The Magic Bullet

by Andrew Neiderman

  “Oh yeah?” Warren leaned forward. “What complication?”

  “When I treated this second patient at the hospital using Taylor’s blood sample, another patient with a similarly serious condition apparently witnessed it.”

  “So?”

  “Well, he also obviously witnessed the patient’s recovery.”

  Warren stared coldly, sipped some beer, and nodded. “So this patient really improved, huh? Demi was right. He’s cured.”

  “Yes, it does look like it.”

  Warren’s smile rippled through his face. “So now it turns out the kid’s blood is more valuable than you’ve made it out to be, huh?”

  “It’s not that anymore, Mr. Moore.”

  Warren dropped his smile. “Well, what is it? What’s this crap about precautions? What are you tying to do here?” he asked.

  “Protect you all,” Allan said.

  Warren smiled again. “Oh, I get it. You’re going to threaten us with some lawsuit or something, huh?”

  “No, no, far from it,” Allan said quickly. “I wish it were that simple.”

  “You going to scare Demi, tell her Taylor might get sick now because he was close to his cousin or connected his blood to her. Maybe she infected him? You want me to back you up with that and get her to agree for the money?”

  “No, Mr. Moore. You’re way off base here.”

  “Well, what the fuck is it? What do you want?”

  “This patient to whom I’m referring doesn’t know why the patient I treated improved. He knows nothing about Taylor’s blood and the transfusion of white blood cells.”

  The cloud that had settled itself over Warren’s brain began to lift slowly. He sat back to think and then nodded.

  “He wants it for himself, huh?” he asked, actually sounding disappointed.

  “Not exactly. He doesn’t know about Taylor’s white blood cells. That’s my point, my reason for coming here, Mr. Moore. It would be best for all concerned if he never knows about it. I regret that you even discussed it with this doctor you call a quack. I’m hoping he really didn’t understand or give it a second thought.”

  It came in like a curveball, first making him curious and then making him nervous.

  “Wait a minute. Why are you so worried? Who the hell is this second patient? Someone important, a politician, another doctor?”

  “Apparently, he’s something of a local gangster,” Allan said.

  “Huh?” Warren smiled again. “What kind of bullshit story is that?”

  “I don’t know if it’s, as you say, bullshit or not, Mr. Moore. I don’t really know anything about him, but Doctor Weber was treating him for his illness. He made demands, threats. Both Doctor Weber and I are very concerned.”

  “So Taylor’s blood could help him, too, huh?”

  “Maybe. There are other factors to consider, but a layman won’t understand, or want to understand. Especially someone this sick.”

  “Yeah. I get it. Threatened you, huh? Well, what’s his name?”

  Allan hesitated. “I came here to advise you strongly not to speak about Taylor’s blood sample to anyone else. For now, it really would be better anyway. Maybe, in time…”

  “What the fuck’s his name?” Warren persisted. “If I don’t know his name, I won’t know who the hell to avoid.”

  “Vico. Frank Vico.”

  “Frankie’s got cancer?”

  “You know him?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I go to his bowling joint and bar sometimes. I even did some work around his house once. I hear stuff about him. He’s supposedly connected. He pushes drugs for a big outfit, and he’s got a goon for a bodyguard. I don’t know as he’s more talk than anything else, Doc. Normally these guys don’t want to bring any unnecessary attention to themselves,” he added in the tone of someone who knew all about the underworld.

  “Well, that may very well be the truth, but as a precaution, I think—both Doctor Weber and I think,” Allan corrected, “that it would be better if no one said anymore.”

  “You mean I, especially, should keep my mouth shut?”

  “In so many words, yes,” Allan said. He had sensed early on that Warren was not a man to be trusted or who cared for anything or anyone unless there was some possible way there would be something in it for himself. So he added, “If, in time, Mrs. Petersen has a change of heart, it would make it more difficult, maybe impossible, to conduct the experimentation.” Allan smiled to get his point sharply clear. “We couldn’t make any deals, even if I was able to raise more funds.”

