We All Fall Down mk-4

by Michael Harvey

  “No thanks.”

  I took a bite. “Smart move. Anyway, my ribs hurt. At least they did before I popped one of the pills they gave me. What’s your story?”

  “I don’t have one, Mr. Kelly.” Already she was creating distance. She’d wanted to know why I was at Cook County. Now her curiosity was sated.

  “You have a story, Doc. Everyone does.”

  “I need to get back.”

  “Let’s start with that.”

  “With what?”

  “Today, we investigated a possible pathogen release in the subway. Tonight, you’re in the Cook County ER, standing over a patient who’s spitting up blood.”

  Brazile shot a look down the hall. A couple of nurses were chatting in a drab smear of light, maybe fifty feet away.

  “Afraid they’re going to hear me?”

  “You need to get yourself under control, Mr. Kelly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “The pathogen release was a false alarm. My presence here is completely unrelated to anything that went on in the subway.”

  “Spitting up blood, red blotches, open sores. You must have a dozen monsters in your lab that can do that. You’re telling me there’s no connection?”

  “I’m here because a colleague asked me to take a look at a patient. There are other things we do at CDA besides hunt for bioweapons. Many other things.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Really?”

  “You’re right. What the hell do I know?”

  Her face cleared, and I realized, not for the first time, how incredibly attractive Ellen Brazile could be.

  “I guess I’m sorry, too,” she said. “I overreacted.”

  “Been a long day.”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s wrong with the kid? Nurse said it was internal bleeding.”

  Brazile nodded. “It is, but not caused by any sort of physical injury. At least not anything we can see.”

  “So?”

  “Could be some sort of food poisoning. He lives in an area nearby that’s got a lot of toxins. Lead in the paint. Something in the water. Could be a lot of things.”

  “You gonna run some tests?”

  “I’ll take a look at his blood and see what’s what.”

  Down the hallway, I caught a glimpse of Rodriguez ducking into a small room near an elevator.

  “I gotta run,” I said and held out my hand. “Twice in one day. We have to stop meeting like this, Doctor.”

  She glanced at the candy bar in my other fist. “Mind if I take you up on that bite?”

  “This?” I held up the half-eaten Zagnut. “Listen, they don’t rotate the stock down here very much. If you know what I mean.”

  “Old?”

  “Older than me. And that’s saying something.”

  She took a bite anyway, chewed, and forced a smile. “Not bad.”

  “Now I know you’re lying.”

  “Thanks for today, Michael.”

  A part of my brain noticed the switch to my first name and liked it. The rest of me took it in stride.

  “For what?” I said.

  “The subway. I think I told you before. It had to be unnerving.”

  “I got used to it.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Anyway, I know I can be a little short sometimes. But thanks again.”

  She handed me back the candy bar and turned to walk away.

  “Hey.”

  She stopped.

  “You want to get coffee? Not tonight, but, you know, some time?”

  She nodded slowly, picking up my invitation and then gently putting it back down. “I can’t.”

  “That’s fine.”

  She held up a hand and circled closer. “I’d like to. But I can’t.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I’m sort of… it’s bad timing.”

  I wanted her to stop now. Wanted to find Rodriguez and get out of Dodge. Why did I get the goddamn candy bar, anyway?

  “I see someone, too,” I said. “Well, not really. I see her, but she doesn’t see me. It’s complicated.”

  She laughed, and that made everything a little better. “Always seems to be that way, doesn’t it?”

  “Sometimes, yeah.”

  “You have a card?”

  I gave her the one with my home and business address. I wrote my cell number on the back. She slipped it into her pocket.

  “I better get back. And thanks again.”

  “Sure.”

  She pushed through the doors and back into the ER. I was alone. Just me and the vending machines. I pulled the lever for a second Zagnut and put it in my pocket. Old, maybe, but they were still damn hard to find.

  I wandered down the hallway in search of Rodriguez. I found him in the small room, holding the corner of a white sheet, staring down at a corpse.

  “A friend?” I said.

  “Not really.” Rodriguez let the sheet fall back over the dead man’s face.

  “Who is it?”

  “Cop named Donnie Quin. Been dead most of the day.”

  “Why’s he still here?”

  Rodriguez shrugged. We stepped away from the body and back into the corridor. The elevator beside us was a large one, used to carry freight and, at some point this evening, Donnie Quin to his appointment with the Cook County coroner.

  “What’s bugging you?” I said.

  “Couple of things. First, he was one of the dirty cops I was investigating.”

  I looked back toward the large lump under the sheet. “Quin?”

  “Met with him this morning. He helped me set up the drug drop for the Korean.”

  “What did he die of?”

  “That’s the other thing. They have no idea. First, they thought it was his ticker. But the doc told me that wasn’t it.”

  “What were his symptoms?”

  “EMTs said he was struggling to breathe. Burning up. By the time they got him here, he was gone.”

  “Where did you meet this guy today?”

  “On the West Side.”

  “Where?”

  “Couple of miles from here. A food mart just off Austin. Why?”

  “Where was he before that?”

