florist’s shop. The only explanation he could come up with was disturbing-very disturbing. The big man needed to play the reward card to get through the door, but now that they were inside, there was no longer any need. The moment they had the envelope, the moment Watkins was sure the films were there, Lionel was a dead man-and quite possibly, Will was, too.
It was at that moment Will noticed the knife resting on the counter-a large carving knife, it appeared, although it was mostly obscured behind a plump tomato, a head of lettuce, and an as yet empty salad bowl. There was no sign that Watkins had seen it. Will felt his pulse accelerate as he forced his eyes away from the weapon and moved a nonchalant six inches to his right, cutting down Watkins’s angle of sight.
“Like I told you, Mr. Dunn, I’ve got it,” Lionel was saying. He turned to Will. “You sure this is okay? You really don’t look so good.”
“No, no. I’m fine. Really I am. Ol’ Joe here is my friend. The reason I don’t look so good is that I’ve had like the flu. I haven’t been sleeping too well lately.”
“Oh, okay. Well, you two just wait here.”
He headed over and opened the bedroom door.
“You’re doin’ fine,” Watkins whispered to Will, “just fine.”
“Watkins, don’t you hurt him.”
This time the giant didn’t even bother to respond. Will risked a glance at the counter, gauging the best approach to the knife. If he even got the chance, it would be only fleeting. He was going to have to take it and move decisively. There was little doubt that both his and Lionel’s lives were at stake.
“Here you go,” Lionel sang cheerfully. “I hid it under my mattress in case the Cobras came callin’.”
“You did good,” Will said. Then he added, stalling as he tried to create even a momentary advantage, “Joe, my friend, it’s not that I don’t trust Lionel, but you never know. One thing I
“Hey, wait a minute,” Lionel said. “You can trust me. I never even looked to see what was inside that envelope.”
“It’s not just you, Lionel. The Cobras could have messed with it, too. I know exactly what should be in there.”
Clearly nonplussed, Watkins hesitated, then decided that of his two choices, more trouble could result for him by not checking inside the envelope and bringing Gold a sheaf of cardboard. He gave Will a good look at the way his hand was thrust into his jacket pocket.
“Quickly,” he growled. “We don’t have much time.”
His pulse hammering, Will settled onto a chair and slid the thick stack of films out onto the table. It looked as if all of them were mammograms. At least one man had died because of them, and both he and Lionel Henderson were on the brink.
He was about to spread the X-rays out when he saw the corner of a white envelope protruding from the stack. He covered it with one hand and, in almost the same motion, grasped half of the films with his other, allowing them to slip through his fingers and onto the floor between Lionel and Watkins.
“Clumsy bastard!” Watkins exclaimed.
“Now, listen here,” Lionel said, “Cussing is not allowed in my
He glared at Watkins, then dropped to his knees and began gathering up the glossy X-rays. They had scattered over quite an area and were awkward for him to handle. Watkins reflexively bent over and grabbed a few before sitting up and warily turning his attention back to Will. But during those precious seconds when the killer’s attention was diverted, Will pulled the business-size envelope out, folded it in half with one hand, and stuffed it into his pants pocket.
“Come on,” Watkins growled.
“Sorry. Sorry, Joe. Thanks, Lionel.”
“No problem. No problem. Eighty-one and I can still get down and do my own floors. But I can’t believe you suspected I might have messed with the stuff in that envelope. I never even looked to see what was in there.”
“Sorry,” Will said.
“Dammit, Grant, let’s go. Are they all there or not?”
There was a small wall lamp tacked up just to Will’s left. Once the shade was removed, the light, though not great for a detailed reading of the mammograms, was adequate. Will quickly arranged the films in stacks by patient. There were ten different patient names altogether. Grace Davis was one of them. Even though the cancer was there in the upper outer quadrant of her left breast, the absence of a BB assured him the film wasn’t hers. The next two sets also showed cancers, one in the right upper outer quadrant, and the other a rather large mass just lateral to the right nipple, with bright white flecks of calcium throughout-often an ominous sign. The fourth stack of films held the key. The name on those X-rays was different from the patient of stack three, but the cancer was identical. Will was absolutely certain of it. Same location, same size, same pattern of calcium deposition. In fact, even the pattern of the blood vessels and other markers in the rest of both breasts were the same.
Watkins shifted edgily and jerked his head in a demand that Will hurry up.
Stack five was identical to Grace’s films. In all, although the mammograms were labeled with ten different patients’ names, dates, and clinic numbers, there were actually five identical pairs of films. Will suspected that the variation in the films coincided with the size and shape of the patients’ breasts. He also began suspecting something else-that none of the X-rays actually belonged to the women whose names were on them. If he was right about those two possibilities, a third one, sickening almost beyond imagination, seemed quite likely, as well. None of these women, all of whom were probably treated for cancer at the Excelsius clinic, actually had the disease.
Will slumped back in his chair, trying to get his mind around what he was seeing. One thing seemed certain: As with everything involving the Excelsius HMO, at the root of the films and the deception, one way or another, was money. Watkins stood.
“That’s it,” he said. “Are there any problems, or are these all the X-rays?”
“No, no problems,” Will replied.
“So,” Lionel said, “there’s a reward in it for me, is there?”
Watkins turned toward the little man and, in what seemed like slow motion, Will could see what was about to happen. There would be no gunshot; no telltale bullet hole in Lionel’s body; no suspicion of foul play; no police questioning neighbors and others such as Carol in the flower shop. Watkins was going to do this with his hands. In the end, there would only be a frail old man dead at the bottom of the stairs, his neck broken by the tragic fall.
Watkins had reached the bewildered Lionel and was raising his huge hands toward the man’s neck when Will moved. With one step he was at the counter, grasping the carving knife. Before Watkins could effectively react to the movement behind him, Will leapt at him, locking his palm under Watkins’s chin. On his tiptoes, powered by a massive adrenaline rush, Will yanked back with all his strength and pressed the blade of the knife firmly against the giant’s exposed throat.
“Move and I’ll kill you!” he snapped, tightening his grip even as he felt the enormous power of the man he was trying to hold in place. “I know exactly how to do this, Watkins. Believe me, I do. One slice. That’s all. It’s a terrible way to die.”
He added some pressure for emphasis and felt the killer wince as the blade broke skin.
“What in the heck are you doing?” Lionel cried.
Watkins’s body stiffened. For an eternal few seconds, Will could sense him sorting out the odds. Then the tension in his body lessened.
“You’re crazy,” he said.
“The gun. Ease it out of your pocket and drop it on the floor.”
Muttering threats and obscenities, Watkins did as he was ordered.
“You’re signing your girlfriend’s death warrant,” he said.
“Lionel, get out of here now,” Will ordered. “Don’t tell anyone; don’t go to the police. Just get out of here, get off the street, and don’t come back for two hours. Watkins, give him your wallet. . Now!. . Lionel, take all the money in it. You’ve earned it. Now, get out. Quickly!”
The little man hesitated, then took the stack of bills from Watkins’s wallet, grabbed a jacket from the back of
