Deadly Intent

and adrenaline, plus dark bottles of iodine were at hand. Different rubber tubes were ready to connect to the cannula tubes, to attach to the liposuction machine. Next, Enrico opened Mr. Smith's gown and, using a paintbrush, painted three quadrants, center of his stomach and to both sides.He checked that there was an oxygen mask ready and a resuscitation machine in full working order. He attached a small clip onto Mr. Smith's index finger, which led to a machine to enable them to read the heartbeat. All of this was completed in total silence.Enrico then went to assist Manuel to scrub up in a large sink. Manuel let him scrub both his hands with alcohol gel and wheel him to the trolley so he could open the paper-wrapped gloves.'Do you wish to inject yourself?' Manuel asked his client. It took a while for Mr. Smith to measure the exact amount before clenching his left fist and then watching as Enrico adeptly found a strong vein and injected him. It was very fast; Mr. Smith just had time to lie back before he felt the warmth spreading throughout his body.'You can get started.' he said, his voice slurred.He eventually became used to the hideous sound of the suction pump working. The incisions for the cannula tubes pressed deeply and painfully into the fat. Enrico used his foot to keep the pump working as the fat drained into two big vats. It took three and a half hours. At one point Manuel was concerned: Mr. Smith's pulse rate was at ninety-eight. He used the oxygen mask and waited for the pulse to return to normal.Manuel worked quickly, inserting the tubes and pumping out the fatty tissue. For him, it was a tedious, long-drawn-out procedure. He sat making drawings for the facial work he was asked to complete. Twice during the liposuction Enrico gestured for Manuel to double-check their patient; he also needed his help to turn the big man over to take the fat from his buttocks. Manuel, for all his incapacity, was very strong in the upper part of his body, and together they had been able to move him.One of the most strenuous parts of the suction process was drawing on the tight elastic bandages to make sure the body parts, where the fat had been removed, were held in place. The gauze was wrapped around first, then the bandages, then an elastic corset eased over the belly and chest. In truth, the wrapping this time was perhaps too tight, but Mr. Smith was a very big man and Manuel reckoned he was so macho, he would be able to deal with the constrictions and the painful bruising he was going to feel. They had removed an astonishing two and half liters of body fat. The next process was to tighten his buttocks. A banana-shaped incision was to be made across each cheek. Manuel calculated that he would spend at least an hour and a half on each, due to the number of internal stitches required layer by layer. The first general anesthetic was administered.Whatever pain he felt, three hours later Mr. Smith sat up asking for water. He drank thirstily before resting back and closing his eyes. His entire body felt as if it had been run over by a ten-ton truck. The pain was making his head throb; it was excruciating and he could find no comfort, even lying on his side.'How long do you need before you work on my face?' he asked hoarsely.Manuel leaned close to him, checking his pulse.'I really cannot begin any more surgery. I suggest you rest for two days. Then we will be able to remove these bandages so you will be more comfortable.''I don't have that amount of time. I want it done today.''I have to refuse. Your blood pressure was very high and you will need to have a second general anesthetic. It will be impossible to operate using only Fentanyl.''You get another ten thousand dollars if you continue.''It is too much of a risk. The work will take at the very least three hours. I have to virtually lift your entire face off and —''Just do it.''I advise you to rest at least for tonight and return tomorrow.''Do it!' the man hissed. He needed to be awake, to make sure he did not overdose on the Fentanyl. He trusted no one but himself to measure it. The pain dulled by the Fentanyl, he closed his eyes.Enrico was silent, as usual, as he cleaned up and removed the bloody gauze pads. He was surprised when Manuel asked if he could remain all night at the surgery. He gave a small nod of his head and continued clearing up.When Manuel returned to the table, Mr. Smith was already lying motionless, his eyes closed.'He is mad,' Enrico whispered.'For Jesus' sake, don't let him die on us. And make me some strong black coffee.' Manuel raised his electric wheelchair to its maximum height. He would now be able to work from above the sleeping man's head and move easily around to the left and right of the table.Using a black marker pen to draw the lines on Mr. Smith's face where he wished to cut, Manuel lifted both eyebrows up and took a section from the brow. He marked the upper and lower lids and made a line around both ears for an auricular incision. He then marked the lips to augment with silicone and put dotted marks between the eyes for Botox.As he worked, he drank two small cups of thick black coffee, with heaped spoonfuls of sugar. His patient remained oblivious, eyes closed and sleeping.Enrico prepared the prosthetic implants for the cheeks and chin, and when Manuel was ready, he administered the second general anesthetic. It was, by now, almost six o'clock and cooler outside, but as always IManuel maintained a very low temperature in the operating room. They both went through the same procedure of scrubbing up, and now that