“You’re my witness, doctor.”
“Seriously? Because this looks like a simple case of breaking and entering.”
“I’d prefer to have a witness.”
“But I’d do you more harm than good. I’ve already been in trouble with the Clayton, Kentucky police department.”
“For feelin’ up the homecomin’ queen?”
“That, and running over her husband.”
“You really tried to run off with her?”
“I considered it, but things didn’t work out.”
We look at the dead bodies a minute, then she says, “I’ll make you a deal. If you promise not to report me to the FDA, I’ll let you walk.”
“I’m a doctor.”
“So?”
“It’s my duty to report what you’re doing with this seahorse powder. It’s dangerous.”
“I just saved your life!” she says.
“I agree. Thank you.”
“Don’t that give me a pass in your eyes?”
“It’s a matter of ethics.”
“Ethics,” she repeats.
“That’s right.”
“Tell me somethin’, doctor.”
“What?”
“How many people could die from what I sell?”
Before I respond, she adds, “Be honest.”
“How many could die?” I say. “Or get sick?”
“Die.”
“Worldwide?”
She nods.
I think about it a few seconds. Then say, “A dozen a year. More or less.”
“A dozen a year,” she snorts.
“More or less.”
“And how many are gonna die from smokin’ cigarettes?”
“That’s hardly the same thing.”
“Humor me.”
“This year?”
“Uh huh.”
“Worldwide?”
She nods.
“Six million.”
“Six million?”
“More or less.”
“Uh huh. And how many will die because of doctor fuck ups?”
“There’s no way to determine the world-wide statistics for death by medical error,” I say.
“In America, then.”
“Two hundred thousand. Possibly more.”
“Not less?” she says, sarcastically.
“What’s your point?”
She says, “Do you really give a shit if my powder kills twelve people in the world this year?”
I think about it.
“Not really,” I say.
28
Cletus Renfro.
Fifteen Minutes Earlier.
“Did he leave?” Darrell says, answering his cell phone from his hospital bed.
“Nope,” Cletus says. Then adds, “You takin’ a shit?”
“What?”
“Sounds like you’re takin’ a shit.”
“I’m in pain you dumb bastard. This is what pain sounds like. I was fuckin’ run over!”
“Still, the way you’re gruntin’ and all, you know what it sounds like? To me?”
“Yeah. It sounds like I’m takin’ a shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Now that we’ve worked that out, if Dr. Box is still in the house, why are you callin’?”
“I was thinkin’ about changin’ the plan.”
“Why? Didn’t you already clog his exhaust?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“I haven’t got around to it yet. Plus, I’m tryin’ to think of somethin’ I have that’ll do the job. I was thinkin’ of usin’ my shirt, but I might need my shirt.”
“The plan was to shove somethin’ up his tailpipe. He’ll drive his car a few miles, you follow from a distance, his engine shuts down, you pull over, rob him, shoot him, and drive on.”
“I know. But he could be in this bitch’s house all day.”
“So?”
“It’s hot, and our air conditioner’s broke. And we’ve got customers waitin’ on product we ain’t even cooked yet.”
“What’s your idea?”
“Bust through the door and start shootin’.”
“Kill ’em both?”
“She might have some money, too. That’d make it look like a real robbery.”
“What about the neighbors?”
“She lives out in the boondocks. Leeds Road. It’s like, a mile to the nearest neighbor.”
“Sound carries in the country. Especially gunshots.”
“Yeah, but the neighbors ain’t there.”
“You checked?”
“Their farm’s all boarded up. Got a sign on it.”
“If she’s all alone in the boondocks, she’s probably got a shotgun or somethin’.”
“She wouldn’t be holdin’ a shotgun while visitin’ with the doctor. More likely, they’re fuckin’. We can bust in there, kill ’em both, get the cash.”
He pauses. “Wait a minute.”
“What now?”
“He just come runnin’ out the house.”
“The doctor?”
“Yeah.”
“You said he’s runnin’?”
“He’s at the car. Doin’ somethin’ in the trunk.”
“Can he see you?”