  “Yeah, I bet,” Warren said. “Well, we’re not making any now. What about Demi’s sister and brother-in-law?”

  “Doctor Weber is speaking to them,” Allan said. “They understand.”

  Warren nodded.

  “So you screwed up a bit,” he said, suddenly seeing another angle.

  “I would rather the information we have isn’t compromised and no further unpleasantness occurs, yes.”

  “What’s it worth?” Warren asked bluntly.

  “Worth? I’m telling you all this so you can protect Mrs. Petersen and her son. You still care about their welfare, right?”

  “I wasn’t thinking about them. I was thinking about you and maybe Doctor Weber,” Warren said. “You said he threatened you two. Maybe he could do something physical, maybe not. Could be lawsuits and such, I bet. Should be worth something to you rich doctors to cut him off at the pass.”

  Allan recoiled. “Anyone listening would accuse you of blackmail, Mr. Moore.”

  Warren smiled more widely. “My father would call it incentive.”

  Allan shook his head, no longer hiding his disgust.

  “You can call it a down payment on our future negotiation,” Warren added.

  Allan stood up. “I’ve already compromised my ethics, my own sense of morality doing what I did, Mr. Moore. I came here to give you some heads-up so you could ensure the safety and health of Mrs. Petersen and her son, maybe even yourself. That’s my down payment. Now it’s up to you to do the right thing.”

  He was shaking inside, but he held his firm, indignant demeanor. Warren seemed to wilt some. He gave Allan a wide smile.

  “Hey, just trying, Doc. You can’t blame a guy for trying. I got the picture. No worries,” Warren said.

  “That’s very wise, Mr. Moore. If you need me, you can call me on this number,” Allan said, handing Warren a card that had his cell phone number. “I gave it to Mrs. Petersen as well, as you know.”

  Warren took it and nodded.

  “Will do,” he said. He didn’t get up to walk Allan to the door. Instead, he sat staring at the card thinking for a few minutes. Suddenly something occurred to him. He smiled, slapped his knee, and then he put his empty beer can down on the coffee table. He rose and went to wash his face in cold water.

  He wanted to look at himself in the mirror to see if what he was thinking had changed his appearance.

  It was that evil.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Allan was sick to his stomach. Dealing with a man like Warren Moore made him feel as if he had lost his own dignity. It was like wallowing in the mud. Had he come this far, achieved so many accolades, helped so many people, won the respect of so many of his superiors and mentors only to end up begging a man like that to protect his supposed loved ones and himself, as well as Joe and his family? How had this happened and happened so quickly? Why couldn’t his pursuit of good involve him only with people of high quality, people who truly appreciated him and his efforts? Was this all part of the war, part of the test he had to suffer in order to achieve the victory he so desperately and determinedly sought?

  After he left Moore, he debated going directly to the beauty salon to pull Demi aside and let her know what he had told Warren. He wanted to be sure she understood what the risks were. He would tell her that he realized his initial rationalization that he didn’t want to upset her at work was really very weak. But he feared that once he revealed what had happened and that
her own fears for herself and her son were dangerously close to evolving into realities, he would lose her cooperation forever.

  I’m a coward, he thought. I can face germs, viruses, and dangerous bacteria but not a woman I might have inadvertently placed in jeopardy.

  And yet, whom would he rather Demi Petersen heard all this from, him or Warren?

  Why didn’t I think of that before I went to see him? he asked himself.

  He also felt terrible about driving out of Palm Springs and heading for L.A. while he left Joe and his wife trembling behind him. What had he really accomplished by coming here? He probably saved Paul Wellman’s life, but the man had no knowledge of what was done to him or who had done it, not that Allan needed that gratitude. He had bigger ambitions than saving the life of one patient.

  No, he had not confirmed anything scientifically. He had nothing empirical to bring back to Thornton Carver or anyone else for that matter. His anecdotal information was interesting, intriguing, but where would it go from there now? This stood to be a terribly disappointing failed mission, another failed attempt to beat back his nemesis.

