Ridley Pearson - The Angel Maker

He apologized several times, but she didn't buy it. He had wanted to remind her of her mistake. She had failed to react she knew that; she didn't need him to remind her. She let it go; back to business. "When we talk to the girls at The Shelter about how they raise money out on the streets, one thing that comes up, besides selling sex, or running drugs, is selling their blood. They've all done it; all it takes is a fake I.D.

Even Sharon's done it." She passed him several photocopies.

They were from back issues of medical journals. "Both blood and tissue type are extremely important in transplants. That's where a doctor begins in what can sometimes be a long process of matching a donor with a recipient. These articles will fill you in."

He scanned the articles quickly. "Blood banks," he mumbled.

Then he said outright, "They select their potential donors from blood banks?" She said, "It's certainly a strong possibility. One worth following up."

"We'll divide and conquer," Boldt said. "Talk to Cindy Chapman. Press her for information. Did she sell her kidney? Did she sell her blood? I'll pay a visit to our local blood banks." He supported Miles as he stood.

She caught his eyes. She held him there, waiting. "Say it," she said. He stared at her. "You can't just walk out of here after all of this and not say it."

"Is it so important?" Boldt asked. "It's a young woman's life," she reminded. "You tell me."

He nodded in resignation. "I'm in."

Dr. Elden Tegg retained the only key to the Lakeview Animal Clinic's refrigerated walk-in because of the drugs it contained. He never would have chosen to install the walk-in himself; but this office had previously been a small Italian restaurant, and the walk-in served a useful purpose, both as the repository for the medications and as a holding closet for the surgical waste and dead animals that were byproducts of any busy surgical clinic.

The man he met at the clinic's back door was short and stocky, dressed in a black-leather jacket, with black hair that peaked sharply in the center of his forehead. Donnie Maybeck was hired freelance to drive the clinic's "chuck wagon"-transporting the various bags of organic waste to a private incinerator. Because they would temporarily store this waste in the walk-in, he made only two trips a week.

Tegg unlocked the heavy door to the walk-in and stepped back, allowing the man to do his job but keeping an eye on him because of the abundance of controlled substances. "Wanna gimme a hand with this?" Maybeck asked Tegg. He had horrible teeth, chipped and gray with decay.

This question, posed as it was, signaled Tegg. He stepped inside the cooler and pulled the door behind him until it thumped shut, closing them in. "Make it quick," he said. You could see your breath in here. Tegg crossed his arms to fend off the cold.

The man in the black-leather jacket spoke softly. "Some guy called me about a meeting. Said it can't wait."

"What can't wait? What guy?" "Sounded like a Chink. Said a doc up in Vancouver recommended you. Asked me to set up a meet with you. Wanted it ASAP. Like tonight."

"Vancouver?" Tegg knew this could only mean one thing. He felt hot all of a sudden. "The guy says either you agree to meet him or no. There's no bullshit with this guy., Tegg felt his knees go weak. The man next to him continued, "Said he was prepared to pay some major bucks."

"And what did you say?" Tegg asked anxiously. "I didn't tell him squat. Okay? I'd like to know how the fuck he got my name. I'm checking with you, Doc. That's all. No need to sprout a fuckin' hemmi! I got this covered."

Tegg attempted some measure of self-control. He slowed his thoughts down, separated them, and dealt with them one by one.

His thoughts tended to leap ahead of him, making the present something he saw only upon reflection, so that much of his life felt more like instant replay than the real thing. He lived life as much from recalling that which had just occurred as he did from experiencing it, making him feel like two different people-one moving through life and the other attempting to come to grips with his actions.

Could he allow an opportunity like this to pass him by? On the other hand, could he protect himself well enough from the possible dangers? "Listen," the other man said, "you're my needle man for Felix tonight. Don't forget you agreed to do that for me. So, what if I got this guy to meet us out there?"

Tegg had forgotten about this commitment. It rattled him-it wasn't like him to forget anything, even something so distasteful.

Maybeck added, "Listen, I could run point for you. Get this Chink out there ahead of you. Check him out. Keep you close by. If it's cool, I give you a shout on the car phone. if you don't hear from me by, say, nine o'clock, I get rid- of him and you hang until it's clear to come in and help me out with Felix. One thing about these fights, we got bitchin' security. If this guy's trouble, he's gonna wish he stayed home. Know what I mean?"

Tegg suddenly realized that in surgery his thoughts did not get ahead of him-his hands kept up effortlessly. He wondered if this explained his love of surgery.

He said to this other man, "What if he doesn't like the setup? I sure as hell wouldn't meet somebody at a dog fight! I've never even been to a dog fight."

"Hey, it's not our problem. Okay?

This is pay or play," he said misquoting things he knew nothing about. This man's vocal drivel always set Tegg on edge. "If he doesn't want to show, tough titties for him."

Tegg contemplated all of this while the other man gathered the plastic bags of contaminated waste. "Set it up," Tegg ordered. He turned and punched the large throw-bar that released the walkin's outside latch. He walked slowly down the hall, pensive and concentrating. He sensed that everything had changed. The closer he drew to the examination room, the more put off he was by the thought of cats and dogs. Boring, meaningless work.

Earlier in the day, he had simply wanted to do his job well-get through another day. Have some fun. Earn some good money, listen to some Wagner, all the while working a blade.

Now all he wanted was to meet this unidentified man. He glanced at his watch impatiently: hours to go.

He looked in on Pamela Chase, who was just bringing up another set of X-rays. Ever the diligent assistant. "We didn't get much on our first series," she explained. "You do good work." She glowed at this comment. Tegg knew exactly how to play her, how to feed her needs. She fed his in her own way-her unending compliments, her adoring glances. Other ways, too.

He stepped up to the X-rays. Child's play, compared to the real work that lay ahead of him. He could feel her sweet breath warm against his cheek as she leaned in to share in this exploration. He moved over so that she could see better and allowed his hand to gently brush her bottom, as if accidentally. She didn't flinch, her eyes searching out the elusive fracture in the fuzzy black-and-gray images.

Besides, he thought, self-amused, she knew this contact was no accident. She loved it. She loved everything about him.

"Whose turn is it to heat up dinner?" Boldt asked his wife, feeling a little apprehensive about how to steer the conversation to the subject of his returning to work. How to negotiate his future with her. They had found a routine that worked. He was about to challenge all that, and he knew before he began that flexibility was not her long suit. She was changing clothes, out of her executive-banker look and into some blue jeans and a cotton sweater she had tossed onto the bed. It was past seven-he was starved.

Liz answered, "I suppose it's mine, but I refuse. Let's go out."

"What about Einstein?" Boldt asked, looking over at Miles, who was fighting to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss anything. All so new to him. Each of his expressions meant the world to Boldt: an inquisitive glance, a furrowed brow. Simple pleasures. "Okay," she said. "You win. Take-out, and I'm buying. If I make the call, will you pick it up?" He asked, "Have you noticed how much we negotiate everything?"