Sleight of Hand

CHAPTER Forty-Six

The drugs! Gregor craved the drugs. When they wore off, the pain returned. When he was a child, Gregor had learned the hard way how to deal with pain inflicted by fists, kicks, belts, and sticks wielded by his father and his fellow schoolboys. Then he grew and thickened and became the one who inflicted the pain. He was used to fighting in prisons and bars and back alleys. But that pain wasn’t like the pain that bitch had created.

Gregor never suspected that the whore might be armed and would have the guts to stab him like that, in that place. Some women fought back at first. He liked that. It excited him. Most of the women begged and pleaded. Eventually they all became obedient and willing to do anything to avoid a beating. Except this one.

No woman had ever done to him what that bitch had done. And she would pay. He would find her and he would . . . He was about to think “f*ck her,” but he might never be able to f*ck anyone ever again.

The thought brought tears to Gregor’s eyes. Suddenly he was so sad. What had she done to him? How could she? What if she had taken his manhood? What if he . . . ? No, he could not let himself think about that. And no matter what he could not do, he could always make her suffer and scream the way she had made him scream. Oh, he looked forward to that. The hate kept him going.

Then something horrible occurred to Gregor. He was starting to think clearly! If he could think clearly it meant the drugs were wearing off. Suddenly the pain touched him ever so lightly; just enough to turn his hands into fists and compel him to suck in a breath. Soon it would sink its claws in him, and that would be very, very bad. But the bad thing would not happen because Gregor had his magic button, his precious button. Press the button and morphine raced through him and swept away the pain. He started to reach for his wonderful, special button, but strong fingers gripped him and pressed his hand against the side of the bed.

The drugs dulled Gregor’s reflexes and it took forever to turn his head and focus. When he did he found himself staring into the lifeless eyes of Peter Perkovic.

Gregor was in a private room, lying in a hospital bed. His complexion was the color of dead fish and wires ran from many parts of his body into machines with multicolored lights and electronic readouts. The machines beeped and buzzed. Normally even someone as physically powerful as Gregor Karpinski would feel fear when subjected to Perkovic’s cold stare, but Gregor was still floating in a druggy haze.

“Peter?” he said. When he spoke, his mouth felt like it was filled with cotton.

“You don’t look so good, Gregor. How are you feeling?”

There was something odd about Perkovic, but Gregor had trouble tracking.

“That bitch f*cked me up,” he answered, his speech badly slurred and his eyes unfocused. “She stabbed me.”

“That’s awful,” Peter said just as Gregor figured out what was bothering him. Peter was dressed in a green smock and loose green pants. He was dressed like a doctor or an orderly. How strange.

“Are you working in the hospital?” Gregor asked. He sounded loopy.

“No, Gregor. It was just easier to visit dressed like this.”

“Oh.”

Suddenly the pain struck and Gregor flinched. It was only a pale shadow of the pain that would come if he didn’t press the button. He tried to raise his hand, but he didn’t have the strength to break Peter’s grip.

“Soon, Gregor. Soon I will let you press the button,” Peter said. “But first you must tell me what happened.”

Gregor started to tear up. “She stabbed me in my prick, Peter, in my balls.”

“That’s terrible. Why did she do that?”

“I told her what to do but she would not obey. Then she hurt me.”

“What did you tell her? What order did she disobey?”

“To back off, to stop asking questions about the Blair case.”

“Ah, did Nikolai ask you to speak to this woman?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you ask Nikolai if you could threaten her?”

“He told me Nikolai said it was okay.”

“Someone said this?”

“Yes. You know I wouldn’t do anything unless Nikolai said it was okay. He told me he’d talked to Nikolai and Nikolai said it was okay. Nikolai isn’t mad at me, is he?”

“No, no, Gregor. Nikolai wishes you well. He hopes you make a full recovery.”

The pain hit and this time Gregor arched his back and grimaced.

“One more answer and you can press the button. Who told you to talk to the woman?”

“Charlie, Charlie Benedict, the lawyer. He said it was okay. Please.”

“Thank you, Gregor. Nikolai wanted me to tell you something. This woman who stabbed you . . .”

“He doesn’t have to worry. As soon as I’m out, I’ll make her scream, I’ll rip her up.”

“No, no, Gregor. Nikolai does not want you near this woman. She is off-limits to you forever.”

“What?”

Gregor spasmed. The pain was becoming unbearable.

“Say you understand. Say you will forget about this woman forever.”

“Please,” Gregor begged.

“Say it.”

“I won’t hurt her ever. Ahhh!”

Peter released Gregor’s hand and he stabbed at the button until the morphine chased the pain. Within moments, he forgot the woman and Peter and everything else because he was floating high above his troubles on a cloud of good feeling.

Perkovic studied Karpinski for a few seconds more, then shook his head. Gregor was an idiot, a fearsome windup toy. Peter knew he would forget his promise, but Peter would remind Gregor when he was well enough to remember. Now he had to tell Nikolai about Charles Benedict.