  The sight of the 10 Freeway just ahead of him instantly resurrected the memory of the highway patrolmen and how they had let him off with just a warning because one of them had a mother suffering from breast cancer. They had looked at him as someone special, someone who might do something meaningful for them and their loved ones. He had come into this city pounding his steering wheel in frustration and rage and he was leaving the same way.

  To come this far and get so close to the answer and then to hightail it out because some cheap crook was slinging threats was simply too much to bear. The moment he saw the U-turn opportunity ahead, he hit the brakes. He knew Joe was more comfortable with his leaving Palm Springs, leaving it all up to him, but Allan had no faith in Joe. He was too settled, too complacent. He had lost the edge. Perhaps he had never had it. Whatever the reason, all the good possibilities would just die. This whole new discovery was in terrible danger of fading away.

  Demi Petersen’s face flashed before him. Her look of fear, her look of hope, but also that look of trust he saw when she was in Joe’s office with her son. How could he betray all that now?

  I must go back, he thought. I must.

  Invigorated by his decision, he sped back toward Palm Springs. He had no idea how he would approach Demi again, but at least he wasn’t simply driving off, defeated. Surely there was a way to get her to understand the significance of all this. The money offer spooked her. He recalled how uncomfortable she was taking the thousand. All right. Then he would try to impress her with the humane issues, the chance to do something miraculous for mankind. Perhaps he hadn’t emphasized and explained it enough, but now he would put it all out on the table, and he would do it without that idiot boyfriend hovering over him.

  As he reentered the city, it occurred to him that he just might have missed a golden opportunity. This goon who had threatened them actually provided it. Joe hadn’t seen it and neither had he, but it was looming ahead of him like a ripe orange to pluck. He had been too sensitive to Joe’s nervous, practically hysterical reaction to realize it until now. Joe would absolutely disown him after this, but that friendship was meaningless in comparison with what would be lost. I’ll use Frankie Vico as a catalyst to drive Demi to rely on me, not flee from me, he thought.

  Even more energized, Allan drove on, parking close to the beauty salon. This time he would not wait to pounce on Demi the moment she emerged from the salon. It was too much like an ambush and, after all, if he was going to impress her with the urgency and danger, he wouldn’t just sit around waiting for her to come out, would he?

  Kiki’s Beauty Salon wasn’t very big. Standing outside, Allan saw four beauticians, including Demi Petersen, working four chairs and two assistants washing hair at two sinks. Kiki himself was dressed as flamboyantly as Liberace. The beauty parlor owner’s hair was as styled and sprayed as any of his female customers’ hair. He had a woman’s soft shoulders and very narrow waist. The diamond earring he wore glittered so brightly when it caught light one would think he had a tiny bulb in his lobe. He sat on what looked like a throne near the receptionist, and, like some plantation overseer, watched his staff perform their coiffeur magic.

  Demi’s chair was the farthest from the front. Her elderly customer had the diminutive body of a twelve-year-old, and when Allan saw her face in the mirror, he could easily see the evidence of multiple plastic surgeries. It had truly taken on the character of a mask. Demi was completing the tinting of her roots, and even from this distance, he could see it was like working on hay.

  His timing wasn’t too bad. Demi took off her gloves and stood beside her customer while they both gazed into the mirror.

  The moment he entered, Kiki turned, and his trimmed eyebrows lifted with interest. In fact, all the beauticians paused to look his way, Demi included. The smile on her face seemed to slide off as if it had been made of thin ice.

  “Can I help you?” Kiki asked, not moving from his throne. He held his right hand up and off to the side as though he was about to give a benediction or perform an act of magic himself.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt here,” Allan began, “but it’s a matter of some urgency.”

  Like some FBI agent, he opened his wallet to show his medical identification. Kiki looked at it and then smirked.

  “What is this, some health department thing?”

  “No, sir. I have to speak with Mrs. Petersen.”

  “Oh,” Kiki said, dropping the corners of his mouth. “Well, as you can see, she’s attending to a customer. Can’t this wait?”

