Another perfect day at seventy-two degrees. Harry, following one of her odd hunches, put the windows down two inches for the animals and grabbed the cylinder. “I’ll be right back.”
The three said nothing, but as she left, Mrs. Murphy said, “I wish she hadn’t taken that cylinder.”
The other two nodded in agreement.
Out on the floor, Noddy was spotting for Annalise, flat on her back at the bench press.
Waiting until Annalise finished her exercise, Harry walked over. “Hey, what are you doing here at this hour?”
“My day off. It’s nice and quiet now. I don’t have to listen to that awful music the men play.”
Noddy replied, “Yeah, it is awful, but they love it. Unfortunately, there are more of them than people with good musical taste. Cock rock, as I call it, does nothing to make you lift harder and better. But it’s one of those myths that will die hard. They believe it, so therefore it helps them.”
Annalise laughed. “True. Still, it might be hard to work out to Mozart.” She noticed the cylinder. “What do you have in there?”
“Nothing. It’s used to ship horse semen.”
Annalise’s hand fluttered to her breast. “Glad you said that. I’d be worried if you’d come in here for the guys.”
Harry laughed. “They give it away for free. If it belongs to a horse, you pay and you pay a lot.”
At this, the three cracked up.
Noddy asked, “Need something?”
“Oh, I dropped by to ask you if you think steroids could be shipped in this. Fair says they come in big bottles and you couldn’t ship enough in this cylinder.”
“Harry,” Noddy said evenly, “if I tell you I know where to buy steroids, even what the stuff comes in, then I’m compromised. Every serious gym owner in America has to be extra-careful.”
Chagrined, Harry apologized. “Noddy, I’m so sorry. It never occurred to me.”
“Well, there’s no one here but us, but Jesus, Harry, don’t even ask me anything like that in public. Do I know about the stuff? Of course I do. Is it sold in my gym? I’m not selling it, and no one is selling it inside these walls. I’d lose everything I’ve worked for and my good name to boot.”
“Again, I’m sorry, Noddy.”
“Is it sold outside?” Noddy shrugged. “I have no doubt, but I don’t pry. However, anyone can go to any serious gym, and I emphasize ‘serious gym’—not the matching-leotard-and-top kind of gym—and find their way to better living through chemistry.”
Annalise seconded this. “That’s the truth.” She looked at Harry. “You know what our drug laws do? Screw up everybody but those on the take. We can’t stop drugs. I don’t care if it’s cocaine or steroids. So why don’t we grow up and consider these substances something to be controlled, like tobacco and alcohol? For one thing, it would stop a lot of suffering. For another thing, it would devastate organized crime. And if you quote me, I will say you are making it up. Our drug laws have turned me and most doctors into hypocrites. Actually, they’ve turned most Americans into hypocrites.”
“That and sex.” Noddy now sat on the bench next to Annalise.
“If a fifteen-year-old kid playing linebacker on the JV football team was considering taking anabolic steroids and they were controlled but legal, he could talk openly to a sports doctor. And that doctor, if he or she was responsible, would inform the kid that yes, they will improve his performance, but at his age they could have terrible consequences for his health later. For one thing, they could really damage his liver, and for another thing, there can be unpleasant emotional side effects while one is taking them.”
Noddy nodded vigorously. “She’s right, Harry. As it now stands, that fifteen-year-old reads some studies, Googles information from bodybuilding sites that show muscle growth through chemistry, and the kid learns to buy stuff on the black market. He then takes powerful drugs with no supervision. I see it more than most. A kid like that always takes too much.”
Annalise jumped in again. “The other thing, Harry, is what if you have a bad reaction to an illegal substance—any illegal substance? You’d be afraid to tell your doctor. Instead, you’ll wait and hope it passes. What if it doesn’t, and you overdose? The policies we have now are cruel, flat-out cruel, and bloody stupid.”
“Noddy, did you ever take them?”
“Harry, you go right for the throat.” Noddy shook her head. “Yes. When I was young, I was very, very lucky to find a doctor—call him crooked if you like—but I followed instructions, never went over the line, and stopped when I’d achieved my goal. My competitive days are long gone, and I stopped shall we say ‘chemical enhancement’ years ago. There’s nothing in my system.”
