Gus looked at Eph as though he were going to hit him. “There’s gotta be some other way. You guys are fucking doctors …”
Nora said, “Medically, we’re halfway back to the Dark Ages now. With no new drugs being manufactured, all the diseases we thought we had beat are back, and taking us early. We can maybe scrounge around, find something to make him more comfortable …”
She looked at Eph. Gus did too. Eph didn’t care anymore; he pulled off his pack—where he had smuggled the Vicodin—and opened the zippered pouch and pulled out a baggie full of tablets. Dozens of tablets and pills in different shapes, colors, and sizes. He selected a pair of low-dosage Lorcets, some Percodans, and four two-milligram Dilaudid tabs.
“Start him with these,” he said, pointing to the Lorcets. “Save the Dilaudids for last.” The rest of the bag he turned over to Nora. “Take it all. I’m through with them.”
Gus looked at the pills in his hands. “These won’t cure him?”
“No,” said Nora. “Just manage his pain.”
“What about, you know, amputation? Cutting off his leg. I could do it myself.”
“It’s not just the knee, Gus.” Nora touched his arm. “I’m sorry. The way things are now, there’s just not much we can do.”
Gus stared at the drugs in his hand, dazed, as though he held there the broken pieces of Joaquin.
Fet entered, the shoulders of his duster wet from outside. He slowed a moment, struck by the strange scene of Eph, Gus, and Nora standing together in an emotional moment.
“He’s here,” said Fet. “Creem’s back. At the garage.”
Gus closed the pills in his fist. “You go. Deal with that piece of shit. I’ll be along.”
He went back inside to Joaquin, caressed his sweaty forehead, and helped him swallow the pills. Gus knew that he was saying good-bye to the last person in the world he cared for. The last person he really loved. His brother, his mother, his closest compas: all gone now. He had nothing left now.
Back outside, Fet looked at Nora. “Everything all right? You took a long time.”
“We were being followed,” she said.
Eph watched them embrace. He had to pretend as though he didn’t care.
“Mr. Quinlan get anywhere with the Lumen?” asked Eph once they parted.
“No,” said Fet. “It’s not looking good.”
The three of them headed across the Greek-amphitheater-like Low Plaza, past the library, and on to the edge of the campus, where the maintenance building stood. Creem’s yellow Hummer was parked inside the garage. The blinged-out leader of the Jersey Sapphires had his fat hand on a shopping cart full of semiautomatic weapons that Gus had promised him. The gang leader grinned wide, his silver-plated teeth glowing Cheshire Cat–like inside his considerable mouth.
“I could do some damage with these pop guns,” he said, sighting one out the open garage door. He looked at Fet, Eph, and Nora. “Where’s the Mex?”
“He’ll be along,” said Fet.
&nb
sp; Creem, professionally suspicious, mulled this over before deciding it was okay. “You authorized to speak for him? I made that bean eater a fair offer.”
Fet said, “We are all well aware.”
“And?”
“Whatever it takes,” said Fet. “We have to see the detonator first.”
“Yeah, sure, of course. We can arrange that.”
“Arrange it?” said Nora. She looked at his ugly yellow truck. “I thought you were bringing it.”
“Bringing it? I don’t even know what the fuck it looks like. What am I, MacGyver? I show you where to go. Military arsenal. If this place don’t have it, I don’t know that anyplace does.”
Nora looked at Fet. It was clear she didn’t trust this Creem. “So, what, you’re offering us a ride to the store? That’s your great contribution?”