Ridley Pearson - The Angel Maker

"I showed you how to work the collar.

What kind of fool can't work a shock collar? You can push a button, can't you?" it was a rare display of spleen for Tegg, a terrible sign of weakness. He regretted it immediately. Maybeck did not take well to denigrating comments about his intelligence or lack thereof.

Maybeck's eyes hardened. "I don't want to use no collar before the fight. it might weaken him, and I would hate to lose him."

The idea that Felix might lose cut Tegg to the quick. Maybeck was right-this was no time to shock the dog.

Tegg kept the shock collar's remote device in hand as he led Felix from the cage, leashed him, and led him toward the ring. To Tegg's delight, Felix behaved impeccably under escort. Maybeck followed, but at a distance.

Once alongside the ring, Tegg cradled Felix in his arms and removed the shock collar. Felix's opponent, Stormin' Norman, waited in the far corner. Around his throat he carried a dozen healed scars of a warrior.

A three-hundred-pound man with a beard of barbed wire peered out from beneath a John Deere farmer's cap and declared solemnly, "To the death."

The announcement sobered and silenced the spectators. The rain drummed on the roof. The air went electric with anticipation. Felix fixed his attention on his opponent. "I can't do this," Tegg told Maybeck. "Even in the name of research."

He was spared any such decision. As the other dog was released, Felix broke loose and dove into the ring. The dogs exploded at one another. A roar went up from the crowd. Tegg withdrew to the shadows.

He suddenly felt as if he was being watched. He looked around.

No one. Again he scanned the barn's interior and again could identify no one interested in him. Then he looked up into the hayloft.

There in the soft shadows stood a man dressed in a business suit, his full attention focused on Tegg, who recognized him immediately as Wong Kei, an infamous Seattle mob boss. His face was constantly in the news. Though this was a different face tonight: pale skin stretched tightly across sharp bones. Hard, spiritless eyes. A man desperately sad.

An explosion of applause from the audience signaled the end of the fight, Maybeck tugged on Tegg's arm and pulled him toward the ring. Felix was circling the bloodied corpse of his failed opponent. "Not a scratch on him, Doe. You understand? He dropped Norman like he was a toy poodle. Norman! Not a scratch! You're a fucking genius, Doc. A real fucking genius."

Expressionless, disgusted, Tegg collected the dog and returned him to the travel cage. Tegg glanced up into the loft. He told Maybeck, "I'll see him now."

By the time they reached the hayloft via a set of rickety stairs, and Tegg had submitted himself to a frisksearch by one of Wong Kei's two stocky bodyguards, another contest had begun below.

There were no introductions; a man of Wong Keis reputation needed none. In and out of the courts-always acquitted. They sat opposite each other on hay bales. Maybeck and the bodyguards remained standing.

Wong Kei got to the point. "My wife is fifty-seven years old.

She is suffering from unstable angina that will shortly claim her life if nothing is done. She had her first myocardial infarction two years ago. As I am sure you are aware," he said venomously, "heart transplants are refused to anyone over the age of fifty-five. My wife's case is made worse by both a rare blood type-AB-negative-and the fact that she's an extremely small woman.

"I arranged a 'private' transplant surgeon some time ago. A man willing to help. He's out of Vancouver. He attempted to locate an unregistered donor heart but to date has been unsuccessful. He recommended I contact your associate. I understand you have found him a kidney from time to time. I must admit that I am not terribly comfortable turning to a veterinarian for a human heart. That is one of the reasons I wanted this meeting: to meet you." He paused as the crowd below erupted in cheers. "I make no promises," Tegg stated. "I have done my homework," the Asian said. "I would not be here had I not. As a veterinarian you have few equals."

"In a situation such as your wife's-one of life and death-time is the real enemy. Time forces certain decisions. I'm perfectly aware of that. How long does your wife have?" he asked, taking charge. But time wasn't Tegg's real enemy. Internally, a dialogue of a different sort began: Now that the opportunity had presented itself, how far would he go to erase a mistake he had made nearly twenty years earlier? Could he knowingly sacrifice a human being? "She will be strong enough to move in a few days."

"To Vancouver?"

"Yes. "Days?

"If I Put MY wife's life into your hands, I will expect results," he announced sternly. "if you can't help me, you must say so now. If it's a question of money … " Tegg waved his hand to stop the man. He did not want Maybeck to hear the amount being offered. A heart was worth no less than five-hundred thousand. If Wong Kei had indeed done his homework, as he claimed, then he knew that much. "I'm sure you'll be generous," Tegg said. The money accounted for only a part of his stake in this. There was more to be gained here. "Are you interested?"

"Extremely."

"May I count on you?"

Tegg glanced briefly at Maybeck. The man looked frightened. You didn't fail a man of Wong Kei's reputation. The mobster was telling him that much by just the look in his eye. He wanted a commitment.

Tegg answered, "I will have to do my homework, hmm? We'll have to see what's available." He pointed to a file folder on a bale of hay. "Her records?" Seize control: That's how you dealt with people like Wong Kei. The Asian passed him the folder. "We will begin looking for a donor immediately. How do I reach you?"

Wong Kei removed a business card, wrote a phone number on the back of it, and handed it to Tegg.

"you'll be hearing from me," Tegg said confidently.

They didn't shake hands. Wong Kei rose, crossed the darkened loft and disappeared down the stairs.

Maybeck sat in the shadow of a post. "We'll have to zoom the donor to get the heart. Am I right?" Maybeck asked.

Believing Maybeck was nervous about this, Tegg returned to a justification decided upon many months earlier: "If one human life is sacrificed to save many, then what harm is done? If not one, but four, five, six lives are saved, does this not balance the scales?"

Maybeck answered, "I just mean in terms of what we gotta do. We go zooming someone, this had better be big money."

Reading the file in the limited light, Tegg spoke without looking up, "Check the database for an AB-NEGATIVE. She'll have to be small: a hundred pounds tops. All you do is bring me the donor. You'll be rich after this. Fifty thousand for your part. That's what you want, isn't it?"

Through the cavity in the hayloft came the chorus of barking dogs. Among them, Tegg could hear Felix as clearly as if he alone were barking. Felix's superiority in the ring confirmed Tegg's brilliance. There would be more tests, of course; there always were. Life, it seemed, was one long test. Victory came not from a single win but from a series of accomplishments.

He stopped to take one last look at Donnie Maybeck, who still hadn't moved. Mention of that number had numbed him. just right.

As Tegg descended the stairs, he felt exhilarated. This was his chance to erase the slate, to prove something to himself, to give something back, He intended to make the most of it.

juggling his household chores and his role as Mr. Mom, Boldt visited two area blood banks Friday morning with his son Miles in tow. It was not until the second interview that he learned that the donation of whole blood was strictly voluntary. He had neglected to raise this question at the first location. Plasma centers paid, not blood banks.