“Wouldn’t you be stripped of your bodybuilding titles like that Olympic sprinter?”
“Yes. More than one athlete has been stripped, but you’re referring to Ben Johnson,” Noddy said, naming the great Canadian athlete. “And the ones prancing about saying it was unfair competition, that when they ran they were clean. I don’t believe one word.”
“Come on, Noddy. Some athletes are clean,” Harry argued.
Annalise said, “It’s true. Not everyone takes those things, and not everyone is a liar, although I think most are. They have to be.”
“If they didn’t take the drugs, who would pay to watch baseball, football, or basketball?” said Noddy. “We’ve become accustomed to fantastic performance. Really fantastic, in all professional sports. We’d be bored. When you get right down to it, the reason all this goes on is because more people want it than don’t.”
“I opened a can of worms. I’m sorry.” Harry looked at the cylinder, still no closer to her objective but full of information about other things. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Noddy meant it, too.
• • •
Later, about 3:30 P.M., way in the back with her sunflowers, Harry reached into her hip pocket for her cellphone. What was going on had hit her like a bolt of lightning. It was obvious, but before now she couldn’t see it. Nor could anyone else. Well, something is obvious once you know.
The animals tagged after her as she headed for the barn, where she’d left her cell in the tack room.
In the distance, she heard the crackle of wheels on the dirt road. She ran for the tack room. Too late.
Shortro and Tomahawk watched in wonderment as the old Saab bumped over the open meadow behind the barn.
Harry turned back from the barn, running for all she was worth toward the creek. She knew Annalise couldn’t get the Saab over the steep banks. If Annalise was going to kill Harry, she’d have to get out and run after her.
Tucker flew to the paddocks. “Jump out! Jump out!”
Shortro needed no further provocation. The Saddlebred took three trotting strides to gracefully arc over the three-board fence, which stood at three feet eight inches.
In the same paddock, Tomahawk soared over, too. The mares and youngsters remained in their paddocks.
“Follow me!” The corgi tore after the Saab, tiny bits of soil flying off her claws.
Mrs. Murphy and Pewter sped alongside Harry. Bouncing over the pasture, Annalise bore down on Harry—now zigzagging to present a tougher target to hit. Windows up, the doctor didn’t hear the horses coming up behind her.
The steep creek, thirty yards off, might be Harry’s salvation. Running evasively delayed her reaching the wooded high banks.
Tomahawk and Shortro thundered up on Annalise’s left side. She could have cared less whether she killed the horses, but she knew if she turned into them they’d damage her car. She needed the car to get out of here once the deed was done.
No fool, Harry ran to the left at a diagonal, finally reaching the creek. She slid down the banks above the beaver dam, where the water was lower.
Annalise skidded to a stop, her car’s nose in a pricker bush, and got out of the car, Colt MKIV .38 in hand. The gun, while well balanced, was heavy in her hand.
Tucker slam
med into Annalise behind the knees. Down she went. Annalise rolled down the bank, the little dog right behind her, the horses peering over the bank. She never loosened her grip on the gun.
Pewter and Mrs. Murphy swam to the other side of the creek. Harry, who had been knee-deep, clambered up the steep side, slipping as she went. She grasped a protruding root, pulling herself up.
The beavers, out of their lodge now, began slapping the water with their broad, flat tails.
Annalise plunged in, holding her gun straight up over her head. Harry, already over the bank, proved a difficult target. Annalise needed to pull up over the bank.
Swimming behind her, Tucker called to the horses, “Get in the water. Follow me!”
Harry turned, saw Annalise climbing up, more difficult for her while carrying a pistol.
“Go back to the creek bank! Use the trees!” Mrs. Murphy hollered, heading to the creek bed to show Harry.
Whether she understood the cat or figured it out herself, Harry dodged behind a large old sycamore, large sheets of bark on the ground.
Pewter acted like a rear guard, slowing to watch Annalise, then telling Mrs. Murphy, “She’s taking aim.”
