up,' Tegg ordered. He turned and punched the large throw-bar that released the walkin's outside latch. He walked slowly down the hall, pensive and concentrating. He sensed that everything had changed. The closer he drew to the examination room, the more put off he was by the thought of cats and dogs. Boring, meaningless work.
Earlier in the day, he had simply wanted to do his job well-get through another day. Have some fun. Earn some good money, listen to some Wagner, all the while working a blade.
Now all he wanted was to meet this unidentified man. He glanced at his watch impatiently: hours to go.
He looked in on Pamela Chase, who was just bringing up another set of X-rays. Ever the diligent assistant. 'We didn't get much on our first series,' she explained. 'You do good work.' She glowed at this comment. Tegg knew exactly how to play her, how to feed her needs. She fed his in her own way-her unending compliments, her adoring glances. Other ways, too.
He stepped up to the X-rays. Child's play, compared to the real work that lay ahead of him. He could feel her sweet breath warm against his cheek as she leaned in to share in this exploration. He moved over so that she could see better and allowed his hand to gently brush her bottom, as if accidentally. She didn't flinch, her eyes searching out the elusive fracture in the fuzzy black-and-gray images.
Besides, he thought, self-amused, she knew this contact was no accident. She loved it. She loved everything about him.
'Whose turn is it to heat up dinner?' Boldt asked his wife, feeling a little apprehensive about how to steer the conversation to the subject of his returning to work. How to negotiate his future with her. They had found a routine that worked. He was about to challenge all that, and he knew before he began that flexibility was not her long suit. She was changing clothes, out of her executive-banker look and into some blue jeans and a cotton sweater she had tossed onto the bed. It was past seven-he was starved.
Liz answered, 'I suppose it's mine, but I refuse. Let's go out.'
'What about Einstein?' Boldt asked, looking over at Miles, who was fighting to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss anything. All so new to him. Each of his expressions meant the world to Boldt: an inquisitive glance, a furrowed brow. Simple pleasures. 'Okay,' she said. 'You win. Take-out, and I'm buying. If I make the call, will you pick it up?' He asked, 'Have you noticed how much we negotiate everything?'
'Chinese, Vietnamese, Thai? You name it.'
'Fish and chips,' he suggested. 'Too fattening.' 'You said I could name it.'
'I lied.' She patted her belly. 'How about sushi?'
'Where's your wallet?'
'The front hall I think.'
'Make it a big order.
I'm starved, and that stuff never stays with me.'
'And get some beer, would you?'
While Boldt was gone, Liz had put Miles to sleep. When they finished eating, Boldt caught her hand and led her out to the living room where he sat her down. It was after nine. 'The IRS shut down The joke last night. Confiscated all the books.' 'The IRS? So that's what's bothering you.'
'They want to talk to us.'
Disbelief came over her eyes. 'Us? Oh, God, I hope they don't know about the cash income.'
'I don't see what else it could be.'
'Oh, shit. I signed that return.'
'We both signed the return.'
'But cash? Cash under the table?
How could they …? Goddamn that Bear Berenson. He must have tried to deduct it. Damn it all. You realize the penalty we'll face? Oh, my God. — 'And The joke is closed down. I can look around for other work, but no one's going to pay me like Bear did.'
'Oh, God. You realize the penalty? I wonder if they can send you to jail for something like this.'
'Money's all they want. It's all anybody wants.'
'But that's just the point!
What money? Every available cent we have is going to pay off the hospital.'
Boldt didn't want her thinking about this. He glanced back toward the room where Miles now slept and remembered the complications of his delivery as if it had been yesterday. Would he ever forget that night? Could any price tag be put on having them both alive? 'We'll manage.'
'Manage? You don't do the books. I do. We won't manage, that's just the point. We need that income. Are they going to audit us? Is that what you mean? Oh, God, I don't believe this.'
He hated himself for manipulating her like this, for doing to her what in her own way Daphne had done to him, but on this subject Liz had Special Handling written all over her. 'I heard an awful story today about a girl named Cindy Chapman.'
'They nail you for unreported income, you know. You know that, don't you?' 'She's a sixteen-year-old runaway.'
As he had hoped, Liz momentarily forgot about the IRS. 'What are you talking about?'
'They stole her kidney,' Boldt explained.
'Who did?' she gasped. 'Worse than that: She hemorrhaged. She almost died. Sixteen-years old,' he repeated.
'Lou?' There it was, that flicker of recognition he had been expecting, but dreading. 'If I go active again, I'm eligible for a loan through the credit union.'
Her eyes grew sad and then found his. She didn't speak, just stared. Boldt said, 'We'd have to juggle Miles. I realize that. Maybe day care,' he said tentatively, expecting an eruption.
Instead, she turned a ghastly pale. She rose, her back to him, and walked into their bedroom. She shut the door behind her, closing him out. He loved this woman. Her sense of humor. Her courage. The way she laughed when it was least expected. The way she reached into the shower to test the temperature. Little things, all of them important. The way she hummed to herself when she didn't know he could hear. Her sense of organization. The silly presents she would show up with on no particular occasion. Her pursuit of pleasure. The way she made love when she was really happy.
He could hear the radio through the closed door. The news. The weather. More rain. They couldn't take any more rain. The flooding was as bad as it had ever been. Suicide rate was up: bungie jumping off Aurora Bridge, without the bungie cords.
He looked around for something to do. Lately, Miles, this woman, and The Big joke had been his whole life. Now he found himself thinking about Cindy Chapman and Daphne Matthews.
Maybe he'd try to talk her into this in the morning. Maybe he would admit to a promise already made. Maybe Cindy Chapman was an isolated case. Maybe there wasn't some guy out there carving up runaways after all. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
He went to the bedroom door and opened it cautiously. 'Mind if I join you?'
She was on the bed, her jeans unbuttoned. She shrugged. 'More rain,' she said, as if nothing had come before. 'Yeah, I heard.'
She patted the comforter beside her. He knew that look.
Forgiving. Cautiously optimistic. He loved her for it.
Boldt stepped inside, kicking off his shoes, and shut the door.
A hundred yards down the dark, narrow, overgrown lane, Elden Tegg encountered a truck blocking his way. A huge man with an untrimmed beard asked him his name 'checked his driver's license, consulted a list, and finally backed out of the way, allowing him to pass.
He drove under a canopy formed by the limbs of trees. The road was all mud and leaves. He parked the Trooper amid a group of battered pickup trucks and hurried through the rain toward the large barn. A yellow light escaped the slats in the wood. He pulled open the door and stepped inside.
He smelled cigarettes, hay, manure and musty, rotting wood. He smelled a metallic, salty odor as well, one that as a veterinarian he knew only too well: animal blood. He stepped into shadow and studied the scene before him.
The fighting ring, a wooden box ten-feet square, had been hastily constructed out of gray barn wood. It occupied an area in the middle of the wide dirt aisle between the stalls. A hayloft, cloaked in darkness, loomed
