brought to her relationship with Simon, and how much was a result of it.
“Dag, breakfast is here and Simon wants to get started right away,” she said. I couldn’t help myself. I lifted a hand toward her face.
She started away, but it wasn’t from my touch. She took my hand in hers and opened it, then sought the other one and looked into my palms.
“What have you done?” she asked, then without waiting for an answer called out, “Simon! Come in here.”
I realized that I still hadn’t spoken and didn’t know what she was referring to. I held my hands up where I could see them. They were covered in dried blood. On each of my palms were the perfect crescent cuts from my fingernails. I guessed I should get them trimmed.
As Simon came into the room I became suddenly aware that the sheets I on which I lay were soaked, and where I had started feeling warm, I was now feeling chilled.
Simon looked quickly at my hands and the damp sheets and was instantly concerned.
“Dag, are you okay?” he asked. At last I managed to pry my lips apart to answer.
“Pills,” I croaked, waving feebly toward the bathroom. Angel was immediately in action getting water and returning with three bottles of medicine.
“Which one of these are you supposed to have?” she asked. I pointed to the right bottle and held up two fingers. She shook out the pills and popped them into my open mouth, then held the glass as I swallowed them down. I’ll have to remember to keep those nearer to my bed from now on. It was a miracle that I had lived to take them.
“Dag, what’s wrong with you, old buddy?” Simon said. “What can we do to help?” I managed to clear my head and tongue. I just hoped that I wasn’t going to find that I was slurring my words when I spoke.
“I had an attack in the night. It obviously wasn’t that bad since I’m awake this morning, but I guess it was pretty rough then.” I looked at my hands. “Looks like I need a manicure.”
“An attack of what?” Angel said.
“Heart,” I answered briefly.
“I heard that you were sick recently,” Simon said, “but I didn’t know it was this serious.”
“I’m on a waiting list for a transplant,” I said, “if I survive long enough to get one.”
“Let’s get it moving,” Simon said, “jumping to his feet. We’ll call around to the area hospitals and see who can get you in.” That was Simon, all right. If it needed doing, let’s get the troops in line and do it. I’m sure he thought that all he had to do was call a local hospital and tell them I needed a new heart and I’d get one this afternoon. He had no concept of how long a recovery it was going to be and how hard it is to get a new heart.
“Right now, I need a shower,” I said. “There’s no sense in calling hospitals, Simon. Every one of them has a waiting list of patients for heart transplants. They take them in order when a heart that matches comes available. But there still aren’t that many donors. Half of them will never get to the operation. My best bet is to get finished with our business and get back to Seattle where I’m at least on the list. But right now,” I said again, “I stink and I really need that shower.”
“I’ll help you,” Angel said immediately.
“No way,” Simon said. “I’ll do it. I’m not likely to give him another heart attack getting him into the shower. You are.” We all laughed at that and Angel said to get a move on then, breakfast was ready.
I was pretty shaky getting into the shower and out, and I was glad that Simon was standing by. I felt a lot better when I came to the breakfast table. In the intervening time, Angel had made up her face and dressed in a casual, but sexy looking, shirt and jeans. I was still wearing suit pants and a dress shirt, though I hadn’t put on a tie yet. I noticed that her makeup masked all the subtle beauties I’d seen in her earlier this morning. She had transformed herself from person to object in a few short minutes, though she still treated me warmly. She was comfortable in that role, and I feared that she might never be free of it.
Simon and I went back to work and spent the day setting up cash bleeds and transfers. When we were done, there would not be much left of Barnett, Keane, and Lamb. Riley called about noon.
“Dag, I hope this is okay,” she started. I was instantly alert for what wasn’t okay. “Brenda Barnett called this noon. She was back from her vacation and said she was trying to track you down. She’d been dialing your number for days, she claims, but there’s been no answer.”
“It’s my cell phone. She doesn’t have the number for my new phone.”
“I know that. I explained to her that you had found Simon and were with him in Atlanta,” Riley said. “Then she really blew up. I have never taken so much verbal abuse in my life.” I could tell she was still pretty steamed and was thankful she had restrained herself with Brenda. “The short of it is that she’s planning to fly to Atlanta tomorrow herself to—and I quote—‘drag the bastard home where he belongs and ditch the whore he’s shacked up with.’ I assumed that she was referring to Simon and not to you, right?”
