Right to Die

interferon or azidothymidine, which you hear called AZT. Accordingly, most PWAs take other drugs against the opportunistic infections AIDS allows, like pentamidine against pneumonia. I’m not a doctor, John, but we’re years away from even a vaccine, much less a cure.”
    “Which is why you support Maisy Andrus on the right to die.”
    “Partly. Most of those infected can and will live a long time. Productively too. But for some, there has to be a way out.”
    Bacall cleared his throat. “In the early eighties, before we knew a great deal about AIDS, a friend of mine contracted it and... withered terribly. He begged me to help him end his suffering, but I couldn’t... see it that way, then. I couldn’t do for my friend what Maisy had the courage and compassion to do for her husband in Spain . That’s really why I support Maisy, John. She’s living proof of the need to convince society that everyone has the right to end the fight mercifully and honestly. Without having to hoard pills from valid prescriptions and before descending into blindness and madness and... diapers, goddammit.”
    Bacall lowered his voice again. “Tommy—Tommy Kramer—told me you served in Vietnam ?”
    “That’s right.”
    “I have a reason for asking this, John. In the war, how many friends did you lose?”
    I looked away. “You didn’t... When you were over there, you didn’t keep some kind of tally.”
    “Between five and ten?”
    I whoofed out a breath. “Ten, twelve. Around there.”
    “John?”
    I looked back at Bacall.
    His eyes were wet and glowy, but he wasn’t crying, just twitching a little. “John, in the last twenty-four months I’ve buried twenty-eight friends.”
    “Jesus.”
    “They were older, younger, every color. They were the best people and the worst, the most fun and the least. But they were friends, and no matter how careful they thought they’d been before they even knew they needed to be careful, they got taken. Opportunistically, horribly, slowly.”
    I thought back to being in-country, mostly as a street MP, once in a while in the bush. The way people died, the randomness of it.
    Bacall cleared his throat again, then shook his head like a fighter who’d had his bell rung. “Maisy is trying to help us her way. In helping her, you’re helping us your way. And if there is anything I can do, you’ve got it.”
    “Understood.”
    Bacall’s twitches became spasms.
    “Alec, are you all right?”
    “No, but I will be.” He dug through his overcoat to the side pocket of his suit jacket. “Sorry about this.”
    “What’s wrong?”
    “I’m diabetic, John. More a nuisance than anything else, but the last few... with all the excitement, I’m a little off my insulin schedule, I guess.”
    Bacall drew out a leather case. He opened it to reveal an ampule of liquid and a hypodermic needle. Reaching down to his sock, he pulled up his trouser leg past midthigh. Even in the faint light I could see the track marks on his skin.
    “You want the courtesy light?”
    “No. Believe me, I can do this with my eyes closed. The double pleats keep me from having to drop my pants.” He took out the syringe and, after two false starts, filled it from the ampule.
    I turned away to see a cruiser stopping, the uniforms inside readying themselves to step out and over to us. Bacall sighed. “There. Be all right in a minute.”
    I left my hands on the wheel, where the cops could see them. The one approaching me was female, the one coming around to the rear of the passenger side a male. Bacall, eyes closed, was breathing deeply. The leather case lay open on the dashboard.
    “Alec?”
    “Yes?”
    “No sudden movements. We’ve got company. Leave the works where they are.”
    Bacall opened his eyes but didn’t turn his head.
    The woman had her right hand on the butt of her holstered weapon, using the left index knuckle to rap on my window. I rolled it down slowly.
    She had close-set eyes and the cratered cheeks bad acne leaves behind. “What’s the problem, boys?”
    Her eyes left my face to see the paraphernalia on the dash and Bacall’s exposed left leg.
    I said, “This man’s a diabetic. He wasn’t feeling too well, so we pulled in and he took a shot.”
    Bacall said, “Of insulin.”
    “Want to step out of the car, please.”
    Bacall started to say something as I said, “We’ll step out of the car.”
    I came out slowly. Bacall fumbled with the unfamiliar door handle. He locked himself in before