He reads the name out loud. “Dr. Eamon Petrovsky.”
Then looks at Dr. P. and says, “Never heard of you.”
Dr. P. raises his eyebrows.
Dr. Box says, “Just kidding. You’re my hero. Swear to God, I thought you were dead. Show me the films.”
Dr. P. shows him the films and explains Callie’s condition and situation using medical terms I can’t begin to understand.
“What do you think, Doctor?” Dr. P. says.
“Child’s play.”
“Excuse me?” I say.
“This operation is beneath me. You’ll have to get someone else.”
“Are you fucking with me?” I say.
Dr. P. sees I’m losing my temper. He holds up a hand to stop me from doing something I might regret. He says, “Dr. Box, I’m told this is an impossible operation.”
“For a dentist, maybe.”
“No surgeon in the country will touch it.”
“Typical,” he says. “My nurse could successfully perform this operation.”
“Would you do us the honor of giving Callie Carpenter the use of her legs?” Dr. P. says.
“You got a picture of her?”
“Excuse me?”
“Is she hot?”
I take out my cell phone and pull up a picture of Callie.
“Holy shit!” he says.
“Will you perform the operation?” Dr. P. asks.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“The hospital will never approve it.”
“Why?”
“You know why. It’s too risky. There’s not enough upside. Best case? She regains full use of her legs. Worst case? She dies.”
“She’ll take the risk,” I say.
“Of course she will,” Dr. Box says. “But the hospital won’t. If it was a matter of life-and-death, maybe. But it’s not. There’s every reason to believe she could live another ten, twenty years.”
“Ten or twenty? She’s only twenty-six!” I say.
“Don’t worry, she’ll age pretty quickly from here on out.”
“Suppose I can get the hospital’s approval,” I say.
“You’d still need mine,” he says.
“Do you care to keep living?” I say.
“Not really.”
“No?”
“What have I got to live for? I hate my job. I hate people, and they hate me. My girlfriend moved away and I’m about to lose the greatest surgical nurse who ever lived. I’ve…”
“You’ve what?”
He smiles.
“What?”
“You’re Donovan Creed.”
“That’s right.”
“From Las Vegas.”
“You know me?”
“I’ve heard your name before.”
“Where?”
“I’ll tell you another time. Unless you decide to kill me now. Speaking of which, nothing would make me happier than to have you kill me. I’d pay you to kill me.”
“What’re you, insane?”
“Possibly. Or maybe I’m too sane to want to keep living like this.”
“I’ll pay you a hundred million dollars to perform this operation.”
“And if I refuse you’ll kill me?”
“Worse.”
He licks his lips, enthusiastically. “Tell me!”
“I’ll kidnap you, rip off your nuts, sever your spinal cord, and make you spend the rest of your miserable life the way you’re sentencing Callie to live.”
“You’re a rude personality,” he says.
“You’d be wise not to forget that.”
He says, “I actually believe you kill people for money. But you also torture them?”
“Sometimes.”
“Are you any good at it?”
“I excel at torture. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve got a list of people who need to experience pain in their lives. And I’m tired of waiting for them to get sick.”
“I have no idea what that means,” I say, “but it sounds like we’re about to forge an agreement, yes?”
“I hope so.”
Dr. Box isn’t shitting me. He goes to his computer and prints out a list. Twenty-two names with addresses, phone numbers, relatives, and personal notes.
“The people on this list have wronged me,” he says.
“And?”
“I want them tortured.”
“To death?”
“No. But thoroughly.”
He pauses, then says, “And I want to watch.”
Taken aback, Dr. P. says, “What kind of doctor are you?”
“A vengeful one,” he says.
49.
I LOOK OVER Dr. Box’s list.
“These are mostly housewives and clerks.”
“So?”
“And your notes.”
“What about them?”
I pick one of the names and start to read. “Chelsea Lloyd. Housewife. Married to Eugene Lloyd, sales rep, Commerce Real Estate. Laughed at me at Senior Prom.”
I give him a look. “You can’t be serious.”
“She laughed at me. Made fun of the way I danced. Have you ever been singled out for ridicule among your peers?”
“No.”
“It’s devastating at that age.”
“But you’re a grown up. You’re past that. You’re a world-renowned surgeon! Meanwhile, this woman, Chelsea, is married to a sales rep.”
“Your point?”
“We don’t have to torture her.”
“We don’t?”
“No. We’ll send her a copy of your press kit.”
“I don’t have a press kit.”
“By this time tomorrow you will.”
“How will you manage that? Elves?”
I start to deny it, then realize he’s being facetious.
I say, “Success is the best revenge. My people will create the world’s most impressive press kit and send it to all the women on your list. When they see who you’ve become, they’ll shit.”
“You think?”
“Absolutely. Not only that, they’ll drive their husbands crazy reminding them how they could have married Dr. Gideon Box. They’ll bring it up all the time. But every time they do, they’ll remind themselves how badly they fucked up. That’ll be torture enough, don’t you think?”
“No. But it’s a start.”
“Anyway, here’s the thing. It’s not practical to torture people and let them live to tell the police. So we can either kill them, or we let it go.”
He thinks a moment, then says, “Okay, here are my terms. One, you’ll create press kits and send them to everyone on both lists.”
“You’ve got another list?”
“Yes, of course. There are more than fifty names in all.”
“You must have been the world’s worst dancer!”
“They’re on my lists for different reasons. You want to hear the rest of my terms, or what?”
“Go on.”
“Two, you’ll pay me the hundred million dollars you promised.”
“Contingent on the operation being successful,” I say.
“Same thing.”
“Just to clarify, Callie regains full use of her legs.”
“Of course. But I want the money held in escrow,” he says. “With the attorney of my choice. Deposited today, before we leave.”
“Banks are closed.”
“First thing in the morning.”
“Done.”
“Number three, my surgical assistant, Rose, has to agree to come.”
“Is she in town?”
“Yes, but she’s hard to pin down.”
“Fine. Surely that’s it. I mean, you said the operation was child’s play.”
“Child’s play for me. But I have one more demand.”
I sigh. “Let’s hear it.”
“After Ms. Carpenter regains full use of her legs you’ll fly back and have dinner with me and two guests at the place of my choosing.”
“Locally?”
“A short drive.”
“Me and Callie?”
“Just you.”
“Who are the guests?”
“You’ll find out at dinner. Not before.”
“Should I be prepared for a physical confrontation?”
“No, of course not. This will be a civil dinner in a fancy restaurant.”
“Of all your demands, why does this one concern me the most?” I say.
“Because it’s beyond your control?”
He’s right.