Dawn Patrol

57

Dan Silver sits beside Teddy Cole in the backseat of the Explorer.

He grabs Teddy's right index finger and says, “Your hands are your life, aren't they, Doc?”

Teddy's chin-sculpted, Botoxed, nose-jobbed, skin-peeled, hair-transplanted, eye-tightened, face-lifted, tummy-tucked, dental-worked, lasered, and tanned face turns absolutely white with fear. He tries to speak, but the words get jammed in his throat. All he can manage is a weak, shaky nod.

“Hands of a surgeon, right?” Dan asks. “That's what you are, cosmetic surgeon to the stars? Nip/Tuck? So, what if I start breaking your fingers, one by one, starting with your thumbs? It's going to hurt like you wouldn't believe, Doc, and, afterward, no more strippers, starlets, and trophy wives for you.”

Teddy tries to hold out.

For Luce's sake, for Tammy's sake, for the sake of his own soul-if that isn't a hopeless, antiquated concept. He holds out until Dan starts counting down from ten.

He makes it to six.

“I'm only going to ask you once,” Dan says, “and I'm really hoping I don't have to ask you ten times. Where is Tammy Roddick?”