Miracle Cure (1991)

by Harlan Coben

  "You know something, Michael? You're a smart old dude. I bet I can lear n a lot watching you." Old dude. Michael sighed heavily.

  "Thanks, Jerome."

  A whistle blew.

  "Take five," Coach Crenshaw shouted.

  "Get a quick drink and then I want everyone to take fifty foul shots."

  The players jogged toward the water fountain all save Michael. He staye d w here he was bent forward, his hand leaning on his knees. Richi e c renshaw walked over.

  "I've seen you look better, Michael." Michael continued to draw in dee p b reaths.

  "Appreciate the pep talk, Coach."

  "Well, it's true. You wouldn't want me to lie to you, would you?"

  "Maybe a little."

  "The knee giving you problems?"

  Michael shook his head.

  "You look like something's bothering you."

  "I'm " The next word never came out. A surge of white-hot pain pierce d r ight through Michael's abdomen. He let loose a loud, short cry an d c lutched his belly below the ribcage.

  "Michael!"

  The shout came from Jerome Holloway. Wide-eyed with fear, the rooki e s printed back on the court. Reece Porter quickly followed.

  "Mikey," Reece asked while kneeling beside him, "what is it?"

  Michael did not answer. He collapsed to the floor, writhing in agony.

  It felt like something was raking at his insides with sharpened claws.

  "Call an ambulance!" Reece shouted.

  "Now!"

  Dr. Carol Simpson escorted Sara to the waiting area in the Atchle y p avilion. Located next to Columbia Presbyterian's main building, th e a tchley Pavilion housed the private offices of the medical center's man y p hysicians. When Harvey had taken Michael and Sara on a tour of Columbi a p resbyterian Medical Center last year, Sara remembered being awe-struc k b y the size of the center, to say nothing of its reputation.

  There was Babies Hospital, the well-known pediatric hospital, and th e h arkness Pavilion, where the private patients stayed. The Neurologica l i nstitute and the Psychiatric Institute, both housed in their ow n b uildings, were considered the best in their field anywhere in th e w orld, not to mention the Harkness Eye Institute, New York Orthopedi c h ospital, Sloane Hospital, Squier Urological Clinic, Vanderbilt Clinic , and the massive, newly completed Milstein Hospital Building.

  And all of this medical brilliance had been jammed west of Broadwa y b etween 165th and 168th Street in Spanish Harlem.

  A block or two farther west and north was student housing for Columbi a c ollege of Physicians and Surgeons, again one of the most reputable an d s elective medical schools in the country.

  But another five blocks farther north was J. Hood Wright Park, a r espectable name for one of the original crack alleys, where passers-b y c an witness or partake in drug trafficking. Its proximity to th e h ospital, Harvey had half-joked, made it a convenient place to overdose.

  One of the newest and smallest sections of the medical center, almos t h idden from view, was near 164th Street. From the outside one woul d n ever guess that the broken-down edifice was dedicated to healing an d e xperimental medicine. Named Sidney Pavilion after Harvey Riker's b rother, this area of epidemiological study was cloaked in secrecy an d s ecurity. No one could enter without the permission of Dr. Harvey Rike r o r Dr. Eric Blake. Staff and patients were kept to a minimum, and al l h ad been specially selected by Riker and the late Dr. Bruce Gre y p ersonally. The medical center's board members rarely, if ever , discussed the new section in public.

  Dr. Simpson showed Sara to a chair and then went to a window where sh e h anded a test tube filled with Sara's blood to a nurse.

  "Take this to the lab. Have them run a beta HCG stat."

  "Yes, Doctor." "A beta HCG?" Sara asked.

  "Fancy talk for a pregnancy test," Carol Simpson explained.

  "Doctors like to use code words no one else understands. Makes us soun d m ore intelligent, don't you think?"

  Sara liked Carol Simpson. Unlike so many others in her profession, ther e w as nothing stuffy or intimidating about her.

  Her relaxed attitude put Sara at ease.

  "If you say so," Sara replied.

  "Well, we have to do something to justify all the years of schooling an d i nternship and residency besides having the M. D.

  license plate so we can park illegally in front of Macy's."