A report, then a thud as a bullet hit the sycamore. Harry moved down into the creek bed, but she couldn’t go fast, for she was now below the beaver dam, and the water was high, the creek bed soggy.
“Won’t work,” Mrs. Murphy screamed. “Get back up, use the trees. It’s your only hope.”
Fit, Annalise was fast. By the time she reached the sycamore, Harry had hauled herself back up on the creek’s bank again. Senses razor-sharp, Harry dug in her toes, bent low like a runner coming out of the blocks on hearing the pistol shot. But unlike those on the track, the pistol shot was aimed at her.
Again, moving from tree to tree, Harry continued downstream, sprinting, bent over, when she could. The only plan she had was to get to Coop’s house, if she made it that far down, or try to reach her own barn. She would be exposed when she ran across the back pastures to her sunflowers, which were not high enough to cover her. She’d also be a clear target in Coop’s newly mown pasture. She still might make it again, zigging and zagging. She didn’t know whether to again cross the creek into her farm or to keep on Coop’s side. Sooner or later, Annalise would empty out her clip. She’d counted three shots—five would be left. Then she’d run for all she was worth for about fifteen paces, hit the dirt, roll, and run some more.
Compromised as Harry was due to radiation treatments, she was pumped with adrenaline and running for her life.
Tucker kept at Annalise’s heels. Much as the physician wanted to plug the irritating dog, she’d been counting bullets, too. Harry’s speed and evasive actions were proving to be a real problem.
Taking aim, she fired again. This time the bullet burrowed into the black ridged bark of a sweet gum tree. Harry backed away from the tree, pushing through Virginia thornbushes, trampling wild lilies, sown courtesy of birds. She dodged behind the trees near Coop’s cutover lower pasture. The level ground there meant she could burn the wind, but fast as she was, a bullet was faster.
Annalise saw a flash of Harry’s blue T-shirt. She missed the cats, running with her, darting in and out of low bush.
Harry’s lungs seared. She needed to bend over and take a deep breath. If she did, she’d expose herself and allow her pursuer to draw closer. Behind an ancient Fiddle oak, Harry veered right to a hickory at the pasture’s edge. Annalise, slower, was running in the mown pasture to catch up. As the ground was flatter and drier, she gained on Harry. Harry had little time in which to decide whether to try for Coop’s house or to go back into the creek. The water was deeper down here. It might be difficult getting across before Annalise reached the bank.
Now aware of his master’s fragile position, Tomahawk said to Shortro, “Do what I do. Get behind me.”
The seventeen-year-old Thoroughbred trotted twenty yards behind Annalise. She turned for the creek bed. The cats called out Harry’s location to Tomahawk.
“Get her before she makes it to the trees!” Pewter shrieked as loud as she could, sank her claws into a tree, and climbed at warp speed. She hoped Annalise would walk under this tree, since it was at the best crossing. If she got this far, Pewter could drop onto her. Pewter devoutly hoped the doctor wouldn’t get to that point.
Harry’s face and hands bled from the thorns. Her T-shirt was ripped, her body looking like she’d run through barbed wire. Her mind remained clear. No panic. She felt she had a slim chance.
Annalise saw movement in the grasses. Birds flew out of the shrubs. She saw a flash of shoe as Harry slipped down toward the crossing. Taking aim, she fired, just missing Harry’s boot heel.
In a gallop, Tomahawk rode right onto Annalise, knocking her down. She knew the horses were behind her, but it never occurred to her she’d be in danger from them. Flat on her face, Annalise struggled to rise, the gun knocked out of her hand. Before she could rise to her knees, Shortro plowed into her, full weight on her back. The massive weight on those iron-shod hooves broke her back.
Annalise couldn’t move her legs. Her upper body worked. She pulled herself toward the gun, but Tucker grabbed her wrist, biting down for all she was worth. Then the dog grabbed the gun, running to give it to Harry.
Harry slid down to the water’s edge. She caught her breath as the dog gave her the gun.
“Tucker!” Mrs. Murphy rubbed against the panting dog.
Speechless for once, Pewter backed down the tree.
