Pieces of the Puzzle by Robert Stanek Page B

we understand each other?”
    “You’re right, absolutely right. One is a fair number. I did it, I have everything you requested.”
    “And the dosages?”
    “All written down, just like you requested.”
    “Is it traceable?”
    “We’re talking pharmaceuticals, not bullets. Traceable to the manufacturer, hell yes. Traceable to you, never.”
    “You haven’t told anyone else about this?”
    “I’m not stupid. I know better than to shoot off my mouth.
    I—”“Make the delivery when and where we discussed. The money will be transferred to your account. You have my word.”
    Glen smiled as he hung up the phone. He took the pistol out of the top desk drawer and sighted it on the door. The gun wasn’t
     loaded, but he wished it were. He squeezed the trigger. The pull seemed a little heavy. He squeezed the trigger again. Yes,
     definitely heavy.
    He dismantled the gun, set about adjusting the trigger pull. He liked to think of the act of squeezing the trigger as effortless
     and that he need only breathe on the gun to make it fire. There was no point making something work that wasn’t.
    Satisfied, he put the gun away and started dialing the phone.
    “On the way,” he said once the Christmas tree lights were full on.
    “What does he know?”
    Glen leaned back in the chair. “I don’t think he knows anything.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “After all we’ve been through, you have to ask?”
    “It’s what I do. I’ll see you this afternoon then?”
    “Wouldn’t miss it.”
    Glen hung up the phone and dialed another number. He didn’t wait for the lights; the line wasn’t verifiable. “Are you ready?”
    “Ready as I’ll ever be. Why do bad things have to happen to good people?”
    “I’ll pick you up in an hour, at four. He’ll be there before us.
    I need you to be strong when you see him. Can you do that for me, Janet?”
    “I’m your girl, aren’t I?”
    “That’s my girl. You going to wear the yellow dress?”
    “Glen.”
    “For me.”
    “I will if you want me to, but it’s hardly appropriate.”
    “It’s a long drive.”
    “Okay, you win. Can I ever resist?”
    “See you at four.” Glen hung up the phone and turned to the window.
    ***
    Scott sucked at the air in short, rapid puffs, his hand on the door handle. He promised himself he wanted to go in, promised
     himself he was ready to go in, but felt like he was suffocating. His chest was tight. His head was about to explode. Old and
     painful memories haunted his thoughts. The cab ride from the airport to the hospital in bumper-to-bumper traffic hadn’t helped
     anything.
    The cab’s meter, a testament to how long he had been trapped in the back seat, read one hundred ninety-six dollars. In the
     last half hour, it seemed the cab moved only inches, and all he could think about the entire time was Cynthia and the baby.
    He was angry, and mashing his fist into the armrest didn’t help. He didn’t understand why anyone’d go after Cynthia and the
     baby. He was playing the game. He’d come back in. He’d done the right thing. There could be no doubt about loyalty.
    He called the hospital more than a dozen times from the Miami airport, from the Sky Phone, and upon arrival in Baltimore.
     Cynthia’s attending physician was Dr. Maureen Fitzpatrick. He still hadn’t been able to speak with her personally, but he
     knew both the family physician, Dr. Emery Haskins, and Cynthia’s gynecologist, Dr. William Brown, had been consulted.
    Cynthia had been moved from intensive care to a private monitored room. Her condition, serious and marginally stable as of
     a few hours ago, was critical before he departed Miami. But he knew from experience that the difference between marginally
     stable and worse was a few heartbeats and that the difference between life and death was but a single heartbeat.
    He closed his eyes and tried to picture Cynthia as he had seen her last. He could recall every detail vividly. Her long brown
     hair cast over her