Patriot

CHAPTER 4

He was drenched in sweat and panting like an old bird dog. Even the sheets were wet. Somehow he’d managed to give her three Big Os, two traditional and, last, one utterly exhausting one. He’d never worked so hard in his life. “Outside the box,” she called it, that last one.

He managed a weak smile. “Wow, you are something else, aren’t you, girl? I need a cigarette.”

“No time. Back in the saddle, cowboy. You got me hot, now. This cowgirl’s itching to ride!”

“Crystal, seriously. I need a little breather here.”

“Don’t be a pussy, Harding. Momma’s waiting. Turn over.”

“Oh, Christ.”

He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. She took his wrists and tied them to the bedposts with two Hermès scarves she’d plucked from the bedside table.

He didn’t even bother trying to fight her.

“Are you trying to kill me, or what?”

“Don’t you worry yourself, baby. The Cialis will kick in any minute now.”

“I don’t take Cialis, Crystal.”

“You do now, stud. I put two in your drink down at the lobby bar. When you bent down to pat Rikki Nelson. Remember that?”

“What? Are you kidding me? F’crissakes, Crystal…”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, hon. Big sex, remember? Okay, I’ll get on top this time. Oh, yes… somebody’s ready for Momma down there. That Cialis is a bitch, isn’t it? Just think, two pills, you might have an erection lasting eight hours…”

“Listen, Crystal, you’ve really got to stop this… untie me… I’ve got a pain in my chest… I mean it!”

“Pussy is always the best cure for whatever ails you, son. Hang on, Momma’s gonna ride this bucking bronco…”

“Damn it, get off! I’ve got a cardiac condition! Doc says I’m supposed to take it easy… Goddammit, I’m serious! Now my arm really hurts… call the doctor, Crystal. Now. They must have a house doctor on call and.… oh, Christ almighty, it hurts… do something!”

“Like what?”

“My pills! My nitro pills! They’re over there in my trouser pocket.…”

“Hold on a sec…”

She reached over and picked up the bedside phone, never breaking her rhythmic stride, and asked for the hotel operator.

He must have passed out from the pain. Everything was foggy, out of focus. The room was dark, the rain beating hard against the windowpanes. Just a single lamp light from a table over in the corner.

Crystal, still naked, was sitting at the foot of the bed, smoking a cigarette and talking to the doctor in hushed tones. Her head was resting on the doctor’s shoulder. He couldn’t make out what they were saying. He was bathed in a cold, clammy sweat and the pain had spread from behind his breastbone into and out along his left arm. Fucking hell. His wrists were still tied to the bedposts? Was she insane?

Then he noticed something that totally weirded him out. The fucking doctor? His savior?

He was naked.

He heard a sob escape his own lips, and then a cry of pain from the phantom elephant sitting atop his chest.

“Shhh,” the doctor said, getting to his feet and coming to the head of the bed to stand beside him. He put his finger to his lips and said, “Shhh,” again.

“You’ve gotta do CPR or something, Doc,” Harding croaked. “My pills! They’re in the right pocket of my trousers. Please. I feel like I’m going to die…”

“That’s because you are going to die, Harding,” the man said.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Wait. Who are you?” He squinted his eyes, but he couldn’t make out the physician’s features.

“Vengeance, sayeth the Lord, Harding. That’s who I am. Vengeance.”

“You’re not a doctor.… You’re…”

“Dr. Death will do for now.”

“Who… no, you’re not… you’re somebody else. You’re…”

“Don’t you recognize me anymore, Harding? I’ve had a little surgery recently. A bit of Botox. But, still, the eyes are always a dead giveaway. Look close.”

“Spider?”

“Bingo.”

“No, can’t be… You’re Spider, f’crissakes,” the dying man croaked.

“Right. Spider Payne. Your old buddy. Come rain or come shine. Tonight, it’s rain. Look out the window, Harding. It’s goddamn pouring out there. Ever see it rain so hard?”

“Gimme a break here, Spider. What are you doing…”

“It’s called poetic justice. A little twist of fate shall we say?”

Pain scorched Torrance’s body and he arched upward, straining against his bonds, coming almost completely off the bed. He didn’t think anything could hurt this much.

His old nemesis knelt on the floor by the bed and started gently stroking his hair. When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper.

“You fucked me royally, Harding. Remember that? When I needed you most? When the French government, whom you always claimed to have in your pocket, nailed my balls to the wall? Kidnapping and suspicion of murder. Thirty years to life? Ring a bell?”

“That wasn’t my fault, f’crissakes! Please! You gotta help me!”

“That’s my line. Help me. You don’t get to use it. Way too late for that, I’m afraid, old soldier. You’re catching the next train, partner.”

“I can’t… I can’t breathe… I can’t catch my…”

“This is how it works, Harding. You fucked with the wrong honchos in Moscow, buddy. Really wrong. Ever heard of a dude goes by the name of Uncle Joe? A dead ringer for Joe Stalin. You pissed off Putin’s number one henchman in the Kremlin, compadre. He’s the reason I’m here. Your ass is mine, pal.”

“Who—”

“Doesn’t matter now. It’s so simple, isn’t it? Judgment Day. How it all works out in the end? In that dark hour when no treason, no treachery, no bad deed goes unpunished.”

“I can’t… can’t…”

Harding Torrance opened his eyes wide in fear and pain. And as the blackness creeped in around him, and his life ran away from him like a man fleeing a burning building, he heard Spider Payne utter the last words his brain would ever register.

“You fucked me, right? But, in the end, Crystal Meth and the old Spider, well, I guess they fucked you.”

“Who’s Uncle Joe?” Harding Torrance whispered with the last breath left in his body.