“Presumably,” I chuckled, “but with Brenda you never know for sure.”
“Does that mean you are shacked up with a whore?” she asked.
“No one is, Riley. I’ve told you how Brenda thinks.” At the first mention of Brenda, Simon had turned his attention fully on me and was listening to what was being said. I thanked Riley for the information, assured her that I was fine, and hung up.”
“Brenda knows I’m here, Dag?” Simon asked with some concern.
“Yes,” I answered. “And it sounds like she’s out for blood.”
“Or Money.” Simon muttered. “Shit. That means Bradley knows.”
“I don’t follow. Bradley and Brenda didn’t seem to be on great terms when I met with each of them,” I said. I can’t imagine that Brenda would tell him.”
“He was probably listening when she made the call. He’s been fucking her for years,” Simon said bitterly. I was amused that someone so casual with whom he had sex, in fact who had slept with and later married my wife, was still bitter about who she slept with.
“This is serious,” Simon continued. “How much do we have to go?”
“You tell me,” I said. “We’ve transferred close to 1.5 billion in business assets in a mass divestiture and have given half a billion to charity. How much more is there?” Simon thought for a bit.
“There’s still enough for one more donation,” he said. “This account has one-and-a-half million in it.” He pointed to the last of the named accounts that we hadn’t dealt with. “It’s yours.” I was stunned. “You need to pay for an operation and get yourself healthy, Dag. You’ve done a good thing for me. It’s the only way I can pay you back.”
“Simon, I can’t take your money. I’m not likely to even be around long enough to use it.”
“That’s a fine way to talk. Look, you’ve got the transfer numbers and I’m telling you the account belongs to you. Now if you want to give it away, that’s up to you. Otherwise, leave it to your heirs. Just make sure they know it’s theirs. One-and-a-half mil left in a Swiss bank account after you are dead is just going to stay in the bank.” I tried to protest again, but Simon insisted that it was now my problem—he was quit of the whole thing. We had essentially liquidated a two billion dollar business in 48 hours, with all the transfers set up to execute on a timetable that would leave Bradley in the dark until Monday after Thanksgiving.
I thought about Simon’s offer. Then I made a decision. I set up a holding account and wired $500,000 to it in the name of Billie and Wanda Martin. That much, at least, I could do. I sent an e-mail to my lawyer with the particulars and asked that he contact them on behalf of an anonymous donor. And that he do it fast.
Simon ordered dinner and champagne. He said it was time to celebrate, but I noticed that when they brought dinner to the room, he answered the doorbell himself, and spent a long time looking through the privacy glass before he opened the door to let the server in.
Simon was acting scared.
I had a salmon dinner with long grain brown rice and steamed broccoli. Angel had suddenly taken it upon herself to make sure I was eating a heart-healthy diet. She poured the champagne and poured me only half a glass. Just to toast with, she said. That was fine with me.
After dinner we sat in the sitting room, papers and my laptop still on the coffee table. Simon wanted to know if I’d look one more thing up for him and I agreed. But I was surprised when he said he wanted me to check on flights from Seattle to Atlanta. Was there anything Brenda could have gotten on today?
“There’s a red-eye at 10:30 tonight,” I said. “It gets in tomorrow morning at 6:00. You aren’t really worried about Brenda coming here, are you Simon?”
“I could turn my back and walk away from Brenda,” Simon said. “It’s Bradley’s goon I’m worried about. He could be here by 6:00 a.m.” He paused and brightened. “Well, she doesn’t know where I’m staying, does she? We’ve got time to get to the airport tomorrow and get you back to Seattle and Angel and me to Croatia. It’s going to be a lovely flight, Angel honey.” It was a forced levity. Simon was worried.
His mention of the refrigerator-sized Oksamma worried me, too. I checked a couple more things on the computer. The last time I saw the big man, Oksamma was in Chicago where presumably he was still lying low.
There were half a dozen flights from Chicago that arrived this evening.
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