Dead Harvest

  The barmaid brought our next round, her ruby lips parting in a smile as she leaned in close to set down my whiskey, the warmth of her breasts pressing against my arm. My face was flushed with embarrassment, though I wasn't sure why, and my head was fuzzy from the whiskey, from the barmaid's scent, from this weird-ass meeting. I tossed back the shot, and set fire to a cigarette. Neither helped to quell my unease.

  "So that's what this is all about?" I asked. "A union job?"

  His massive head bobbed up and down from behind his bottle of beer. "The union's always on the lookout for guys we can trust – guys who ain't afraid of a little hard work. Johnnie says you're good people, and his eccentricities aside, he ain't never steered me wrong yet. So whaddya say – you in?"

  "I don't even know what the job is yet."

  Dumas shrugged. "A little of this, a little of that. Errands, and the like. Nothin' you can't handle, I'm sure."

  Another shot appeared in front of me. I downed it without a second thought.

  "Johnnie said you knew a guy could help my wife."

  "That's right. I know a group o' docs at Bellevue say they're running some kind of trial. A miracle drug, to hear them tell it. They think that it's a cure."

  "And they're willing to treat Elizabeth?"

  Dumas nodded. "Ever since we got into this goddamn war, most of the medical equipment and supplies in this country have been diverted to the front, which means that stateside they're in short supply. Now, I'm all for supporting our boys overseas, but the way I figure it, we gotta keep the home fires burning too. Now, nothing comes into or out of the harbor that my guys don't have a hand in – we just make sure some of it stays here, and finds its way into some suitably appreciative hands. Workin' the docks ain't easy – we see our share of cuts and scrapes and broken bones. But you keep the sawbones happy, and they're more than willing to return the favor. We'll get that little missus of yours into that trial just as easy as you please, and soon she'll be right as rain."

  "You can seriously do that?"

  "You have my word."

  "Then just tell me what I have to do."

  "Nothin' yet, 'cept to go home and tell your wife the good news. The work you'll be doin', it ain't steady, but it pays well when it pays, so don't you worry about that. We'll call you when we need you."

  "I look forward to hearing from you."

  "Excellent. Now if you'll excuse me," Dumas said, nodding toward the bar, "I've got me a barmaid to attend to."

Eleven hours.