Michael Palmer - The Last Surgeon

It was late afternoon when the car finally stopped and Regis opened the passenger’s side door. They were parked in a broad field, flat and verdant. Facing them, in parallel, were four large, weatherworn barns, the sort used for storing and curing tobacco. Some distance behind the barns was a small whitewashed house, but there was no farming equipment anywhere, and no corrals or other signs that livestock was about.

Parked in front of the second barn from the right was a black pickup truck, and beside it was a man in dark slacks, sunglasses, and a white shirt, wearing a shoulder holster. It bothered Jillian greatly that Regis had made no attempt to keep her from viewing the setup or from gazing around. Apparently it didn’t matter to him what she saw because she wasn’t ever going to leave the place alive.

At the second barn, Regis spoke briefly with the man on duty, turned her over to him, and left in something of a hurry. She was handcuffed and led through the side door into a surprisingly vast raftered space, two stories high, poorly lit by three widely spaced naked bulbs. There were dozens of boxes and crates of all sizes stacked along the walls, and a small Jeep parked at the rear. In the center of the barn, beneath one of the three hanging lights, was the Helping Hands Medical RV. She was devastated but not completely surprised to see Junie through the windows, sitting calmly at the table. A minute later, Jillian was sitting across from her, also handcuffed to the table leg.

“Looks like he’s almost done with his smoke,” Jillian said. “Any ideas?”

“I feel certain I can get out of these handcuffs, at least temporarily.”

“How?”

“No man wants to sit around and watch while an old lady wets herself. In fact, I’m not going to have to act very hard to convince him of that threat.”

“What comes after that?”

“Coffee,” Junie whispered urgently, as the guard stubbed out his butt and turned to mount the stairs.

“I gotcha,” Jillian replied as the man settled back wearily into his seat.

“Hey, thanks for doing your smoking out there,” Junie said.

“No big deal.”

“You really shouldn’t be doing that at all, you know.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

“My name’s June-Junie, everyone calls me. This here’s Jillian. We’re both nurses. We know about smoking.”

“That’s nice.”

“You got a name?”

“Call me Butch.”

“This can’t be much fun for you, Butch, holding two ladies prisoner like this.”

“I do what I’m told.”

“I have a son your age. He never did what he was told.”

“That’s nice.”

Jillian sensed that she was watching a master at work-a queen of swaying people to her point of view.

“He’s a lawyer now-a public defender. You some kind of cop?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“I don’t know. Just something about the way you carry yourself. I been around for quite a while. I know people. For instance, I know that underneath that gruff exterior, you’re a good guy-sort of a John Wayne type. You got kids?”

“Enough! All you need to know is that I’m very good at my job, which right now is watching over you two.”

“I understand. Tell me something, Butch, did your boss or bosses tell you what to do if your sixty-two-year-old captive’s bladder was about to explode?”

The man chuckled.

“You can go to the bathroom. You just got to keep the door open.”

“If you wanna watch, that’s not my problem.”

“Door stays open, even though I don’t see you as much of a threat.”

“You’re right there, Butch. Hey, I don’t want to push my luck, but after I get this bladder business straightened out, any way I could make us some coffee? It’s instant, but you’d never know it.”

“Well, we’ll see. First things first.”

Butch removed the small brass key from his pants pocket and unlocked her cuffs.

Junie managed a sideways glance at Jillian, who immediately picked up the ball.

“Me next?” she pleaded.

“Like I said, first things first.”

Junie rose with no small difficulty, groaning mightily as she did.

“Someday, someone’s going to handcuff you to a pole, Butch, and make you sit in just that position for a million hours.”

“Sorry. Orders are orders.”

“I can barely move.”

“You’ll loosen up.”

“Maybe and maybe not. About that coffee…”

“What is it with you two? First things first. How many times do I have to say it?”

“Let me just get some water simmering while I use the bathroom. Like I said, you’ll love this stuff.”

Junie had already taken a large saucepan from beside the sink, run in some water from the tap, and set it on the propane stove.

Jillian was astounded watching the woman operate. It was just as Junie had said-as if Butch was responding to his mother.

“There’s a box of matches right here,” Junie said. “I just have to light the-”

“Okay, enough! Put those down and get into the bathroom.”

“Sure. You take cream in your coffee? Sugar? I’ll bet neither. You look like a neither type of guy. My son is a neither guy, too. Here, I’ll light the burner and you can take charge. Then I’m off to the restroom. The coffee’s in the refrigerator right next to the cream. I take both cream and a couple of sugars.”

By the time she had turned around and headed up the aisle to the small washroom across from the shower, the propane burner was on and the water was beginning to heat.

“In and out,” Butch insisted, adjusting the gun in his shoulder holster for emphasis. “I don’t have much patience.”

“My son doesn’t have any patience either.”

Deception… diversion. The woman was good, Jillian was thinking. Incredibly good.

She risked a glance over at the stove, where the saucepan had begun to rattle on the burner. That they had gotten this far was a miracle, but they couldn’t stop or even hesitate now. These men were professionals, committed to learning how much the two women knew and then eliminating them. Unless they did something about it, they were both going to die. It was as simple as that.

Jillian swung around as much as she could. Junie had maneuvered her way into the tiny bathroom near the rear of the RV. Then suddenly she closed the door. The guard raced past the stove and pounded on the bathroom door. Jillian noticed that the saucepan on the stove was beginning to clatter as the water approached boiling.

“I told you not to close the door. Open it up now, or I’ll kick it in.”

“I can’t go with somebody watching me. Two more seconds.”

“Now!”

The door flew open and Junie stepped out with both her hands in the air. “I’m done. Don’t shoot.”

Junie lowered her hands and began moving down the narrow aisle as Butch backed up two feet in front of her. With all the commotion, Jillian wondered if he even remembered the near boiling water just a few feet behind him. With luck, if gentle, loving Junie wasn’t tentative in anything she did, he was about to get a fearsome reminder.

Three feet , Jillian estimated.

Suddenly, Junie reached one hand behind her back and brought it out holding an aerosol can of disinfectant. Butch was reaching for it when she sprayed him in the face. It was a feeble effort and the guard swatted the can away after only one blast. But some of the chemical had stung his eyes. His hand shot up and grabbed her by the throat as his other hand wiped the aerosol away.

“Please don’t hurt her!” Jillian screamed. “She’s never harmed anyone. Junie, don’t be foolish.”

Butch hesitated, then loosened his grip.

Junie dropped to one knee, gasping for air, but Jillian noticed that she had moved the guard backward another two feet. Butch, still rubbing at his eyes, was paying no attention to the saucepan of water, which Jillian felt certain was boiling now.