  "You do that?"

  "Only during a sale."

  At least forty other patients sat biding their time in the waiting room , sneaking glances from their magazines and wishing their doctor woul d c all their name.

  "Give me a ring this afternoon," Carol said.

  "The results should be in by then." "Great," Sara said.

  "And try not to worry. I know you're anxious, but try not to think abou t i t too much. Do what I do when I need to distract yself: shop till yo u d rop.

  Urn; "Well, hello there, ladies."

  Sara and Carol turned and saw Harvey coming toward them.

  His entire person emanated exhaustion, Sara thought. His head tilte d s lightly to the side as though he were dozing; his back had curved int o a slump.

  "Hello, Harvey," Dr. Simpson said.

  "Hello, Carol. How's my favorite patient doing, Doc?"

  "Very nicely. We should know the test results in a few hours."

  Dr. Simpson turned her head toward the people in the waiting room.

  "Mrs. Golden?"

  A massive-bellied woman looked up.

  "Over here."

  "Come on down. You're the next contestant." Harvey and Sara sai d g ood-bye and headed for the elevator.

  "You're in good hands," Harvey said.

  "Carol Simpson may be young, but she's already considered one of the to p o bstetricians in the country."

  "I like her."

  "Listen, Sara, about what I said last night ..."

  "Yes?"

  "Well, in the light of day, my conspiracy theories always seem a littl e m ore whacko. Don't have me committed, okay?"

  "Not yet anyway. Has the clinic really found a cure?"

  "In some cases maybe most cases, yes. Like I said last night, it's stil l i n the developmental stage and it hasn't worked on everyone but "

  Harvey's beeper went off. He looked at the LCD digits coming onto th e s creen.

  "Oh shit."

  "What is it?"

  But he was already sprinting toward the nurse's desk and picking up th e p hone.

  "That number means it's an emergency."

  He dialed and the phone was picked up on the first ring.

  "Dr. Riker here." Pause.

  "What? When?" Another pause.

  "I'll be right there." He replaced the receiver.

  "It's Michael. They just rushed him into the emergency room."

  The corpse was in the trunk.

  George drove onward. Last night the body in the trunk had been fille d w ith life. He had hopes, dreams, goals, desires. Like most people, h e p robably just wanted to be happy, to find his niche in this world. He w as probably a person struggling through life, trying to do his best , grasping at the few joys life offered and trying to dodge the man y h ardships. Now he was dead.

  Dead. Gone. Nothing.

  He was no more than decaying tissue, useful only to medical students an d w orshipped by only the grieving family. Why, George wondered, did peopl e c are so much about the empty shell of a man, the facade? Why did the y t reat the worthless flesh as something invaluable? Was it man's innat e i nclination to see only the outward mask of the human being and no t a cknowledge the soul? Or was George being too harsh on his fellow man?

  Maybe man just needed to take hold of something tangible when he wa s f aced with the ultimate intangible.

  Heavy stuff, George. Very deep.

  He chuckled and lit a cigarette.

  After Dr. Lowell's gala last night, George had followed the limousin e u ntil the long, silver automobile dropped the victim off at hi
s a partment in the city.

  Perfect.

  A true professional, George had already cased the building an d s urrounding area. He knew his victim lived in apartment 3A. He kne w t here was no doorman. George parked the car across the street and move d i nto the apartment building. Taking the stairs it her than the elevator , he stopped in front of a door with a faded nailed to it.

  George wondered why, with all his money, his ictim chose to live in thi s q uasi-dump. He could live anywhere 7ifth Avenue, Central Park West, th e s an Remo Building, the )akota, anywhere. George shrugged, dismissing th e t hought, was none of his concern.

  His fingers searched his pocket and removed a small tool.

  Ie jimmied the lock twice, just as he had done at the Days Inn rith Dr.

