Blood Debt

drinking straw. He jumped when she swabbed the inside of his elbow with alcohol and tried to jerk his arm away from the length of rubber hose.
    "This doesn't have to hurt," she told him, needle poised for entry,
    "but it can. If you move, it may take two or three attempts to find the vein."
    "Two or three?" He watched the point descend. "Put like that, I think I'll stay still."
    "Very wise."
    His blood surged up into the hose and disappeared over the edge of the bed. Oh, yeah, Vicki's going to be really pissed now. It was a comforting thought. He let his head fall back onto the pillow. "What am I to call you?"
    "If you must call me something, Doctor will do."
    "Can I assume you're not going to spill your guts about your motives, your methods, and the reasons you don't believe you'll be caught."
    "You can."
    From watching her work, he'd thought it was a fairly safe assumption. There didn't seem to be much else to say, so he kept quiet. In Celluci's experience, few people could handle silence. After a very short time they'd start to talk just to fill it with noise. He'd gotten a number of confessions that way.
    He didn't get one today. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, he said, "You'd have gotten away with it if they hadn't found that body in the harbor."
    "The body found in the harbor has not been identified. The police will find no record of his operation in any of the local hospitals, so they'll assume he came from out of town." Moving with a speed that said she'd done this many times before, she deftly exchanged an empty bag for a full one. "The removal of his hands, added to the recent gang-related carnage, will direct the search even farther from the truth. As the entire incident becomes more and more complicated, and no one steps forward to advocate for the deceased, budget cuts should kill the investigation entirely."
    "The police investigation," Celluci pointed out meaningfully.
    "Your investigation has ended," Dr. Mui reminded him. "Your friends don't wish to become involved with the police, and the officers they sent to find you…" She spread her hands. "… did not. Your friends will not find you here."
    You have no idea how resourceful my friends can be. But he didn't say it aloud as he had no desire to put the good doctor on her guard.
    She seemed like the type who'd hang garlic over the door, just in case.
    "Besides…" A drop of blood glistened on the end of the needle as she pulled it from his arm. "… you won't be here long." A cotton ball and a bandage later, she was on her way to the door.
    "Doctor?"
    Her expression, as she turned, clearly said she was not happy about being questioned.
    Celluci grinned, figuring a little charm couldn't hurt. "I was just wondering. Will I ever play the piano again."
    Dr. Mui's lips pressed into a thin line. "No," she said and left.
    A few moments later, as he was testing the restraints yet again, the door opened. Tensed muscles relaxed slightly as he saw it was nothing more dangerous than the big man carrying a bowl. "Doc says I've got to feed you."
    "And you are?"
    "Sullivan. That's all you've got to know." It didn't take long for Celluci to realize why Sullivan was smiling. The instant oatmeal, had been micro-waved hot enough to burn the inside of his mouth and the big hand clamping his jaw shut kept him from taking in any cooling air until he swallowed. When he coughed orange juice out his nose, the mild eyes glittered. Vicki'd called them cow eyes, but they looked more like puppy eyes to him. Unfortunately, the puppy appeared to be rabid.

    The cloth that scrubbed his face hard enough to lift skin, squeezed soap into his mouth.
    "Christ, where did you learn your bedside manner?"
    "Kingston Penitentiary."
    "You worked in the infirmary at Kingston Pen?"
    Sullivan nodded.
    "Why?" Celluci spat out soap. "Because you've got a deep abiding need to nurture?"
    The smile, constant throughout the torment, broadened. "Because I like to hurt people, and there's not much sick people can do to stop me."
    Hard to argue with, Celluci admitted, grunting in pain as Sullivan heaved himself onto his feet helped by a fist grinding knuckles deep into thigh muscles.
    He slept most of the morning, waking once to have a bottle of water poured down his throat.
    "You need to replace your fluids," Sullivan told him as he choked.
    Lunch was a repeat of breakfast as far as Sullivan getting his jollies was concerned only it involved soup and a shackled trip to the toilet.
    Celluci knew