In the playhouse in your backyard, at her school, after church … anywhere. Believe me, he’ll do it. We’ve done this to five other doctors just like you, and none of them have reported it. Not one. You won’t, either.”
He turned away from her in frustration. Through the bedroom’s picture window, he saw the lights of a freighter out on the darkening gulf, playing its way westward. He had never felt so impotent in his life. One simple dictum had carried him through many life-or-death situations: There’s always a way. Another option. Drastic, maybe, but there. But this time there didn’t seem to be one. The trapped feeling made him crazy with rage. He whirled back to Cheryl.
“I’m supposed to just sit here all night while some stranger holds my little girl prisoner? Scared out of her mind? Lady, I will rip your head off before I let that happen.”
She jerked the gun back up. “Stay back!”
“What kind of woman are you? Don’t you have any maternal feelings?”
“Don’t you say anything about my feelings!” Cheryl’s face reddened. “You don’t know anything about me!”
“I know you’re making a child suffer pure terror.”
“That can’t be helped.”
He was about to respond when a thought burst into his mind like a starshell. “Oh Jesus. What about Abby’s insulin?”
Cheryl’s face was blank. “What?”
“Abby’s a juvenile diabetic. You didn’t know that? You didn’t plan for that?”
“Calm down.”
“You’ve got to call your partner. I’ve got to talk to him right now. Right now!”
The telephone beside the bed rang loudly.
They stared at it. Then Cheryl walked to the phone and laid her free hand on the receiver.
“You want to talk?” she said. “Here’s your chance. But be cool, Doctor. Very cool.”
Will took the phone from Cheryl and held it to his ear.
“This is Will Jennings.”
“Doctor Will Jennings?” said a male voice.
“That’s right.”
“You got some unexpected company down there, Doctor?”
Will looked over at Cheryl, who was watching intently. “Yes.”
“She looks hot in that black dress, doesn’t she?”
“Listen, I need to explain something to you.”
“You don’t explain anything, college boy. I’m in charge tonight. You got that?”
“I’ve got it, but—”
“But nothing. I’m going to ask you a question, Doc. Kind of like the Match Game. Remember that one? That freakin’ Richard Dawson; what a fruitcake.”
Will heard an eerie laughter.
“Anyway, we’re going to see if your answer matches your wife’s. This is really more like the Newlywed Game, I guess. Uhh … that would be the butt, Bob.” The man broke up again.
Will breathed deeply, his entire being concentrated on understanding with whom he was dealing.
“The question is … does your child have any serious medical condition?”
A trickle of hope flowed into his veins. “She has juvenile diabetes.”
“That’s a match! You just won the all-expense paid trip to beautiful Puerto Vallarta!”
The man sounded like Wink Martindale on speed. Will shook his head at the surreal horror of the situation. “Abby needs that insulin, sir. Immediately.”
“Sir?” The man laughed darkly. “Oh, I like that. This is probably the only time you’d ever call me ‘sir.’ Unless you had to tell me I was dying or something. Sir, I’m afraid you’ve got terminal pecker cancer. Stand two steps back please.”
“I’m an anesthesiologist. I don’t handle things like that.”
“No? You never told anybody they were dying?”
Will hesitated. “When I was an OB/GYN, I did.”
“Ahh. So, no means yes. You ever kill anybody, Doc?”
“Of course not.”
“Really? Nobody ever died on the table while you were passing the gas?”
“Well, of course. But not as a result of my actions.”
“No? I’ve got to wonder how honest you’re being about that. I really do.”
“Would you mind telling me your name?”
“Joe Hickey, Doc. You can call me Joe.”
“All right, Joe. Are you a former patient of mine? Or a relative of a patient?”
“Why would you ask that? I mean, you never killed anybody, right?”
“It’s just that you seem to have a lot of animosity toward me personally.”
“You feel that? Huh. Could be, I guess. Well, let’s leave that for now. ’Cause I’m about to show you what a nice guy I am. I’m about to set it up so your little princess gets her insulin.”
“Thank God.”
“God’s got nothing to do with this. Let me talk to my partner.”
“Joe, could I speak with my wife for a moment?”
“Put Cheryl on, Doc.”
Will held out the phone.
“Get in the bathroom while I’m talking,” she said.
“Your partner didn’t tell me to go in the bathroom.”
She shook the automatic at him. “Get in the goddamn bathroom!”
Will held up his hands and backed into the spacious cubicle of white marble and gold fixtures. He kept the knob turned as he closed the door, and after he heard Cheryl’s voice resume, opened it a couple of inches and put his ear to the crack.
“Why didn’t we know about this medicine thing?” she asked. “Well, I don’t like it. Getting on the road with her is dangerous. What if a cop stops you? … Okay … I’m all right,
