Free Messenger of Death by Alex Markman Page A

shouldn’t fear anything.”
    Something
clicked inside her. As her fear vanished, her mind became cold and
clear. She removed everything that was inside the bag. As promised,
it held a remarkable supply of syringes, bandages, and whatnot.
Where did these people get all of this? she thought to herself.
    “You’ll feel
better soon,” she promised. Ogre nodded, and then looked at
Stanley.
    “Three of us
were in the bar when the two jerks came in,” he began speaking,
hardly moving his lips. “The barman is my man, you know. They came
to the bar and showed him a photograph. I saw him shrugging his
shoulders. Our guys went to the washroom, too much beer, you know .
. . ” He sighed. “I went to the bar, like, to order a beer, and
asked the barman what those two fuckheads wanted. He said . . . he
said that they showed him your photograph and asked if he saw you
in the bar. He said ‘no.’ When the barman spoke, one of the two
looked at me. We recognized each other. I saw the son of a bitch
two years ago in slumber. Claude’s his name, if I remember
right.”
    “Doesn’t ring a
bell,” Stanley said.
    “Please, lie
back and relax,” Camilla asked. “Try to stay calm. Moving your body
won’t do you any good.”
    “Tell me
everything later,” Stanley demanded.
    There was a
knock at the door, and Stanley returned with a plastic bag.
    “Here’s
everything you needed,” he said.
    Elevated to the
role of a surgeon, Camilla did everything with a calm, firm hand.
She cleaned the wound, inserted thread into the needle, and moved
the skin to close the wound’s edges.
    “Now, this is
the unpleasant part,” she said to Ogre. “I have to stitch you up,
but I don’t have any local anaesthetic.”
    “Go ahead,”
Ogre said weakly. Camilla inserted the needle into the inflamed
flesh. Ogre stiffened. She stopped for a moment, but he moaned: “Do
it. Finish it.”
    Suddenly,
Camilla felt a chilling indifference to the man’s suffering. She
concentrated on her job, pushing away all feelings and thoughts
that could distract her. She stitched the wound, disregarding the
convulsive shakes of Ogre’s body; placed Sofra-Tulle on the scar;
and wrapped the bandage around his chest, making sure that it was
tight and firmly fixed.
    “We can only
pray that there’s no serious infection,” she said through the open
door of the bathroom, while washing her hands. “Hopefully,
everything will be okay. When are you going to take him from
here?”
    “Tomorrow
morning.”
    “Are you
leaving with him?”
    “No. I’ll stay
another two nights. Somebody else will take care of him. Let’s go
to the restaurant. We’ll talk there.”
    Ogre slowly
turned onto his back, eyes closed, with a look of grim relaxation
on his greenish-pale face. Camilla tidied the blanket and sheets
and started to gather waste from the operation.
    “He should be
able to sleep now,” she said gently, “and will be okay by tomorrow.
Do you have somebody to stay with him?”
    “He won’t be
alone for long,” Stanley said. “Don’t worry about the garbage,
someone will clean everything up.”
    He helped her
with her ski jacket, which still retained the aroma of cold, fresh
mountain air, and then led her out.
    “Don’t tell
much to Shelly,” he asked.
    She was quick
to respond.
    “Of course not.
What I did may cost me my career. I’ll tell her that the guy had a
high fever.”
    They sneaked
through the empty corridor and stepped into the elevator.
    “How long will
it take for the two of you to get ready for dinner?” Stanley asked.
The elevator moved smoothly and quietly downward.
    “About an hour.
We have to fix our hair and get dressed. Girl’s business, you know.
By the way, where did you manage to get all this medical stuff that
fast?”
    Stanley dodged
the answer.
    “Where are you
staying?” he asked instead of answering.
    “Here.”
    “Let’s meet in
an hour downstairs.”
    The elevator
landed like a feather, and the door opened to