Patience, My Dear

by Bower Lewis

  “Get away from me.” She pushed him back and stalked over to the window, her hair taking on a surreal glow beneath the neon VACANT sign outside. “You’re not looking for weirdness in my eyes, Zane. What the hell kind of a thing is that to say to a girl?”

  He stood beside the bed with his arms crossed and didn’t respond until she turned her glare back to him. “I wasn’t looking to create a moment, Patience. The fact that I find you recklessly distracting ought to be apparent enough to anyone—even to a girl of your ornery and suspicious nature—and I really don’t care to belabor that point. Now, your brain has taken one hell of a beating today and you need to stay awake until you’ve been seen. I’m going to stay awake as well, obviously, to make sure that you do. There’s no way I’m letting you check out on me in some manner that I’m totally unprepared for, so please don’t give me any more grief. I’m tired and I’m not screwing around. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

  His eyes were bright and his jaw was set. The white T-shirt that was all he’d been left with upon the destruction of his Oxford was doing little to conceal the cut of his tensed arms. Patience came back to stand before him.

  “Yes.”

  “No!”

  He jumped back with his hands in the air between them.

  “I don’t care what happens tonight, Patience—I don’t care how many guns are drawn, or how inappropriate the situation may be—you are not going to kiss me. In fact, I want you to stay at least five feet away from me until I tell you otherwise.”

  She frowned and looked down. “I guess I hadn’t realized that kissing me was such a problem for you.”

  His expression cut off anything she might care to add to that.

  “I shot a man today. That’s a stressful thing to do, no matter how badly the guy had it coming. I’ve had my clothes ripped off at ninety-five miles per hour and I’ve defied the will of God. That’s on top of the fact that there were several minutes in there when I wasn’t certain I’d ever see that distrustful look in your eyes again or hear the scoff in your voice when you’re flabbergasted by something I’ve said. And now we’re here, holed up in a cheap motel in Brockton, instead of at the hospital where you ought to be.”

  “Would you give it a rest, Zane? My head is fine. I’ve told you a hundred times.”

  “I wasn’t finished. We’ve still got your uncle and the impending Apocalypse to contend with and I have a lot of fast talking to do tonight. Please go over to that bed and sit down. And try not to get too comfortable. I’ll be in this chair over here, and if I see so much as an eyelid droop, I’m pulling the fire alarm.”

  She turned back to the bed and did as she’d been instructed. Zane’s tirade had the odd effect of making him even more attractive to her, but he seemed pretty serious and more than a little tense. She decided not to press her luck.

  “Do you really find me recklessly distracting?”

  “Don’t speak to me.”

  He reached a hand for the phone and she passed it over, then settled back against the headboard to pout. He dropped into the desk chair and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. Zane Grey Ellison was the most confounding man Patience had ever met. This thing was getting complicated as hell.

  “It’s Zane,” he said, turning the chair so his back was to her. “Can you put me through to Mason? No, not Ed. I need Mason. Just Mason.”

  • • •

  Zane’s expression was one of studious concentration as he fiddled with the television. He’d still eye Patience warily whenever she shifted too abruptly or moved too close from the bed, but his attention to his task had given her some time to think.

  “What did you mean earlier, when you said you weren’t concerned about missing your shot at Rockwell?”

  He smiled wanly at the screen. “I meant that I was careful.”

  “But, he was a moving target, wasn’t he? I thought that sort of thing was pretty hard to be sure about.”

  “It is, but I’m pretty good at it.”

  “Oh.” Her eyebrows drew together and she looked up at him again. “You are?”

  He glanced back and nodded, then returned his attention to the remote. “My father is an avid shooter and an expert marksman, so I spent a lot of time around guns growing up. You don’t do anything with my father without learning to do it very, very well if you want to maintain a shred of self-worth. More importantly, I knew that once I could outshoot him, I’d be allowed to do something else with my time. So, I can and I was. You were in less danger from me today than you were from Alex, Patience, I promise. I wouldn’t have taken the shot if I wasn’t sure about what I was doing.”

