Carlucci

by Richard Paul Russo

  42

  THEY WERE SITTING on several hundred doses of Core Fever vaccine, and they didn’t know what to do with it. Cage, Paul, and Madelaine were at the table in the staff room, surrounded by beer and soda bottles and melting ice they’d removed from the refrigerators to make room for the vaccine. The fans were blowing, but they had the door closed and locked, and the room was hot. If word got out on the street that they had Core Fever vaccine, they’d be overrun.

  “Okay,” Madelaine said. “Here’s an idea. We don’t tell anyone about it. But every patient who comes in, we vaccinate. Whatever they come in for, whatever we do for them, we also give them a shot of the vaccine. If they’re sick with something, it’s easy, we tell them it’s an antibiotic. Same thing if we’re treating a wound of some kind. A broken arm, ah, let me see, I don’t know…okay, we tell them it’s a shot of some special hormone that promotes bone healing or something like that. We improvise. We have Franzee keep a running list up front so we don’t vaccinate anyone twice. We get enough people coming through here we’ll go through the vaccine pretty damn quickly anyway.”

  It actually sounded like a pretty good idea to Cage, and he said so. He looked at Paul. “What do you think?”

  Paul sighed. “I suppose. If someone already has Core Fever, the vaccine isn’t going to do them any more harm. It’s a wasted dose for us, but that’s a lot better than what would happen if we made an announcement. But this is all bullshit. The feds should be starting here, vaccinating as many people as they can as quickly as they can. They’d be able to provide the security to keep things under control.”

  “Of course it’s bullshit,” Cage said. “But we do what we can with what we’ve got. We should be glad we’ve got anything the way those bastards are.”

  Paul gave a twisted smile. “Friends in high places.”

  “Better than nothing.”

  Paul shrugged. “All right, let’s do it that way.”

  “Good,” Cage said. “And we’ll start right now with the two of you, and then you can send Franzee and Buck back here and I’ll vaccinate them. When Mike and the others come in on their next shifts, we’ll take care of them, too.”

  “What about you?” Madelaine asked.

  “I’m going to pass,” Cage said. “If I haven’t gotten it by now, with my exposure, I never will.”

  Madelaine shook her head. “That’s stupid, Cage.”

  “No it’s not. I really believe I don’t need it. Someone else does.”

  After vaccinating all four of the others, Cage stayed for a while in the staff room, sitting alone at the table with another beer, one of the fans blowing on the back of his head.

  He missed Caroline. He missed her a lot.

  He missed Nikki, too, so much sometimes that he wanted to smash his head against a wall. But Nikki was dead, and he knew he would never see her again. Caroline was still alive, he knew she was out there, but he had not seen or talked to her since her parents had taken her back to their house.

  He was confused about his feelings for her. They had not known each other that long, and most of the time they had spent together had been while she was deathly ill. So how well could he know her? There was guilt along with the confusion. Irrational, he knew that, but he felt it nonetheless. Guilt over Nikki, who had died not that long ago. They had been friends, deep and close friends, and he had loved her.

  He shook his head and finished off the beer. There was too much going on even to think about getting involved with someone, especially someone who might not return the feelings. He didn’t know what, if anything, Caroline thought about him. He had been her doctor, though he had never really thought of her as a patient. So, better not to call her, better not to pursue anything.

  Christ. It was all excuses. He was hopeless. Cage thought about having another beer, then decided against it. He would work for a while in the clinic instead. Vaccinate some people against Core Fever. Save some lives. That was, after all, why he was a doctor, wasn’t it?

  43

  THE DMZ WAS a mess. The disintegration of the quarantine and the rioting that followed had left chunks of brick and stone and shattered concrete littering the sidewalks and alleys, some of it swept into piles, some not. Most of the broken glass had been cleared away, and plywood was nailed over half the windows on the street level. Building walls were pocked with bullet holes, and rust-colored patches of dried blood were everywhere.

