John Locke - Wish List

“Yes.”

“Working day and night, the guilt, the stress…your people should have known.”

“True.”

“Torture is an exact science, better left to professionals.”

“So we’ve learned.”

“You should have called me.”

Victor smiled. “Next time.”

Chapter 15

After making the trade, Buddy and I climbed in the Hawker and strapped on the seat belts.

“What about the device in my back?” he said.

“Is it uncomfortable?”

“What do you think? They dug a hole in my back and stuck a piece of metal in there.”

“What are you taking for it?”

“They gave me Dilaudid tablets. Said they have two to eight times the painkilling effects of morphine.” He looked at me. “Is that true?”

“How would I know? I don’t use pain pills.”

“Why not?”

“They keep you from feeling pain, right?”

He didn’t know how to respond, so he said, “Can you believe those bastards did this to me? Now I’m going to need surgery to dig that thing out.”

“You’d better use one of my contacts. Otherwise it’ll be reported.”

“I want it to be reported. They were going to hunt me down, shoot me like a fuckin’ animal. I’m going straight to the cops. I’ll bring those assholes to their knees! ”

The copilot turned around in his chair and looked at me. “Everything all right?”

I nodded. Then said, “Buddy, look at me.”

When he did, I said, “You’re not going to tell anyone about this.”

“What? Why the hell not?”

“Because for once in your life you’re going to do the right thing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I promised the Wish List people you’d keep your mouth shut.”

“Why?”

“So they wouldn’t kill your wife.”

He went quiet awhile, but not long enough to suit me. “You really think they’d kill Lissie?” he said.

“I guarantee it.”

“But you could stop them.”

“I just did.”

“But only if I say nothing.”

“You got it. Finally.”

We landed in Richmond, and I said goodbye to the pilots and got a rental car. Buddy’s back was getting worse, so I took a look at it.

“It’s infected,” I said.

“I’m not surprised. Hurts like a sonovabitch.”

“Don’t worry about the seatbelt.” I buckled it to keep it from dinging, and he sat on it. I fired up the car and pulled onto I-64 heading west. “The news gets worse, Buddy.”

“What could be worse than the past few days?”

“You’re dying.”

“What? No! It’s just an infection. Look, take me to Jewish Hospital, and drop me off. I’ve got great insurance.”

“Buddy, we’re in Richmond, Virginia, not Louisville. I’m driving you to a private facility that houses the finest surgeons in the world.”

“Mr. Creed, really, you’ve done more than I could have hoped for. I mean, Jesus, you saved my life. So please. Don’t worry about me. Or Lissie. We’ll be fine, I promise. I’m no Donovan Creed, but I can take it from here.”

“You’re not listening to me. You’re dying.”

“Look. I’m not a tough guy, we both know that. But this is just a simple surgical procedure.”

“If it’s not removed properly, the device in your back will detonate and blow out your spine.”

“Excuse me?”

I pulled off at the next exit, found an abandoned Popeye’s Fried Chicken restaurant, and parked behind it.

“I’m taking you to Sensory Resources, a branch of Homeland Security. There are surgeons there who can take that thing out of your back tonight. But you need to understand, after this, things will never be the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re dying. And not because of the device.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve got full-blown AIDS, Buddy.”

He laughed. “Right.”

“I’m serious. Ever ask yourself why Jinny Kidwell paid you a million dollars and let you have sex with her?”

“Of course. So I asked her.”

“And she gave you that bullshit story about paying back into the system?”

He nodded.

“Jinny Kidwell has AIDS. She heard about Wish List, filled out the form, and asked for a cure for AIDS.”

“They’ve got a cure for AIDS? Who are these guys?”

“The kind of guys who began giving her the treatments, and told her if she wanted to complete them she’d have to perform some tasks.”

“Like fucking me.”

“And paying a million dollars.”

“Are you honestly trying to tell me that I have AIDS?”

“I am.”

“Mr. Creed, AIDS doesn’t work like that. You get HIV first. Then, years later, if you’re unlucky, you might get AIDS.”

“I’m not familiar with the normal progression of the disease. But it doesn’t matter in your case because the injections they gave Jinny caused you to acquire the disease, and accelerate its progression at an abnormal pace. I’ve been told by a very reliable source that you’ll be dead by December.”

“You swear to God?”

“It’s true.”

“Swear it. Swear to God.”

“What are we, eight years old?”

“What about the antidote? If they gave it to Jinny, they can give it to me. I’ll do whatever it takes. Call them. I’ve still got the million. I’ll pay it. Tell them. Tell them I’ll have sex with anyone they say.”

“You really think someone’s going to put having sex with you on their wish list?”

“That was just a for instance. I’ll do whatever. Please, just call them. Tell them I’ll do whatever they want. I’ll kill someone. Hell, I’ll kill ten people. Babies, if they want. I’ll—”

“Shut up, Buddy. Babies? Jesus. Anyway, there’s no more serum. There was only one batch ever made, and the guy who invented it died, leaving no records behind. Only one patient will ever receive the treatment, and that’s Jinny Kidwell. And you, Mr. I’ll Do Anything, Even Kill Ten Babies—are shit out of luck.”

Buddy began sobbing. The harder he sobbed, the worse his back hurt. Which made him yell. Then he sobbed some more, which made him yell again, and this went on for more than a minute until I finally said, “Wind it up, will you?”

“What’s to become of me?”

“You’re going to die. Get over it, you miserable fuck.”

“What about Lissie?”

“If it’s true you haven’t had sex with her, she’ll be all right physically.”

“I need to tell her. I need to explain things.”

“If you do, they’ll kill her.”

“Why?”

“Think about it. Jinny Kidwell, the world’s most famous actress, is about to be cured of AIDS. If word gets out, the entire world will change. Desperate people do desperate things, and people will demand answers. The easiest way to prevent that is to kill everyone who can’t keep a secret. Starting with you, and then Lissie. Then both sets of relatives, and all your friends.”

“That’s crazy. They’ll never get away with it.”

“They won’t have to, because it’s not going to come to that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re never going to see Lissie again. You’re not going to see anyone again. You’re going to be isolated from all human contact, save for the doctors and nurses who’ll be taking care of you in a secluded treatment facility.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Maybe so, but that’s the plan.”

“What about the money?”

“Lissie will get half.”

“You’re still planning to take half my money? It’s all I have left!”

“I’m donating your half to the doctors and nurses at Sensory who will be keeping you comfortable as the disease progresses. By the time you die, I’ll have put together an elaborate explanation for why you went missing, and how you died a hero. Better to have Lissie remember you as a hero than to learn you got AIDS cheating on her. Don’t you agree?”