  Bruce Grey. This time, however, he did not allow the mnd of the loc k b eing disengaged to be audible. Surprise in combat, George had learne d l ong ago, always gave you the upper hand. Bruce Grey had been suspiciou s s o a simple knock on the door would not have brought him in front of th e w ooden portal unaware. For Bruce Grey had been prepared for an attac k a nd was on his guard. But having the door smashed against him during a b rief moment when he felt safe, when he thought the door was secure an d n o one was in front of it, that had been all George needed.

  This victim, however, would not be suspicious. Unlike Grey, he had n o i dea that death had crept down his hallway. A knock was all George woul d n eed.

  With the lock made useless, George put the small device back in hi s p ocket and knocked.

  A voice called out.

  "One moment."

  George heard the victim coming to the door. He wondered whether the ma n w as so stupid he would open the door without asking who it was. But th e v oice called out again.

  "Who's there?"

  George knew that the man was standing right behind the door now , probably leaning forward to look through the peephole. l Withou t h esitation, George threw his full weight into the door.| The woode n p lanks crashed against the man standing behinc them, knocking him to th e f loor on the other side of the room. l George moved quickly. He close d t he door and pounced upon his prey. His hand gripped the man's neck an d h e began to squeeze. There was a quick, choking noise and then silence.

  The man struggled, lashing out with his hands and kicking, but his blow s w ere wild and imprecise. They did not bother George.

  Maintaining his grip on the man's throat, George lowered his face t o w ithin inches of his victim's.

  "There is only one way I will allow you to live," George said, his voic e c hillingly monotonous, as though he were reading a prepared text.

  "And that is if you do everything I tell you. Deviate from what I sa y a nd you will die. Do you understand?"

  The man's eyes bulged out from lack of oxygen and a surplus of fear. He m anaged a nod.

  "Good. I will let you go. Call out or try to escape and you will know a p ain very few have ever experienced."

  He let go. The man rolled back and forth, retching uncontrollably.

  George stood and watched the man's agony with something approachin g b oredom.

  "We are going down to my car now," he said, when he thought his victi m c ould understand, "just like a couple of buddies cruising the town. Do a s I say without question and you won't be hurt."

  The man nodded. His immediate obedience made things so much easier. I f g eorge had been forced to kill the man here, he would have to clean u p t he blood, get rid of any possible clues, and worst of all, drag a bod y t o his car without anybody seeing.

  Much more difficult.

  They crossed the street together and George opened the trunk.

  "Get in."

  "But-" George grabbed the man's hand and squeezed, breaking two bones.

  With his free hand George covered the man's mouth and snuffed out hi s s cream. Then George readjusted his grip on the shattered hand, squeeze d a little tighter, forcing the broken bones to scrape against each othe r a nd rip at the tendons. The man's face went white.

  "I told you to do what I say without question. Will you remember tha t n ow?"

  The man nodded quickly and ducked into the trunk. George knew the ma n w anted to ask if there would be enough air once the trunk was closed , but he did not dare. He had experienced pain. Pain, George had learned , can be a greater threat than death.

  George looked down the street. Three men had just circled the corner an d w ere coming toward them. They looked pretty wasted, each walking a w obbly line which more often than not crossed the others. George close d t he trunk and drove away.

  He found an abandoned road that he had used for this purpose before. He p arked the car and grabbed the knife from the glove compartment. As pe r t he instructions given to him on the phone, George slipped on surgica l g loves and a mask. He felt like a doctor, preparing for a majo r o peration.

  "Scalpel," he said out loud. He laughed at his own joke.

  George got out of the car and went toward the trunk. This was the par t o f the job George found most intriguing. He always wondered what wa s g oing through the victim's mind. A little earlier, his world had bee n n ormal, average, seemingly safe.

  Suddenly, he had been threatened, assaulted, and locked in a trunk. No l onger did he have any say in what happened to him.

  What was going through his mind?

  It was a fleeting thought. In the end, George knew it didn't matter.

  For George only the finished job mattered.

  When George opened the trunk, the man looked up at him with the eyes o f a trapped animal.

  "Wh ... Wh.. What ...?"

  George put his finger to his mask-covered lips.

  "Shhh."