  Caroline worked her way through the ruins, feeling safer than she ever had before. The DMZ residents were too busy trying to pull things back together and get their businesses going again to make trouble, and there was a rather strange sense of community on the street.

  She stopped in at Mama Chan’s. Incredibly, all but one of the main street windows were intact. Inside, about half the tables were occupied. The usual Chinese music played on the tiny speakers scattered throughout the restaurant. Standing behind the counter near the back was Mama, a short, thin woman about a hundred and seventy years old—at least that’s what Tito used to say.

  Mama Chan waved at Caroline and called her over to the counter. “Have some soup,” Mama said. “War wonton or egg flower. I make you some Chow Fun noodles.”

  Caroline shook her head. “Maybe later. I’m in a hurry, I’m trying to find someone. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

  Mama shrugged. “I’m alive, and I can cook. Everything’s a mess. You need some soup.”

  Caroline gave in without more fight. She didn’t have the energy to argue, and if Lily and Mink were still in the death house, they weren’t going anywhere. “Okay,” she said. “War wonton soup, a small bowl. No noodles.”

  Mama Chan nodded, then of course dished up a large bowl of soup and set it in front of Caroline. She brought over a pot of tea, then walked down the counter to harass one of the waitresses.

  The soup was good, and Caroline discovered she was actually hungry. She ate every bit of it, and almost wished she hadn’t said no to the noodles. When she was finished, she left money on the counter, called out a thanks to Mama, and left.

  Two blocks away, the death house seemed unnaturally quiet. The front door was propped open, and the lobby stank of rotting fruit. Would rioters have pillaged a death house? It seemed unlikely.

  She climbed the stairs to the third floor, then walked down the hall to Tito’s old room. She was tired and hot, and was a little bit afraid of what she would find inside. She knocked, but got no answer. When she tried the door, it was unlocked; she pushed it open and stepped inside.

  Lily was sitting in a chair by one of the windows, staring out into the airwell, an elbow propped on the windowsill, chin resting in her hand.

  “Lily?” Caroline said.

  “Go away.” Lily didn’t turn around.

  No one else was in the room. A suitcase was open on the sofa, and in it were a few piles of clothes. The bedsheets were thrown onto the floor. Dirty dishes and glasses were scattered across the countertop and piled in the sink.

  “Where’s Mink?” Caroline asked.

  “Where do you think?” Lily still didn’t look at her. “Hanging out at the Luxury Arcade with all her friends, playing electric Ten Pins and SuperSkeet. Having a great time.”

  She took a few more steps toward Lily, but stopped while she was still several feet away. “She died?”

  Lily finally turned to look at her. Her face seemed almost dead, her eyes dulled, her skin slack. But she didn’t say anything.

  “When?” Caroline asked.

  “A week ago.” She closed her eyes. “I don’t know.” She kept her eyes closed and her head swayed gently from side to side. “I. Don’t. Know.”

  Caroline wanted to walk up to Lily and put her arm around her, try to comfort her, but she had the feeling it was exactly the wrong thing to do.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.

  “Yes. You can go away. You can leave me alone. Or, if you have a gun, you could put it to my head and put me out of my misery. Th
at would be all right, too.” She opened her eyes and stared lifelessly at Caroline. “One or the other.”

  “I’m sorry,” Caroline said.

  But Lily didn’t respond at all, except to turn back to the window and stare outside. Caroline turned around and left.

  She returned to the Tenderloin. Physically the Tenderloin seemed much less changed than did the rest of the city—there was less evidence of rioting or looting, and there were very few people wearing masks or gloves but the feel of the place wasn’t much better. There was less fear in the air than in the city outside, but there was more despair and resignation. Too many people were dying, too many people had died. Life went on, but it wasn’t the same.

  No, it wasn’t the same at all. Tina was dead, Mink was dead, Tito was dead, Nikki was dead. Probably Rashida and Dr. Mike were both dead.

  And she was alive. She’d contracted Core Fever, but she was alive.

