Blood Debt

here. If you want to speak with him, you'll have to call his office. You'll find Swanson Realty in the Yellow Pages."
    It was as efficient a dismissal as if she'd hung up on him. Thanking her for her time, Celluci turned and left the office.
    I pity the fifteenth caller , he thought as he waited for the elevator.
    Swanson Realty actually was in the book, and from the size of the accompanying ad, Ronald Swanson was indeed doing very well for himself. Unfortunately, there was no way a company that size would put through a call to the owner unless the caller identified himself as a homicide detective. Too bad he was just a guy on vacation.
    Frowning, Celluci let the phone book fall back into its plastic case and left the booth. For the first time, he had a good idea of how Vicki'd felt when her deteriorating eyesight pushed her off the force.
    He didn't much like the feeling.
    Fortunately, it wasn't important he speak to Ronald Swanson. He'd mostly wanted the meeting for his own peace of mind. Since the man had obviously given some thought to the impossibility of setting up an organ-legging operation, Celluci'd hoped he could get him to expand on his reasoning.
    Patricia Chou had almost convinced him Vicki was right about the organ-legging, and that meant—Ms. Chou's personal vendetta aside—
    Swanson was as much a suspect as the faceless crime lords of Vancouver.
    But one body, one kidney, wasn't going to generate much in the way of profit.
    So, somewhere, there had to be more bodies.
    Or there were going to be more bodies.
    He didn't much like either option.

    The room was small with a single window up near the ceiling. The bottom four feet of the walls were a soft pink and so was the blanket on the bed. He guessed it was supposed to be soothing, but it made him think of Pepto Bismol and he didn't much like it.
    He didn't much like the pajamas either, but the driver had made it perfectly clear he was expected to shower, then put them on.
    At least the son of a bitch hadn't stayed to watch.
    He locked the bathroom door behind him before even unlacing his boots and got in and out of the shower as fast as he could, unable to cope with an extended vulnerability. Unfortunately, the pajamas left him feeling little safer.
    At least they don't have a hole in the front for my dick to fall out of.
    Bag of money clutched tight against his side, he tried the exit.
    Locked. But he'd expected that. They wouldn't want him roaming around bothering their rich patients.
    When the handle began to turn under his fingers, he hurriedly released it and backed toward the bed, heart pounding. He relaxed only slightly when the familiar form of the doctor entered the room pushing a stainless steel cart.
    "Good afternoon, Doug. Are you comfortable?"
    " 'S okay. What's that for?" He eyed the equipment laid out on the top shelf suspiciously.
    "Donor specific blood transfusions enhance graft survival. So…" She ripped open a cotton swab with brutal efficiency. "… I'm going to need to take some blood."
    Later, when it was over and he was lying in bed feeling weak and dizzy, his fingers plucked at the bag searching for reassurance. It wouldn't be so bad, he thought, refusing to acknowledge the fear that closed his throat and lay cold and clammy against his skin, if I could only see out the window…

    Jerked out of sleep, Celluci scrambled across the king-sized bed toward the ringing phone. The clock beside it said 7:04 p.m. Forty minutes to sunset. He'd lain down at three for a half-hour nap but was obviously more tired than he thought. The dainty, ladylike receiver almost disappeared in his hand, but eventually he got the right end to his ear. A quick glance at the call display showed him a familiar number. "What've you got for me, Dave?"
    On the other end of the line, his partner, Detective-Sergeant Dave Graham, sighed deeply. "I'm fine, Mike. How are you? I got the names and addresses you wanted."
    "Thanks. How come you're calling from home?"
    "Maybe I was on my way out of the office when you called. Maybe pulling these things off the system took a little time and I wanted to spend what was left of the evening with my family. Maybe I thought you didn't want the whole office wondering why you were suddenly interested in Vancouver gangs and real estate salesmen. You choose."
    Celluci grinned. "What were those options again?"
    "Fuck you, too, buddy. Got a pencil handy?"
    "Hang on." He hit the hold button and headed into the kitchen where he'd