Ed’s cell phone rang again. “Fuck. It’s Arturo.”
“Might as well answer it. Get it over with.”
CHAPTER 35
7:56 AM
August 13
“Have you heard of the rabies virus?” Dr. Reischtal asked.
“Of course,” Tommy said.
“This new virus . . .” Dr. Reischtal trailed off, looking beyond Tommy. “It’s not exactly rabies though, is it?” It was clear Dr. Reischtal was asking a rhetorical question. “Similarities, oh, certainly. But something else, indeed.” He gathered his thoughts and pinned Tommy again with his gaze. “We believe you are hiding the virus.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“That is, I believe the virus is hiding from you.”
“What?”
“You and your partner deliberately placed yourselves in a hot zone when you engaged in skin-on-skin contact with an infected rodent. You ruptured this animal’s body with . . . an aluminum baseball bat, I believe, releasing possible airborne toxins. Blood-borne pathogens as well, with the remains left on the wall. You—knowingly or unknowingly, it makes no difference—infected an entire building, no less than the government building of City Hall of Chicago and Cook County, Illinois. Whether or not you meant well or were being a bad boy makes no difference.”
He gave that rictus grin again. “And this is why I retreated. I could not risk having my team exposed to a new disease. We were not properly prepared. Now, we are.”
“That’s good, right?”
“Precisely. This is why it is important that you answer the following questions. It is my job to track this . . . virus. It is my sworn duty. My sacred duty.”
Tommy watched Dr. Reischtal warily.
“This city”—Dr. Reischtal sat on a wheeled lab stool and rolled closer—“this city is facing an invasion, do you understand this? The danger is there, waiting . . . waiting for us, to relent, to slip, to ignore it and turn our backs. If we fail to recognize the true signs, the pure signals, we are doomed. Organisms that exist, thousands of them, millions, within the dregs of your glass of water. A billion in the crumb of your donut. That breath you take between the kitchen counter and your refrigerator. The blood between you and a . . . partner.” He fixed Tommy with his tiny glasses. “Was your partner bit?”
“Bit? By what?”
“Do not play games with me, Mr. Krazinsky. We are out of time and it is imperative that we trace the path of infection. Do you understand?”
“I guess so, sure.”
“Was your partner bit?”
“No.”
“Were you bit?”
Tommy forced himself not to look down at the scratches on his hands. “No.”
“I am not a fool, Mr. Krazinsky. You cannot deny the evidence.”
“Okay, fine. I was bit. Not by that rat.”
“Where then?”
Tommy didn’t answer. He didn’t want to mention the house party. He didn’t want to get anyone in trouble.
“Where did you and your partner go after leaving City Hall?”
“Nowhere. I mean, we did our job. Drove around, checked traps.”
“I see.” Dr. Reischtal pulled off his glasses and leaned in close. His eyes, without the glasses, appeared startlingly large and unblinking. “I will ask only one more time. Before you answer, consider this room carefully. It may be where you draw your final breath.”
He replaced his glasses, pulling the curved wires over his ears. “Your partner is infected with a virus that, until now, was unknown. We have since determined this virus possesses the capability to devastate our species. I implore you to consider the implications. Now, for the last time, where did you go last night?”
Tommy was a guy who spent his life following the rules. Listening to authority. Deep down, he truly believed that fate worked out in the end, that life really would reward his patience and understanding, his genuine kind-hearted virtues, and that nice guys didn’t necessarily finish last. He wasn’t naive enough to believe they might actually come out on top all the time, but he thought once in a while, God might recognize someone who lived an honorable life.
Despite this, one did not grow up in Bridgeport, in the shadow of downtown Chicago, and not learn the hard way about a few of life’s truths. Those in authority did not always have your best interests at heart. And some people simply cannot be trusted.
Tommy didn’t trust Dr. Reischtal.
He shrugged. “Like I said, we did our jobs.”
“You, sir, are a liar.” Dr. Reischtal ground his teeth together.
“Did you seriously think that we would not watch you? We know you went to a club with a clientele composed exclusively of city employees. Then you attended a private event in the southern suburbs. I want to know exactly what happened last night. I want to know who came into close contact with both you and your partner. I want names and I want them now.”
“You know so much, you tell me.” Tommy hoped that sounded a lot more badass than he felt.
Dr. Reischtal shook his head. “Very well. As I have stated, I believe you are hiding the virus. Perhaps there is more than one patient zero. Perhaps this virus is working with an unexpected dispersal rate.” He got up. Knocked on the door. “Unfortunately, the only way I can be sure is to obtain a sample of brain tissue. Fortunately, modern science renders this procedure non-life-threatening. This is good news for you, yes?”
“Brain tissue?”
“Only a little bit,” Dr. Reischtal came back and leaned on the table next to the bed. “Relax. Only a tiny sample is required. We can obtain this without anesthetic, if you prefer. Only a needle is necessary.”
The door opened and three men walked in. One carried a tray, setting it up next to the table. The others interlocked their fingers over Tommy’s face, locking their elbows, and held his head perfectly still.
Dr. Reischtal pulled the blue cloth off the sterilized surgical tray, revealing a syringe the size of a robust cigar and a tiny drill. “Of course, we need to get through your skull first.” The needle on the syringe could suck up homemade spaghetti sauce. The drill made a whine like a dentist’s tool. He said, “See? Only a small hole. I find that if possible, it is far more useful to keep a subject alive, so we can talk. Perhaps after, you will be more inclined to tell me the truth.”
Sam could hear Arturo’s voice just as clear as Carolina’s. “Are you fucking serious? What is fucking wrong with you?”
Ed didn’t bother to answer. Arturo kept shouting. After a minute, Ed put the phone on the seat and started the car. He pulled into the early-morning traffic and they listened to Arturo the entire way home. He finally handed the phone over to Sam as he unlocked the front door to his building.
Sam said, “Listen, Commander, I know it looks bad—”
“Is this fucking Johnson? Is fucking Johnson trying to speak to me? I was in the middle of a conversation with Detective Jones. What the fuck are you doing on the phone?”
“We got some serious problems, Comm—”
“You’re goddamn right we got some serious fucking problems, Detective. How fucking astute.”
“When I say we, Commander . . . ah fuck. You know what I mean. This city. Us.”
“This city, Detective, has withstood almost a hundred and eighty years of everything God wants to hurl at it. How dare you align yourself with this city. And I know you wouldn’t be stupid enough to try and involve your fellow brothers and sisters on the force.”
Sam hadn’t slept in thirty hours and he was stumbling through a fuzzy patch. He needed a moment. He needed a shower. He needed to sit quietly for about three hours and get up and make a pot of coffee. “Okay. Fine, absolutely,” and hit the END CALL button. He realized he was still standing on the sidewalk, long after Ed had gone inside. He tucked Ed’s phone into the inside pocket of his sport coat and stepped inside, firmly closing the door behind him.