  Her eyes widened in disbelief.

  “Hold on a minute, Zane. Did you just inform me, in an insanely round-about manner, that you’re an expert marksman? Because, that’s the sort of thing I’d have expected to come up before now.”

  “I’m sorry.” He shrugged. “I just really don’t care very much for guns.”

  She continued to stare until the muscles of his back tensed and she sat back on the bed.

  “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You don’t know the price of milk, but you can drive like your last name is Earnhardt, throw a punch like you grew up in Southie, and now it turns out that you’re some sort of ninja sharpshooter, too? Okay, Zane Grey Ellison, what other superpowers have you been keeping from me?”

  He clicked off the television and turned back to her.

  “It’s just my life, Patience. I honestly don’t know what else might be useful. I was a ranked polo player in High School. I can order dinner at Fugakyu in Japanese or at L’Espalier in French. I’m conversational in neither language, but my father doesn’t know that because I’ve been faking it for years by pinching lines from Anime and the BBC’s multilingual programs. The upside to that experiment is that he now finds me far more disturbing in Japanese and French than he ever has in English, so he rarely pushes me to speak either in public. I’m also a master at hiding the fact that when I told people what to do at any of the three banks he had me nominally in charge of throughout college, I was perfectly aware that they’d agree with me for as long as I was in the room, and then do things the correct way once I’d left.”

  Patience was quiet for a moment, letting his words settle.

  “You faked being fluent in Japanese and French?”

  “Not quite.” He smiled. “Conversational was the best I could pull off. It’s actually not an easy feat to accomplish. Learning the languages would have been a lot less effort in the end.”

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  “Because I have a complicated relationship with my father and because my language instructor was the easiest of my tutors to bribe. I ended up with ninety minutes to myself three afternoons a week, Monsieur Schwartzman ended up with a shiny new Harley, and Rutherford ended up reevaluating the importance of those summer internships he’d been devising for me at the Tokyo headquarters. It was a win all around.”

  She shook her head at the busy motel bedspread.

  “But you put in all that effort and you have nothing real to take away from it. I’d love to be able to speak French or Japanese.”

  “I would too, as a matter of fact.”

  “Well, I don’t believe those are the only things you can do well. Tell me about something you excel at that your father wouldn’t know anything about.”

  He considered her question for a moment and then he smiled. “I am actually conversational in Spanish and I know how to mask the flavor of ipecac syrup in food.”

  “There,” she said. “You see?”

  “I also know how to refrain from pissing off the kitchen staff at my father’s club. Hold on a minute, Patience. I think I need to give Mason another call.”

  • • •

  The second-in-command of Rutherford Ellison’s private security force stood in their motel room doorway with a black leather case in his hand. Zane glanced past him as the agent stepped inside.

  �
��This is just us, right, Mason? No one’s caught wind of what you’re up to tonight?”

  Mason raised an eyebrow at him. “Do all your requests for assistance come with insults now, Zane?”

  Zane just grinned back and the agent shook his head. Then he shook Zane’s hand and nodded at Patience as he set the case on the foot of the bed. “If this little adventure gets me into hot water with Ed or your father, it’s going to be your ass.”

  “Has it ever been any other way between us?”

  Mason shrugged noncommittedly. He looked around the room with an air of mild surprise, but he wasn’t quite able to hide the spark in his eyes as he pulled a small box from the case. Zane reached for it, but the agent held a hand up between them. “Do you absolutely guarantee me that a prank is all this is? You’re not in any trouble?”

  Zane punched him on the shoulder and grabbed the box.

  “If I was in trouble, Mason, I’d go to Ed. You know how this works. You’re the guy I come to when I need to cause a little trouble. Joey’s been begging for his comeuppance for far too many years, and with the election looming, I figure there’s no time like the present. So help me, if I have to smile and introduce that guy to people I respect as ‘U.S. Senator Joey Forsyth,’ my head is going to come clean off. We just need some help shaking things up, and there’s no one in the world better for that than you.”

