Ill Will by J.M. Redmann Read Free Book Online Page A

alone.
    I took the chicken out of the oven. It could rest while I threw the broccoli on to steam.
    Cordelia got a beer out of the refrigerator.
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t think Torbin would go ballistic on you about health care.”
    She took a deep pull of her beer, then said, “It’s okay. He and Andy spent a long night in the ER; they got adequate health care but not great health care. And it’s a warning sign. What happens next time? One of them could be in an auto accident tomorrow. It brings up a lot of complicated questions for them. Fear often comes out as anger.” She put her beer down on the counter, grabbed some knives and forks, and put them on the table.
    “Yeah, but it shouldn’t come out as anger at you when you’re doing them a major favor.”
    Cordelia came around behind me as I stood at the stove and put her arms around my waist. “It comes out at all times. It comes out when I’m about to stick a needle in their butt. You’d think that would make people play nice.”
    “Maybe they’re into good doctor/bad patient.”
    “Yuck. I don’t even want to think those kinds of thoughts.”
    “More likely they’re just stupid.”
    “Better thought.” She tightened her embrace. “I’m glad I could help. Damn, that sounds so Pollyanna, doesn’t it?”
    “It sounds like you.”
    “On my better days.” She quickly continued to avoid the weight of that, “Especially in this city everything is such a mess. At least I can make it less messy for my friends. And try to do what I can to make it better for everyone. It just feels like I’m part of a broken system. I earn decent money. Some days I wonder if it’s not literal blood money.”
    At the risk of overcooking the broccoli, I turned to her. “It’s like racism and sexism and homophobia. We’re all part of it and we can all just do a little bit, like water against stone. I will not let you beat up on yourself because you can’t walk on water and fix a vastly dysfunctional medical system.”
    “I am so lucky to have you.” She put her head on my shoulder.
    And started crying as if the weight of the world was on her back and she could no longer carry it.
    I discreetly turned off the water under the broccoli and just held her.
    “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “Must be tired and hungry. So feed me.”
    I did. We flopped in front of the TV, both had another beer, and mentioned nothing more serious than picking up cat food the rest of the night.

Chapter Five
     
    In the morning I remembered I’d meant to tell Cordelia to be on the lookout for gas can–wielding maniacs. By the time I’d remembered, she was already at work.
    It wasn’t likely, I told myself as I got in my car. He might be able to find where my office was. The card I’d given him had only a P.O. box as the address—I have a variety of cards for a variety of situations. But I was listed in the phone book, so only the truly lazy and inept couldn’t find me. However, it would be much more difficult to ferret out my home address. Besides, Carl Prejean was a con, not a fighter.
    It was still more a relief than I wanted to admit when my office building came into view and was just as I’d left it last night, slightly shabby, paint starting to peel where the southern sun hit it the hardest, perfect in its New Orleans decadent glory.
    My relief went away when I noticed the outer security door was open. Probably the space-cadet artist who rents the first floor , I told myself as I stuck my head in, sniffing the air for anything that might scream “light me with a match and I’ll show you a hot time.” But the air had a bouquet of stale beer, overlaid with hints of mold and gardenia, infused with traces of cayenne and crab boil. It said New Orleans more than fire trap.
    Unless I know someone is coming I tend to lock the downstairs door, as do the other tenants in the building. For the obvious reasons, I didn’t want just anyone—especially anyone with