  “K Town. I told him we were cutting out the Korean. He told the Fours. What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing. What did you say the cop’s first name was?”

  “Donnie. Donnie Quin.”

  “When are they sending him over to the morgue?”

  “Don’t know. Listen, I gotta get back to the Korean’s store.”

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Vince.”

  “Yeah, tomorrow.”

  Rodriguez tapped me on the shoulder and left. I took a final look at the white sheet and toe tag. Then I left as well.

  CHAPTER 21

  Rachel had scrubbed any trace of herself from the apartment, right down to the shelf and a half of healthy food she’d kept in my fridge. The good news was that left more room for beer. I’d bought a four-pack of Half Acre tallboys and found a spot for them beside two different kinds of mustard. Then I popped one and walked back into the living room. I thought about calling, but knew I’d get her machine. As bad as I was with people these days, I was even worse with their machines. So I sat on the couch instead and looked at the spaces where her things used to be. Things I’d hardly noticed until they were gone. Spaces I’d need to get used to. It was past midnight when I turned out the lights, climbed into bed, and closed my eyes.

  It was a soft day in Chicago. The sky was blue, the smell of fresh grass and dirt thick in my nostrils. I stretched my eyes across a long, patterned canvas of outfield. There were people dotted here and there, crouching forward, bare hands clamped on knees. Others idled along the foul lines in groups of two or three, chatting pleasantly and drinking beer.

  I felt more than heard the crack of the bat. The ball, high and dark in the sky. Hit almost directly over my head. I ran, but couldn’t feel my legs underneath. The ball reach
ed its apex and began to drop, seams spinning as it fell. I reached, careful to keep my hands wide, fingers straight, and caught it softly over my shoulder. Sixteen-inch softball. Simplest thing in the world. As long as you didn’t think about it. Or were dreaming.

  I pulled up in three steps and turned to throw the ball back toward the infield. My mother was there, on the other side of an outfield fence I hadn’t noticed before. She clapped noiselessly but didn’t smile. I thought it was because she was ashamed of her teeth. Or maybe she was just ashamed. I tossed the ball in and followed.

  By the time I got to the dirt skin of the infield, the players were gone. The air, slack. My brother stood near home plate, face and shoulders limned in shadow. I moved closer. Philip turned, lips creased in a yellow curl. I tried to scream, but my voice, like my mom’s, was gone. A cold hand held my heart until it shivered and stopped.

  I sat straight up in my bed. The pup was balled up in the corner, tail wagging slowly, head flicking from me to the hallway. My alarm clock rolled over to 2:00 a.m. Someone was knocking at the front door.

  I got up, found a bathrobe, and squeezed a look through the peephole. I thought about what I saw, then swung the door open.

  “You change your mind about coffee?”

  Ellen Brazile hugged herself and glanced at the apartment across the hall.

  “Don’t worry,” I said and stepped aside. “He’s either out at a bar or dead drunk asleep.”

  Ellen walked in. I sat her in the living room and switched on a lamp. Her long cheekbones looked like sculpted ivory. Her profile, a scuffed portrait in the thick of a Chicago night.

  “I’m sorry for coming over like this.” She took a quick glance around the apartment.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “It was just hard to talk before. And… ”

  “And you want to talk about something that can’t wait?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go ahead.”

  She tightened her mouth and wrinkled her forehead.

  “You came all the way up, Ellen. Why stop now?”

  “Did you tell me the truth about Cook County?”

  “You want to see the X-ray?”

  “No. Just tell me the truth.”

  “Hold on.” I padded out to the kitchen and got another Half Acre out of the fridge. Then I reconsidered and found the whiskey. I moved back into the living room, sat down, and showed her my drink. She shook her head.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  I took a small sip of scotch. “I was working a case and banged up my ribs. Not too bad, but enough. End of story.” I took another sip and placed the tumbler on a side table. “Now, you want to tell me what’s really bothering you?”

  A pause. “I lied about why I was at the hospital.”

  “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “I know you lied, yes. Why? I have no idea.”

  “Maybe I’ll take that coffee.”

  I wound up making her a cup of Barry’s Tea. She puffed her lips and blew on it. Then she took a sip. “Good tea.”

  “It’s Irish.”

  “Of course.” Another sip and she was ready. “You want to know what black biology is all about?”

  “I thought I got an earful today.”

  “Hardly. People talk about weaponized anthrax and the like. Child’s play compared with what I have on my laptop.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to hear this.”

  “Who does? Ever think about cancer as a transmissible disease? You catch it like the flu. I got that beauty mapped out right now. All I have to do is build it. Got a stealth version as well.”

  “Stealth?”

  “The pathogen lies dormant in the body until it’s triggered by some external event. Like the herpes virus is triggered by stress.”

  “Except the external event in this case… ”

  “Would be designed and controlled by whoever created the pathogen. You infect the community and wait. Trigger the event at your time and choosing and activate the virus.”

  “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”

  “Who’s asking for that?”

  “Sounds like you might be. If you can’t handle the pressure, get out.”