  She had entered the Tenderloin the only way she knew, through Li Peng’s Imperial Imports again, and now she wandered aimlessly through the Asian Quarter. Dusk was falling, but it was still warm and humid; another heat wave had begun. Why couldn’t it just cook Core Fever right out of the city?

  Lights were coming on, flashing bright colors all around her, but the miasma in the air made the lights seem oddly lifeless. Streethawkers were listless, calling out products and prices without enthusiasm; even the message streamers swimming through the air above her seemed languid and less than enticing. Only the smell of cooking food, strong and seductive, was unaffected, though she noticed that people eating at outdoor cafés sat in odd arrangements, putting as much space as possible between themselves and other customers.

  After nearly an hour of wandering through the Asian Quarter, she finally headed for her real destination: the RadioLand Street Clinic. She went from the Asian Quarter to the Euro, and then to the edges of the Euro and the clinic. Down at the end of the street, the old barrier to the Core was in ruins, and anyone could easily go in or out. But there was no reason to anymore. The Core was sterile and lifeless now; even the old inhabitants were gone, taken away and put into isolation, or killed. And Cancer Cell was no more.

  She walked into the clinic. The waiting room was full, the air hot and stifling. She didn’t see Cage or any of the other doctors, so she went to the front desk, where Franzee was talking to an old woman. When Franzee was done, she looked at Caroline.

  “You’re looking for Cage,” she said, smiling. It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes.”

  “He’s with a patient. Can it wait?”

  “Of course. There’s no hurry.”

  “I’d ask you to take a seat, but there aren’t any.”

  “That’s all right. I’ll be fine.”

  She stood with her back against the wall, looking at all the people waiting to get in to see a doctor, and thought about Cage. She had tried not to think about him ever since her parents had taken her home from Nikki’s apartment, and for the most part she had succeeded. But he was always there, in the back of her thoughts, waiting.

  One of the doors down the hall opened, and two men came out. One was Paul. They went to the front counter, where they talked for a while, then the other man left, and Paul came over to her.

  “You waiting for Cage, or is there something I can do?”

  “Cage,” she said.

  Paul was grinning, staring at her.

  “What?” she said.

  “It’s just so amazing to see someone who survived. It gives us all a little hope. So I’m happy as hell to see you.”

  She smiled. “Thanks, Paul.”

  “I’ll talk to you later.” He nodded at the waiting room. “Got some work to do here.”

  “Yeah, I noticed. What’s going on, is it the Core Fever?”

  “Some. But we’ve also had a cholera outbreak building all spring, and there was some kind of toxic gas release yesterday, which we’re still seeing the effects of. One goddamn thing after another.” He shrugged. “I’ll see you.”

  She nodded, and he left to go take another patient. Sometimes she forgot that even before Core Fever had appeared this had been a busy place.

  Paul took a young girl into one of the exam rooms, and a couple minutes later another door opened. This time it was Cage who came out. He saw her and stopped in the hall, staring at her. Then he finally came forward.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey yourself.”

  “What brings you to this bit of paradise?”

  “You,” she said, feeling her chest tighten.

  Cage didn’t respond right away. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, whether it was good or bad. So she waited. “Hang on a minute, can you?” he said. “I’ve got a patient waiting, and I’ve got an injection to give him.”

  “Sure, go ahead.” She gestured at all the people waiting.

  “You look like you’re going to be pretty busy for a while.” He nodded. “Yeah, we’re a little bit swamped, but my shift is about over. I’ve been here twelve hours straight, and Madelaine’s coming in soon.”

  “Why don’t I just meet you later? When you’re done.”

  “All right. Where?”

  “Nikki’s. I thought maybe I’d stay there again, for a few days, if that’s okay.”

  “Nikki’s.” He nodded. “All right. I don’t know when, for sure. Maybe an hour or two.”

  “Whenever. I’ll be there.”

  “It’s good to see you, Caroline.”

  “It’s good to see you, Cage.”