  “No,” Allan said sharply. “I wouldn’t be here if it could.”

  He spoke loudly enough to be heard throughout the salon. Everyone stopped working.

  “It’s all right,” the woman in Demi’s chair said.

  Demi put her head down and walked through the salon, past Allan and out the door.

  “Thank you,” Allan told her customer. He just nodded at Kiki. “Won’t be long.”

  “I hope not,” Kiki said.

  Allan stepped out.

  “What do you want, Doctor Parker? I thought our conversation was over.”

  “Me too,” Allan said. “Did Warren call you?”

  “Warren?” She unfolded her arms, looked back through the door, and then took a step to the right. “No. Why?”

  “I went to see him. We had a serious incident, and I wanted you warned. To be honest, I had the feeling he didn’t fully comprehend the urgency of the matter, the danger,” he added, and her eyes widened.

  “What danger? What are you talking about?”

  “I’ll make this quick,” Allan said. “The patient I described as improving didn’t just improve. He went into a complete remission. He was suffering from stage four lung cancer. His lungs are completely clear.”

  “So…” She shook her head. “Why is that dangerous?”

  “I told you I treated him with Taylor’s white blood cells and I had done it without first discussing it with his family or him for that matter.”

  “Yes, but you said that was common with experimental medicine at that stage.”

  “It is, but I didn’t tell Doctor Weber either.”

  “What?”

  “As I said, I was very anxious to get to a conclusion, follow a theory. As it turned out, I was not wrong, but Doctor Weber had another patient in the next room who suffers from the same cancer, and he witnessed what I had done and saw the patient’s miraculous recovery.”

  The conclusion seemed to explode inside her and widen her eyes.

  “And he wants Taylor’s blood?”

  “He doesn’t know yet that it was Taylor’s blood or anyone’s blood, for that matter. He just knows something different was done.”

  “Okay. I’ll make sure that Warren does not say anything more to anyone else. He was right about that doctor in Indio. He has little credibility with anyone but workman’s compensa
tion frauds. Now, I better get back to…”

  “It’s not that easy, Mrs. Petersen. The patient I’m referring to checked himself out of the hospital, stopped his chemotherapy, and paid Doctor Weber and me a nasty visit.”

  “Nasty?”

  “He threatened us.”

  “Threatened? You mean with a lawsuit?”

  “I wish,” Allan said.

  Demi narrowed her eyes. “Who is this patient?”

  “Apparently, some local mobster,” Allan said. “His name’s Frank Vico.”

  Demi widened her eyes again.

  Kiki opened the salon door and leaned out.

  “Excuse me, dear, but Mrs. Cutler has to get to a charity committee meeting.”

  “Be right there,” Demi said.

  “It’s impolite,” Kiki added and closed the door.

  “Exactly what are you saying?” Demi asked Allan.

  “I think you and Taylor could be in some serious danger. I feel responsible and would like you to permit me to offer you protection.”

  “Protection? Bodyguards, what?”

  “I’d like you both to come with me. I’ll compensate you for whatever income you lose.”

  She stared at him for a moment, her entire face frozen. She didn’t even blink.

  “Will you let me do that?” he asked.

  “Leave? Take my son out of his school?”

  “Yes. I think you should do that.”

  “That’s crazy. This has all gotten out of hand. Please, stay away from me and my son,” she said, turned, and went back into the salon.

  He stood there on the sidewalk and brought his hand to his left cheek as if she had just slapped him. Before he could move, Kiki came to the door and glared out at him, daring him just to try going in after her.

  Now, he began truly to feel like Sisyphus. No matter how close he came to succeeding, that success slipped from his hands and sent him careening back to start again.

  Only now he was out of ideas.

  Three years ago, Warren had worked with Joel Gerda, who had a patio construction company out of Palm Desert. One of their projects was the repair and extension of the patio at the rear of Frankie Vico’s home in Rancho Mirage, so Warren was familiar with the address.