Having neutralized Annalise, Tomahawk and Shortro noticed the alfalfa and orchard grass in Coop’s back pasture. They walked away, put their heads down, and enjoyed it. Someone else’s pasture always seemed better than one’s own.
Harry wiped her forehead, smearing blood all over. She then noticed her hands were torn. Blood dripped down her cheeks, seeping through her torn T-shirt—an old favorite. Whatever was on the thorns began to sting.
Hearing Annalise’s shriek of pain, Harry hugged her dog, blood now on Tucker’s fur. Both cats sat at her feet.
Pewter, who’d had the best view, said, “You wouldn’t believe what Tomahawk and Shortro did to Annalise!”
Harry looked down. “You all stayed right up with me.” She choked up, cleared her throat, then warily walked out, using trees as cover, to see where Annalise was. Harry might have Annalise’s gun, but she was keenly aware how powerful Annalise was. She was shocked when she saw her lying in the pasture.
The doctor had rolled on her back. “Can’t move my legs.”
“Hurt?” Harry asked.
“No. My hand hurts more,” Annalise replied. “You look like hell.”
“If you had your way, I’d be dead.” Harry put the safety on the pistol. “This gun is heavy.”
“Cost me a thousand dollars. And yes, you would be dead. I like you. I like you a lot, Harry, but you were going to ruin my project.”
“Got a cellphone on you?”
“No.” She asked, “Pull me to a tree and prop me up?”
“No. You’re stronger than I am. I saw your bench press, remember? You’ll try to choke me.”
Annalise didn’t deny it. “Then shoot me. I know you won’t give me the gun to shoot myself. Just shoot me. Self-defense. Everyone will buy it.”
“They might, but I won’t.”
“Harry, is it possible to be too principled?”
“How would you know? In your case, you haven’t any.”
Annalise’s eyes flashed. “I was helping hundreds of people over the years. The stupidity of our government causes so much suffering, prevents millions—literally millions—from healthy lives. I cut through all the bullshit and helped them myself.”
Harry sat a bit away from Annalise so the prone woman couldn’t reach her. The animals listened, too. They remained vigilant.
“I don’t know about that, but once I knew it was you, I figured you had to be making a lot of money.”
Annalise began talking too fast. At first s
he made no sense. “He first got wobbly when a piece of skull, the base, which is just above the pituitary gland, was on his desk. I swore it was Thadia, who was so obsessed with him, she had to have been spying. I have no doubt she got into the hospital morgue, not all that difficult, rolled out a harvested corpse, and checked it out. Our removals wouldn’t be obvious, not like a missing arm. But Thadia, like most dedicated addicts, knew a great deal about the human body and body chemistry. Thadia knew where that small pituitary gland was located. She’d know if it was removed. She knew. It’s amazing the woman lived as long as she did, and I think one of the reasons was she understood drugs’ effect on her own body and on others’. Think of the good she could have done if she’d taken organic chemistry, gotten into med school.”
Annalise stopped, then started anew. “That woman was a complete waste. Cory and I both made a lot of money, but that wasn’t my primary purpose. After I killed Paula, he said he wanted out, once he figured it out—which took him ten days. Well, how long before wanting out meant chickening out, or even possibly turning me in to save himself if he thought our business might be discovered? Weak. Didn’t want to kill him—or anyone else—but it really was them or me. My work must be protected.”
“How can you do good when you kill people?” Pewter asked.
“It’s a human thing.” Mrs. Murphy lifted the tip of her tail, then let it flutter down again. “You can kill anyone, and as many as you want, if you justify it by religion or calling someone an enemy. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter if it makes sense to us. They kill us, too. We just kill to eat.”
Harry sighed. “It’s a long walk to the barn.” She wiped her cheek, still dripping blood, with the back of her hand. “I liked you. I just don’t get it.”
“In some ways, we’re alike. You figured out I removed Paula, Thadia, and Cory using some reasoning and your instincts. Maybe a better way to put it is you thought by synthesis instead of analysis. If it hadn’t been for you, I think I could have gotten another job, say, on the West Coast, with excellent references, a big bank account, and continued my efforts out there.”
Hiss of Death Page 20