  The agent drew his arms across his chest and narrowed his eyes at his protectee. “I don’t deny that Joey Forsyth is a Grade A douchebag, Zane, but what have I told you about blowing smoke up my ass?”

  Zane just shrugged. “You’ve told me never to do it. I’m not blowing smoke, Mason. I’m providing Patience with a little context, seeing as how you’re dressed like Elliot Ness at two o’clock in the morning. Jeez, man, you could have thrown on a cardigan or something. This isn’t my father’s house.”

  “Maybe not, Zane, but like it or not, you’re still an Ellison. The usual standards of conduct apply.”

  Zane shook his head, but he didn’t say anything more about that. Patience, on the other hand, had been staring throughout the exchange with her mouth agape.

  “Wow.” They turned back as she retreated to a chair in the far corner of the room. “This is the one you said has the wild streak, Zane? He looks stiff enough to snap in two if you hit him at the right angle. No offense intended, Sir. You weren’t joking when you said these guys were serious, were you?”

  Mason didn’t appear offended and Zane just nodded. “It requires a certain degree of formality to work for my family, Patience. This is who these guys are. They don’t wear jeans on Fridays and they don’t screw around in the break room between shifts. Yes, they’re serious. They’re also dedicated and extremely skilled.”

  “So, helping us pull a prank on a state senator would be considered acceptable behavior?”

  “No.” He grinned. “It definitely would not.”

  When he turned back again, Mason was staring down at him with his shoulders back and his jaw set for interrogation. He most certainly did appear offended now.

  “What?”

  “We have a break room?”

  “Oh that.” Zane shrugged. “Sorry, man, I thought you knew. It’s that room off the kitchen Steve commandeered for his arcade games a few years back.”

  “You’re referring to the locked room with the NO ENTRY sign on the door?”

  “That’s the one. You can’t go in there unless you want to get into a stink with Steve about it, but, technically, it’s all yours.” They stared at each other for a moment, and then Zane laughed at the agent. “Give it up, Mason. You’ve never taken a break in your life. You’re just mad because there’s something about the house you didn’t know and because Steve’s a weasel. Well, Steve has always been a weasel and that’s never going to change. So what’s with the attitude? That suppressed inner hellion of yours not getting enough exercise since I left town?”

  Mason looked to the wall, but the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “Just make sure everything’s cleaned up when you’re finished, and that your father’s name stays out of it.” He cocked his head back toward Patience. “I gather this is the patient?”

  Zane nodded and she sat up straight as Mason pulled a rolled-up leather pouch from the case and turned toward her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m the what?”

  “Just hold still, please.” He knelt down and pulled the hair back from her contusion without any further introduction. “Not bad,” he said, pressing a finger gingerly at its edges. She winced and he eased up. Then he touched a particularly tender spot and she punched him in the chest.

  He smiled and stood up again. “That is a perfectly respectable goose egg, Miss Kelleher. I don’t think it’ll require stitches, but you shouldn’t feel at all ashamed about showing it around.”

  “Thank you?”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She looked back at Zane, but he raised a hand to the questions in her eyes. Mason removed an ophthalmoscope from the pouch and she pushed the instrument away. “What the hell is going on here, Zane? I thought you said this guy was with your father’s security force.”

  “He is. Mason is also a doctor. This is important, Patience. Cooperate, please.”

  The agent leaned in, causing her eyes to water as the beam of light slid across. “I was finishing up my rotation in emergency medicine at Massachusetts General Hospital when Ed O’Brien recruited me to come work for my current employer. It seemed like a good fit at the time. I was getting pretty bored.”

  Patience closed her eyes and pushed his hand back again. “You were getting bored practicing emergency medicine at Mass General?”

  “Little bit.”

  “So, you’re a real doctor?”

  “I’m a real doctor. Did you vomit after you hit your head?”

  “No, I didn’t. Pardon me, Mason, but how old are you?”

  “I’m twenty-nine years old. Do you still feel dizzy at all?”

