Shaheen went down as though shot. Barakat put his hands on his hips and said, "You know, I hate to see this."
"A little late to stop now," Cappy said.
"Oh, we can't stop." He knelt down and pushed a finger into Shaheen's neck. "Still alive," he said.
Cappy said, "Here," and he knelt beside the supine man, pinched his nose, put his hand over Shaheen's mouth, and pressed. Shaheen was profoundly unconscious, and never resisted. After a moment, he began to tremble and shake, and then he died.
Barakat checked again and said, "Well, that's that. Good-bye, Addie." Then he rolled him, fished his wallet out of his pocket, and took out a wad of cash. "He doesn't trust banks-there may be some more around, maybe in the refrigerator."
They found an envelope with $1,100 under an ice-cube tray; Cappy probed the bedroom, but found nothing more. Barakat had brought with him a dozen sample boxes of Viagra, distributed through hospitals and doctors' offices, two boxes of Tamiflu, and three bottles of stimulants.
They wiped them, then handled them with Shaheen's dead but still sweaty hands, and then put them in a shoe box under Shaheen's bed. The stimulants had the hospital's name on them.
"Now, we go away," Barakat said. They wiped the ashtray and touched the doorknob only with a paper towel, careful not to wipe it, and were gone.
"The thing about this is, this solves several long-term problems I have had," Barakat said, as they walked back down the sidewalk to the car. "I never liked Addle. He was always trying to climb out of his place. Also, he spied on me for my father."
"Hope he didn't tell your old man about the hospital."
"He didn't know about the hospital for sure. He thought I did it, but he wasn't sure. And now, it's not a problem," Barakat said. "You hungry?"
Cappy nodded. "I could use a bite… Man, like that spook was all pink down there, you know? I didn't know that about them."
He didn't think about Shaheen, because Shaheen was now irrelevant.
17
VIRGIL TOLD LUCAS, "I got tired of wandering around doing nothing, so finally I started asking everybody I met if they knew any Arabs with French accents, or accents that might be French, who've been acting flaky. Or Frenchmen who look like Arabs."
They were sitting at the dining table, with coffee. Weather was holding her head in her hands, and every once in a while said something like "Oh my God."
Lucas asked, "What happened?"
"Nothing yet," Virgil said. "The question hasn't had time to metastasize. I figure the politically correct wolverines will be onto it pretty quick. They'll blab it all over the hospital, and I should have about six formal complaints and three answers by noon tomorrow."
Weather said, "Oh my God."
Lucas patted her on the leg and said, "Don't worry. If it works, we're golden. If it doesn't work, and there are too many complaints, we'll reprimand him and tell everybody he'll be required to go to sensitivity training. He's going to the Bahamas in two weeks, anyway, so he'll be out of sight."
"Oh my God."
Lucas asked Virgil, "Run into any good-looking doctors over there?"
"A couple," Virgil said.
"I heard radiologists are hot. And dermatologists. They're more intellectual than, like, surgeons," Lucas said.
"I'll keep that in mind," Virgil said.
Weather said, "Sometimes, the two of you think you're being funny, but you're not that funny. I've got to work with a lot of… of…"
Lucas said to Virgil, "She's trying to find a softer word for 'Arab.' Like, 'Persons of Middle Eastern heritage.'"
"Fuck you," Weather said.
"See?" Lucas said. "A dermatologist never would have said that. They're more classy." LUCAS CAME to bed at one o'clock, moving quietly, and Weather said, "I'm awake."
"You should be asleep. Are you okay?"
"We're going to do it," she said.
"Yes. I hope that thing with Virgil isn't keeping you awake."
"No. I know how to prioritize," Weather said. "I even understand what he's doing, but you'll never get me to approve of it. You know, officially."
"Gods of correctness," Lucas said.
"Mmm."
"Thinking about the babies?" Lucas slipped under the blankets.
"They're just like us, but they don't understand," Weather said. "They're alive, they have emotions, they have intellectual processes, they are learning, they know some words… they're physically underdeveloped because they haven't been able to walk or crawl, but they're like us. They're lying there, maybe in some pain, wondering what's happening, and tomorrow, by this time, one or both of them might be dead, because of what we're doing."
"Weather-"
"I know. I wouldn't want to do anything else, or be anywhere else, but: it's a load."
"Did you take a pill?"
"No. I'll be fine. Maybe if we could just do a spoon for a few minutes," she said.
"Listen," Lucas said. "It's gonna work out. That's the karma here… it's going to work."
"You don't believe in karma."
"Snuggle up," he said. "Close your eyes. It's gonna work." WEATHER LEFT at six, got to the hospital fifteen minutes later, bodyguards fore and aft. Maret was gathering the team together for a pep talk: "This time we must keep going. We are close, but still several hours away. Everybody must resolve to work quickly. If we can save five minutes here or there, it's worth doing. We're in a race. We are not sloppy, but we are quick."
Weather went down to the separation lounge and found the Rayneses talking to a stress counselor. "You okay?" she asked them.
"Gabriel says that one way or another, we'll finish today," Lucy Raynes said.
Weather nodded. "We will. The babies look better, but they can't take much more. We'll finish."
"God willing," Larry Raynes said.
She left them, went to the women's locker room, changed into scrubs; when she came out, the babies were being rolled into the operating room. LUCAS STAYED UP just long enough to see her off with Virgil, Jenkins, and Shrake, then went back to bed, looking for another hour or two of sleep. It came hard: his mind wouldn't stop churning, looking for strings that might lead to the doctor. He finally rolled out of bed at eight, cleaned up and headed down to his office. He was just turning into the parking lot when he got a call from Virgil.
"Your pal Marcy's all over me," Virgil said.
"Because of the Arab thing?"
"That's ten percent of it," Virgil said. "The other ninety percent is, an Arab doctor from Lebanon was murdered down in south Minneapolis last night. He used to live in Paris. They're taking some unusual drugs out of his apartment, and some wrappers for more drugs they haven't found. Like, a lot of drugs."
"You're serious."
"She should be calling you in about two minutes," Virgil said. "I probably got in first because you're on my speed dial."
"Where's this at? The murder? You got an address?"
"No, but like I said, she'll be calling. Jenkins and Shrake are still here. I'm gonna run down there and take a look." LUCAS'S CELL PHONE booped, and he said, "There she is. Talk to you later." He pressed the flash button, and Marcy came up. "You know what your guy Virgil did yesterday?"
Lucas asked, "So what's the address? You there yet? What kind of drugs…?" THE MINNEAPOLIS cops were all over the scene, Marcy standing in the hall talking to the lieutenant in charge of the homicide unit. She saw Lucas and walked down toward him and said, "That fuckin' Flowers. They were talking all over the hospital yesterday about how he was looking for an Arab, and see what happens?"