  Nothing had been touched in the place since her parents had taken her away. There was a notice that had been slipped under the door saying rent was late, and had to be paid in two days or Nikki would be evicted. She would talk to Cage about that, see if he knew where she could pay the rent.

  She spent the next two hours cleaning the apartment—washing dishes, throwing out old, rotting food, sweeping and mopping the floors. She hung the sleeping bag out of the window to air it out, and tossed the sheets and pillowcase into a pile in a corner of the room, sheets she’d sweated in while she’d been sick. Tomorrow she would go back to her apartment, get some clothes, a few books, and other things.

  She had just finished moving Nikki’s tapestries against one wall when there was a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” she called.

  Cage opened the door and stepped inside, carrying a couple of brown paper bags. “Dinner,” he said, holding up the bags. “Thai food from a little place around the corner. You hungry?”

  She nodded, smiling. “Very. And there isn’t much here.”

  He closed the door and looked around the place.

  “You’ve been cleaning up. You really going to stay here?”

  “For a while, yes.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not really sure. It seems like the right thing to do at the moment.” She wanted to tell him that he was one of those reasons, but she could not yet bring herself to do it. Later, perhaps. Instead, she smiled and said, “Let’s eat.”

  44

  HER NAME WAS Amira Choukri, and she looked very much like the picture that the sketch artist had made. She was dark, her hair black with only a dusting of gray, and quite beautiful. Early forties, Carlucci guessed, maybe five-foot-five, or -six. She was wearing boots and jeans and a blue work shirt. If she was scared, she didn’t show it.

  It was close to midnight, and they were in what appeared to be an abandoned machine shop in an industrial area south of Market. Orange-tinged moonlight beamed in through dozens of cracked and broken windowpanes, casting a riot of shadows into the far reaches of the room. Carlucci, Istvan, and Amira sat on crates around a large electrical cable spool turned on its side. Istvan, with a sense of ritual, had brought cups and a large container of hot tea, and had just finished pouring cups for all of them.

  “There will be no recording of this conversation,” Istvan said.

  “I know,” Carlucci replied, holding up a hand. �
��You told me, and I didn’t bring anything to do that.”

  “I am just confirming the ground rules,” he said. “You may take notes, but this is not a formal statement. She will not sign anything.”

  Carlucci nodded. They had been through all this before. Maybe it was for Amira’s benefit.

  Istvan set a pack of cigarettes in the center of the cable spool, took one and lit it, then waved at Carlucci to go ahead.

  “Why are you hiding?” Carlucci asked.

  Amira glanced at Istvan, then took one of his cigarettes. She lit it and took a deep drag, staring at Carlucci. “If you don’t know, I’m sure as hell not going to tell you.” She cocked her head. “If you don’t know, why are we here?”

  Was this going to be one of those interviews where the person he talked to constantly played games with their answers? He hoped she was just being cautious.

  “You knew Naomi Katsuda,” he said. “If you’re hiding, I’d guess you know something about her murder. That’s why we’re here. That’s why I’ve been searching for you.”

  She gazed at him for a minute, then nodded once. “Yes, I knew her. We were friends.”

  “Just friends?” he asked.

  She smiled and shook her head. “Friends isn’t enough?” She sighed deeply. “Yes, we were more than friends. Yes, we were…lovers. We had to be discreet. Her father knew, but he couldn’t stand the idea that his daughter wasn’t straight. Wasn’t ‘normal,’ as he used to say all the time. So he knew, but as long as we weren’t open and public about it, he tolerated it.”

  “What would he have done if you hadn’t been discreet?”

  “We didn’t want to find out. And as it turned out, we were right to be afraid.”

  Clouds were passing across the moon, and the light faded in and out. There was some illumination from a street lamp nearby, but it was dimmer than the moonlight, and Amira’s features threatened to wash away in the darkness.

  “What happened to Naomi?”

  She smoked silently for a minute or two, looking away from him. She closed her eyes, and the clouds cleared away from the moon long enough to light the moisture at their corners, moisture that wasn’t quite tears. Then she opened her eyes again and looked at him.