  George reached down and grabbed the man's head to hold still. Then h e g ripped the knife and placed it below the man's nose, the cool blad e d irectly below the nostrils. He lowered the handle toward the mouth , almost touching the lips, and drove) the blade upwards. It slice d t hrough the thin tissue, through th cartilage, and into the brain.

  Blood gushed freely. The body spasmed, but death was instantaneous.

  The man's final gaze was locked on George, his eyes wide an d u ncomprehending.

  George tugged the knife out and just as he had with the first two jobs , he stabbed the body two dozen times. Wet, ripping sounds accompanied hi s m ethodical undertaking. George's face remained calm as he drove th e k nife home over an dover again.

  It was all very messy.

  George knew that he would have to keep the body in the trunk for th e n ight. Then he would be able to dump it in the appropriate area. Wit h t he others, it had not mattered where the corpse was found, but th e v oice on the phone had given specific instructions to leave this one i n t he alley behind a gay bar called Black Magic in Greenwich Village. A t n ight, George knew, such places were filled with all sorts of bizarr e h appenings. They were crowded. He decided it would be safer to dump th e b ody in the daytime when the area was empty.

  Early the next morning George awoke refreshed from a wonderful , dreamless sleep. He drove back into the city and pulled up behind th e b lack Magic bar. A sleazy-looking dump, he thought. It reminded him o f p atpong Street in Bangkok.

  Patpong, Bangkok's famed red-light district, catered to heterosexuals , but everyone knew about the area two blocks farther north devote d e xclusively to homos. And Pattaya, the popular Thai beach resort not fa r f rom Bangkok, had a whole street jammed with little boys who serve d t heir male customers without question or hesitation.

  Pretty sick, George thought.

  He stopped the car and stepped out. He glanced about the alley. No one.

  Dozens of stuffed plastic trash bags were piled by the bar's rea r e ntrance. Rear entrance, George mused. How appropriate.

  Taking one last look, George hefted the corpse out of the trunk, dumpe d i t by the trash bags, climbed back in the car, and drove off. He ha d t raveled three blocks when he glanced at his reflection in the rear-vie w m irror.
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  Damn. His hair looked horrendous.

  Chapter 5.

  Sara limped along after him as Harvey sprinted toward the emergenc y w ard. Ten yards in front of the entrance he almost slammed into Eri c b lake, who was making a blind turn in the same direction.

  "They paged you too?" Eric asked.

  Harvey nodded. The two men barely broke stride as they I crashed throug h t he door and into the waiting area. They immediately spotted Reec e p orter.

  It was Harvey who reached him first.

  "What happened?"

  "Don't know. Mikey just grabbed his stomach and collapsed.

  He's in there."

  "Come on, Eric."

  The two doctors disappeared behind a guarded door reading No Admittance.

  A moment later Sara hobbled into the emergency ward.

  Reece looked up, surprised to see her at the hospital already.

  "What are you doing here?"

  She ignored the question.

  "Where is he? Is he all right?"

  "The emergency room doctor is already with him. Harvey and Eric are i n t here too."

  "What happened?"

  "I don't know. We were scrimmaging like always, making jokes and al l t hat stuff. We stopped for a break and a minute later ..."

  "A minute later what?"

  "Mikey collapsed on the floor holding his stomach. We called a n a mbulance and I drove over with him. The pain seemed to let up a littl e o n the way. When we got here, I told the nurse to page Eric and Harv."

  "Is he conscious?"

  "Yeah, he's awake. I bet it's just some food poisoning or something al l t hat Chinese food he's eating all the time. Now answer my question: wha t a re you doing here?"

  "I had a doctor's appointment next door."

  "Are you okay?"

  His voice rang with the warmth of genuine concern. In the backgroun d s ara could hear children whisper, "Look, Mom, that's Reece Porter!"

  Reece's six-eight frame was about average for the NBA, but it wa s s emi-freak anywhere else. His height always drew fascinated glances.

  "I'm fine," Sara said, hugging him tightly.

  "Reece, thanks for going with him."

  Reece shrugged.

  "He's my friend," he said simply.

  "And don't worry too much about Mikey. The man is blessed. Remember ho w s cared we were the last time we met in a hospital? All that blood an d e verything?"