  “I don’t want to get out. Not now. Not when we’re so close.”

  “To what?”

  She shrugged. “What do you think? Creating life from nothing.”

  I looked at my glass of whiskey and wished I’d brought in the bottle. “Why are you telling me all this, Ellen?”

  “I’ve left three messages today for Matt Danielson. He hasn’t returned any of them.”

  “The subway thing was a false alarm. He’s probably moved on to bigger and better disasters. He’ll get back to you.”

  She hunted around for someplace to put her cup and wound up placing it on the floor. “Is that okay?”

  I waved a hand. “Why were you at Cook tonight, Ellen?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Are you afraid there’s been a release?”

  “I’m always afraid of that. Been that way for five years.”

  “You know what I’m talking about.”

  “The stuff we found in the subway is harmless.”

  “What about the kid you saw in the ER? Looked like one hell of a case of food poisoning.”

  “I’m heading back right now to take a look at his blood.”

  “You ever sleep?”

  “I’ll get the tests running and grab a few hours.”

  I walked over to my desk and scratched out a name on a piece of paper. “There’s a Chicago cop named Donnie Quin. He died today. You can find his body either at Cook County Hospital or the morgue.”

  “And?”

  “Do me a favor and check out his blood. You’re looking at the kid anyway.”

  Ellen hooded her eyes. “Actually, there are six cases I’m looking at.”

  “Six?”

  “Yes. Three more sick, two dead in the past seven hours.”

  “All like the kid?”

  “Somewhat.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I’ve got six cases of something. They all live in a fifteen-to-twenty-block radius, so I’m thinking maybe they’re related.”

  “And maybe it’s not something they ate.”

  “I’ll know more when I see the blood.”

  “How ready would we be if something did happen?”

  “Something more than food poisoning?”

  “Yes.”

  “You saw what went on tonight. Anyone in an ER is at grave risk.”

  “The patients?”

  “Patients, doctors, nurses. They have limited training, no protective equipment. No chance.”

  “So what happens to them?”

  “Depends on the pathogen. If it’s a bad one, they die. Then we autopsy them. Hopefully soon enough to make a difference for the rest of us.”

  I nodded at the scrap of paper I’d given her. “Check out Quin. Let me know what you find.”

  She didn’t agree. Just shoved the note into her bag. Maggie picked herself up from the corner and ambled in for a little attention.

  “Your pal?” Ellen reached down and scratched the pup’s ears. Maggie rolled onto her back and wagged her tail for more.

  “She keeps me from talking to myself.”

  “She’s very cute.”

  “Everybody thinks so.”

  I walked Ellen out of my living room. She stopped just short of the door and turned. My shoulder brushed hers in a hallway that was suddenly all corners. I could smell the heat off her skin. For a moment, I thought she might reach out and touch my face. For a moment I didn’t know if that was the best thing that ever happened to me. Or another nightmare. Instead, she pulled at a lock of hair that was floating free and tucked it behind her ear.

  “What is it?” My voice sounded thick and clumsy.

  “There’s something else I want to ask.”

 
; “Go ahead.”

  “It’s personal.”

  “You already turned me down for coffee, and I’m standing here in my bathrobe. So jump right in.”

  “Why were you screaming?”

  I poked myself in the chest. “Me?”

  “Yes. I heard it from the hallway. When I was outside.”

  “I was asleep.”

  “Then why were you screaming in your sleep?”

  “I don’t know. Next time I’ll wake myself and see if I can find out.”

  “You think that’s funny?”

  “Not really.”

  “If you want to talk, let me know.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I know where the demons live, Michael. And maybe I can help.”

  “Good night, Ellen.”

  “Good night.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Ellen Brazile went straight to the lab at CDA. She walked into the bathroom, turned on the tap, and watched the water run through her fingers. It was cold and left her numb.

  She took up a washcloth and scrubbed her face until it was just bare skin. Then she looked in the mirror. She was thirty-eight now, and her scars had lightened over the years. So much so that sometimes even she forgot. Her skin had blossomed when she was twelve. Cystic acne left her complexion pitted and the quiet teenager on the outside looking in. Her sister had gotten all the looks. Everyone knew it. But all Anna ever talked about was how smart Ellen was. How special she’d be.

  So that’s what she became. The special one. The brilliant one. With a layer of makeup, even the halfway good-looking one. Ellen glanced at her cell phone, sitting on its marble pillow. No text. No message. She looked back up at her reflection and ran a hand across her cheek. There was a knock on the door. It was past three, but Ellen had no illusions she might be alone.

  “Come in.”

  A smooth face the color of amber floated in the mirror beside her own. It was Jon Stoddard, director of CDA, as well as a fellow scientist. Stoddard was a Chicago guy. West Sider made good. He didn’t have the brains of Ellen Brazile. Few did. But he had a face that was easy to look at and a silken touch that made the people who counted warm and fuzzy. Jon was Ellen’s boss. And that was okay by her.

  “How are things going?” Stoddard said.

  She wiped her face a final time with the washcloth and wrung it dry. “I’m doing fine, Jon. How are you?”