  “Not in the slightest. And you’ve been working for the Ellisons for how long now?”

  “Just over four years.”

  “Zane!”

  “I know.” He sighed. “Trust me, Patience, I’ve seen the transcripts. Just try not to over think it, okay?”

  The agent set his ophthalmoscope down with a smile and pulled out his stethoscope. “I graduated from high school at fifteen. There wasn’t much to do where I grew up, so I was ready to move on. I completed Columbia pre-med in three years, then spent four more at Harvard Medical School. After that, I did a year of residency in Chicago, followed by the two-year fellowship at Mass General. And now, I work for the Ellisons. Breathe deeply, please.”

  Patience breathed in and out a few times, and then he listened to her heart. Finally, he stood up and pulled Zane toward the door by the elbow.

  “I’m a lot more comfortable getting a scan whenever there’s been loss of consciousness. It’s a standard precaution. Why is it, exactly, that you haven’t taken her to the hospital?”

  “I’m on the lam,” Patience said.

  Zane shook his head at her and turned back to the agent. “It’s about the mission, Mason, and nothing more. It’s time sensitive and we’re trying to avoid leaving a trail, as I’m sure you can appreciate, but, if you think she’s in any danger, screw that. I’ll take her in right now.”

  “I’m not going to any hospital, Zane. You can just forget about that.”

  “She’s also a little resistant, but if you say it’s important, that won’t be an issue.”

  Mason considered him for a moment, and then he returned to the bed and set his pouch down next to the case. “Her breathing and circulation seem fine. Her pupils are focused and responsive. May I assume that this is her usual mental state?”

  “Hey!”

  “Yep.”

  He rubbed his chin as he turned back to stare at her. “Honestly, I think she’s fine, although she really ought to take it easy for a day or two. I’m going to writ
e you a list of things to watch out for.” He stepped over to the desk and grabbed a pad of motel stationery. “If you notice her exhibiting any of these symptoms, no matter how briefly, you take her straight to the nearest emergency room. No questions, Zane, and no exceptions. Then, you have me paged.”

  He ripped the page from the pad and passed it over. Zane read it carefully. “Increased irritability’s going to be a tough one for me to measure.”

  “No exceptions,” Mason repeated. “Give me your word right now or I’m calling for an ambulance.” Zane nodded and the agent lifted the box from the table. “Okay then, let me show you how the bug works.”

  They huddled beside the television with their heads together and Patience stepped forward to stand beside the bed. She looked down into the case, stunned by what he’d been able to come up with in the dead of night, with only a few hours’ notice. The IDs she was comfortable enough with—assuming that people who supplied that sort of thing were accustomed to working the occasional odd shift—and the surveillance equipment she was on the fence about. But the whistle and the set of track clothes with the tags still on them were another thing altogether. She’d probably have found Mason less intimidating if he’d delivered them a cache of weapons or a doctored up photo of Forsyth making an obscene gesture at the Pope.

  She really didn’t know what to think about the capped syringe of phenobarbital and the medical supply issue bottle of syrup of ipecac.

  “Pardon me, Mason?”

  The agent and Zane both looked up again from the bug.

  “If you wanted to kill me right now, from all the way over there, and you couldn’t shoot me with your gun for some reason, would you be able to do that?”

  The agent shrugged. “Sure.”

  “How?”

  He lifted the complimentary wine opener from the desk, flipped it open, and whipped it at her. The corkscrew whizzed past her jugular, missing it by mere centimeters, and embedded itself in the wall behind her. Patience stared at it for a moment and then returned her attention to the case.

  “Okay then. Thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  A flash of brilliance, tucked beneath the track pants, captured her attention. She reached down and withdrew a cacophony of mismatched beads and baubles, completed by an enormous purple plastic medallion in the shape of a fat-petaled daisy, and turned back to stare at the agent. The garish necklace was a masterpiece, no question. It was also a hell of a thing to come up with at two o’clock in the morning, no matter who his connections were.