“You’re late,” Peck said.
“And you’re an asshole,” Spider said. “It’s not a perfect world.”
Peck leaned forward and asked, “Why here?” in a low voice.
“Change of pace,” Spider said, starting to enjoy himself. “I worry about you, Doc. Stuck up on that hill all day with the turnips.”
“The turnips?” Peck said.
“The sleepers,” Spider explained. “The coma people.”
“My patients are not vegetables,” Peck said, as if talking to a dim journalist. “And, technically, they’re not asleep.”
“Yeah,” said Spider, “but they’re not exactly square dancing either, are they?”
Peck knew going in that the biker was insecure and moody, probably dangerous, possibly psychotic. But until this moment, he hadn’t realized that he was dealing with a moron.
“I was in the middle of a meeting when you phoned,” Peck said. “I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t call me at the Clinic.”
“I doubt there’s very much you and I agree on, Doc,” Spider said. “But just so you know? I’ll fucking call you whenever and wherever I need to fucking call you.”
“Look,” Peck said, “I don’t want to argue with you—”
“That,” said Spider, “is the first smart thing you’ve said this morning, Doc.” Then, before Peck could respond, Spider lifted the satchel and placed it on the table.
Peck looked from the bag to the biker and back again.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“That,” Spider said, “is the merchandise.”
“The merchandise?” Peck said, confused, and then, in an instant, not at all confused. “Good God, you’re telling me. .”
He trailed off and suddenly reached for the bag, but Spider was faster and swatted Peck’s hands away from the latch.
“You don’t touch it,” Spider said, “until I have my money.” He paused and let the gravity of the moment settle in. Then he sat back in the booth and added, “And you don’t look inside until you’re back at the farm.”
“This is outrageous,” Peck said.
Spider put on a surprised face and, in one casual motion, picked up Peck’s cup and tossed the remains of the coffee on the doc’s suit. Peck reared back but didn’t make a sound. He looked down on his shirt front and then up at the biker.
“You don’t know outrageous,” Spider said. “Now stop fucking around before you piss me off.”
Peck sat in silence for a few seconds, trying to think. Then he eased up off his ass, pulled a handkerchief from a back pocket, and started to dab at his collar and lapels as he stared at Spider, who hung his head forward, smiling and waiting.
“This,” Peck said, gesturing to the satchel with the handkerchief, “is not what we agreed on.”
“You saying you don’t want it?” Spider asked.
No one spoke to Dr. Peck this way and the experience was upsetting the rhythms of his thought and his speech.
“What we had agreed. .” he began, then stopped suddenly and regrouped. “I was to perform the procedure.”
“That’s right,” Spider said, “and I saved you the trouble. You’re not careful, I might start thinking that’s worth a bonus.”
“You don’t understand,” Peck said, his anger not yet in the voice but visible in the face and in the way he was holding his hands. “There’s a protocol. There’s a way that things need to be done for a successful harvest.”
“Successful harvest,” Spider repeated. “Jesus, listen to you. Successful harvest. That’s a fucking riot, Doc.”
“There are questions that I needed to ask,” Peck said. “Blood tests and tissue samples.”
“You’re a detail man, Doc,” Spider said. “I can see that. You take your work seriously.”
“There are time constraints,” Peck said. “I don’t even know when —”
“About five this morning,” Spider said. “And you know what? I just decided you owe me a new pair of jeans.”
Jared the bartender appeared at the table.
Spider startled a little, looked up, and said, “You’re like a fucking cat.”
“All those years of dance,” Jared said. “You want to hear the breakfast specials?”
“Get out of here,” Spider said, amused and delighted. “You serve food in this place?”
Jared just stared down at the biker, hands on hips, tired but smart and, always, professional. Dr. Peck stared at the black bag.
Spider asked, “What do you got? You got any eggs and hash? I’m in the mood for some eggs and hash.”
“We don’t have any hash,” Jared said. “Do you want to see a menu?”
“Fuck it,” Spider said. “Just bring us a couple of hairy knuckles and some doughnuts.”
Jared nodded and walked away.
Peck waited a second, then folded his hands on the table in front of the satchel and said, “I don’t think you understand my situation.”
“I think I do, Doc,” Spider said. “I don’t think it’s that hard to understand. I think even a shit-for-brains retard like me can understand your fucking situation.” And then, below the table, he gave the doctor’s shin a quick but solid kick. Peck grunted and lurched forward, but he kept his hands on the table.
“I didn’t mean to insult you,” Peck said.
Spider kicked the other shin and said, “Then you fucked up, didn’t you?”
Peck was careful to nod. “I suppose I did,” he said.
“I suppose so, too,” Spider said.
They sat in silence until Jared returned and transferred two highball glasses and a plate of chocolate-glazed doughnuts from his tray to the table.
“Will there be anything else?” the barkeep asked.
“Anything else for you?” Spider asked, leaning toward Peck.
The doctor shook his head without shifting his eyes from the satchel.
“Then pay the man,” Spider said.
Peck looked flustered for a moment, then shifted his body, rummaged in his pocket, and came out with an antique clip filled with neatly folded bills. Spider reached across the table and grabbed the money from him, handed the wad to Jared uncounted, and said, “You keep the change.”
Jared remained placid, accepted the bills, and moved back to the bar. Spider slid one glass in front of Peck, lifted the other, and said, “How ’bout a toast? How’s that sound to you, Doc?”
“You’re generous with my money,” Peck mumbled.
Spider laughed, spilling some of the drink. He put his glass down in front of the doctor and picked up its twin.
“I’m about to get real generous with an ass-kicking, too,” he said. “What the fuck do you care, anyway? You got more money than you’ll ever spend up there in the clinic.”
“The majority of my money,” Peck said, “is poured into my research.”
“Yeah,” Spider said, “me too. That’s why I’m in need of a grant. You aren’t the only one with big plans, Doc. So gimme my money and I’ll let you have a doughnut and we can both call the morning a success.”
“Why would I pay you,” Peck asked, “when you didn’t do what you promised to do?”
And in this way, the time arrived for Spider to get serious.
The biker sat back and wiped a hand across his mouth. He let his head fall back on his neck until it bumped against the back of the booth.
“You take that tone with me,” he said slowly, “and I hear it as disrespect. And you need to believe me here, Doctor, you do not want to disrespect the Spider. Sooner or later, that is always a fucking mistake. And in your case, it’ll be sooner.”
Peck was stubborn enough to fight his own good judgment. He made Spider wait while he stared at the satchel and pretended to think things over. Finally, he gave a single nod of the head and slipped a bulging envelope out of his coat pocket. He placed the envelope on the table and slid it toward the Abomination.