Free Messenger of Death by Alex Markman

very simple thing.”
    “Okay. You got
me,” Camilla yielded. “I’ll look at him.”
    “Very nice of
you. I have friends who can entertain Shelly while you and I are
upstairs with the sick one. It won’t take long. Right after that,
we’ll drive to the restaurant.” He gave them a broad, friendly
smile. “Deal?”
    He made a nod
toward two men, approximately his own age, who were sitting in a
distant corner of the lobby. They instantly stood up and came
closer. Other than their quick reaction, there was nothing weird
about them. One might even say that they were handsome and friendly
looking.
    “Shelly, I
trust you to my friends for 15 minutes,” Stanley said. “They will
take good care of you at the bar. Okay?”
    Not really
waiting for her reply, he took Camilla’s hand and walked to the
elevator. On the fourth floor they stepped out, turned left, and
went along the narrow corridor. Once they reached the end of it,
Stanley unlocked the door, threw a suspicious glance over his
shoulder, and let her in.
    On the
king-size bed inside, a man with thick, dark hair, round face, and
bushy eyebrows was lying on his left side. With his T-shirt stained
with blood, his grayish pale face, and his eyes closed, he seemed
dead. Suddenly his eyes opened; they glistened with unmistakable
luster of high fever and pain.
    “This is a
nurse, Ogre,” Stanley said. The man blinked. Camilla rolled up his
shirt, uncovering a poorly done bandage, soaked in blood.
    “What kind of
wound is it?” she asked the man. He had the huge muscles of a
bodybuilder.
    “Knife,”
Stanley said.
    “How long ago
did it happen?”
    “About an hour
ago, may be more. Could you stop asking questions?”
    “I ask only
what’s necessary,” Camilla snapped. “If it was more than two hours
ago, you’d better take him to the hospital.”
    “I won’t take
him to the hospital, no matter what.”
    Camilla
carefully removed the bandage and uncovered a long, but shallow
wound. Ogre groaned and clenched his teeth.
    “Gosh,” Camilla
sighed. “He needs a surgeon. I’m not qualified to do the job.”
    “You’re much
more qualified than I am,” Stanley insisted. “What should be
done?”
    “The wound
should be cleaned and disinfected. Stitches must be put in—this
wound won’t heal without them—although, as I see it, the knife
didn’t penetrate the ribs and didn’t touch any vital organs.”
    “What supplies
do you need to fix it?”
    “But . . .
”
    “Say it. What
do you need?”
    All of a
sudden, fear gripped her heart. She realized that there was no way
out. She would have to do the job they wanted.
    “First, I need
some 3 percent hydrogen peroxide to clean the wound. I need some
Sofra-Tulle to cover it, and a large roll of gauze bandages to wrap
around his chest. And then, if nothing better is available, I need
a needle and silk thread to sew the wound. Actually, you could get
all of these in any drugstore.”
    Stanley nodded
and pointed at the bag on the table.
    “Morphine,
syringes, and some other things are in that bag,” he said. “Someone
will bring Sofra-Tulle and peroxide soon from the drugstore behind
the hotel. Do whatever you can in the meantime.”
    Stanly flipped
his cell phone and dialed.
    “You are
insane,” Camilla objected emphatically. Stanley didn’t listen; no
doubt he was giving orders, but his speech was impossible to
understand.
    “What if I do
something wrong?” insisted Camilla. “They’ll throw me out of
school. I might even be taken to court.”
    “Bullshit,”
Stanley grumbled, putting the phone in his pocket. He’d grown
increasingly irritated, impatient, and menacing.
    “I’m scared,”
she complained meekly, as if somebody could help her.
    “Do it,”
Stanley demanded. “There’s nothing to fear. Ogre will never be
taken to any hospital, no matter what happens.” He put his hand on
her shoulder and smiled. “Don’t worry, Camilla. Everything is gonna
be okay. Do it. With me, you