the anesthetic had kicked in, work began.The first incision was to the eyebrows. Manuel removed a slice, like a small section of orange, drawing the skin upward, and stretching out the lines in the forehead. This took a lot of pulling and stretching before he was satisfied. Then he cut a long line from behind the ear, continuing down to the chin. He drew up the scraggy skin of the neck, again removing a slice like another section of orange, so he could restitch and pull tightly back toward the lobes of the ears. He also implanted a small section of what looked and almost felt like a sponge. He inserted a piece into the lower chin, then used a thin flattening spatula to ease up two more sections to rest over each of the cheekbones, working with the finest suture scissors. He removed the mole from Mr. Smith's right cheek and gave two neat stitches, before he began work on his nose.Twice, Manuel became concerned as his patient's pulse shot up; his heart rate was worrying too and it was a while before he felt he could continue. Enrico gave Mr. Smith more oxygen until they were both satisfied that his pulse rate was not life-threatening.The bridge of the nose had a scar; his nose must have been broken at one time. Manuel broke it again and began reshaping and cutting around the nostrils. He was tired; it had been concentrated work and Enrico kept wiping his brow with an iced cloth.'Only eyelids to go now,' he murmured.The two men worked well together, Manuel checking his drawings and the ink markings he had made to Mr. Smith's face. He didn't want to take too much from the eyelids, and as he was doing both top and bottom, it was imperative he took only his exact measurements. He couldn't remove the age lines from around the eyes completely, nor the two lines from the nostrils down to the lips, known as puppet lines. These he injected with Botox and collagen, and then at last it was down to the bandages. Mr. Smith did not regain consciousness until his head was tightly bandaged. He resembled something out of an old-fashioned horror movie. Only his puffy, bloodshot eyes and his swollen lips could be seen. He could not dress himself, as his hands had been operated on and laser treatment carried out on his fingertips. Enrico had to ease him into an old wheelchair to take him out into the reception. Mr. Smith was hardly holding it together due to the waves of pain that swept over his entire body. There seemed not an inch of him that didn't scream out. He said hardly a word as Enrico wheeled him out into the early evening sun; he had been in surgery for over ten hours. A white, four-door Mercedes with tinted windows was parked outside. The driver had been waiting all day; his face was sweaty and his cheap black suit wrinkled and creased. His dark greasy hair was combed back and hung in a wave at his collar. Enrico and the driver helped Mr. Smith into the backseat. He let out soft moans of pain, but he didn't speak, just lay on his side, his legs curled up. Manuel watched the Mercedes drawing away. He had learned over the years never to ask questions or get into even the briefest conversation with the drivers. It would be two days before he could check on the liposuction treatment and a further five days to examine and remove stitches. It would therefore be seven days before he was paid. 'Mr. Smith' was hurried through the lobby of the Santa Cruz Hotel in the wheelchair. He was occupying the so-called penthouse suite. He found it difficult to even sit on the bed and he hadn't the strength to take off his clothes. He finally managed to ease himself down, thankful for the soft pillows.The driver left the hotel with instructions to collect him in seven days. Mr. Smith remained lying on the bed for twenty-four hours, before he managed to undress. Beside the bed were an array of bottles of water, vitamins and antibiotics, and a large amount of arnica tablets. He consumed them in handfiils, as they helped the bruising, but ate nothing else, just drank bottle after bottle of the water and only moved to go to the bathroom. He was in constant pain and found it difficult to find a single position to lie in that didn't make him feel as if his body was on fire. Not only did the clastic bandages around his body feel too tight, but the dressings on his scalp and face were so uncomfortable that he found it difficult to breathe. His head throbbed.The discomfort didn't ease for forty-eight hours and he had, once again, injected himself with Fentanyl. Manuel and Enrico entered the hotel suite to find Mr. Smith lying on the bed with a towel wrapped loosely around him. Manuel watched as Enrico removed the wrappings from his body. The bandages were very bloody, as there had been some leakage. The torso was black from the bruises and yet the small incisions made for the tubes were healing well. Manuel placed small strips of Elastoplast over the incisions and then waited as Enrico cleaned up the bloody bandages and gauze. He unwrapped the bandages from around Mr. Smith's head, checked his stitches were healing, and instructed Enrico to rebandage. 'You are healing very well, Mr. Smith.' 'My arse feels like I got some rabid animal chewing on it!' Neither Manuel nor Enrico showed they were amused; they left as quickly as possible. On the fourth day, Mr. Smith got up and walked around the suite. It was painful but he forced himself to move. He still did not eat but sent down for more water, lemons, and honey, and continued to use his Fentanyl stash to give him relief and help him sleep. By day seven he was feeling stronger. Fully dressed, he