Terry and Zack moved like the wind, slithered to hide behind a BMW as they
heard Prospect’s footsteps. The fucker was whistling and they shared a glare. Terry’s chin nudged left and Zack’s jerked to the right. The moment Prospect disappeared into his apartment they were circling, counted to three then merged right at the door, listening and ready.

Prospect switched on the lights and grinned. “Forgot my keys, Mr. O’Leary. May as well get your sleep; when my shift is over you’ll be dying … and having watched many die, I must say it looks rather exhausting.”

Dino watched the man bring up and un-roll the knife bag again, fingering in the pockets until he found the keys he’d obviously mistakenly dropped there. He chuckled and suddenly the door slammed open.

“Hands were we can see them, Prospect!” Terry shouted and Dino’s eyes darted from Prospect’s hand gripping the large blade to the men inching their way into the tight room.

“I said … hands in the bloody air!” Terry spouted and stepped closer, ready to press the barrel of his pistol against the base of the man’s head just as Zack moved slightly around to the left, trying to get a good look at Dino’s condition.

Dino’s head was shaking desperately, he was grunting a warning, struggling against his restraints and Zack swung his head just at that moment and distance when he could do nothing to stop it all.

Prospect turned sharply, kicked a knee high, just missing Terry’s groin but able to move the knife perfectly at his attacker. In a split second, Terry’s gun was a distant thud on the floor and he was bleeding, sprawled on the ground … and Prospect was also bleeding, slumped against the table, the bullets from Zack’s weapon fatally deep in the man’s chest.

Terry cried out and rolled, his left hand desperately gripping the hideous slice in his right palm. The flesh between his thumb and fingers was severely severed and gushing, the pain was already numbing, the nerves damaged. His vision quickly wavered and began to blacken but apparently Zack had managed to free Dino. Together they leaned over him, Zack rolling his jacket to place under Terry’s neck.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Dino howled, pressing a cloth hard against the massive wound as Beijing police crowded in the room. “Hang in the buddy! Hang in there!”

***

It was a dream. Had to be. Terry Thorne could find little rhyme or reason to what he was seeing and feeling, what he was hearing. There was the blearing of an ambulance; that made sense, he was wounded. There was the uncomfortable pressing and prodding, shifting and shuffling, then there was a strange silence permeated with music … the only way Terry could describe it was Flamenco Dance music. Is that the bloody Gypsy Kings?

Then, nothingness again and something. Something warm and moist beneath him. Comfort. Peacefulness, the kind that comes right after climax, the kind that drowns a man with emptiness and satisfaction, makes his body ache and his heart soar. It had to be a dream. Just had to be.

He raised his face and looked down at her. “Alice?” he sighed, unsure if he was pleased or angry, sad or grateful. She pulled him into a kiss and he held her close. He wanted to love her again, but couldn’t get it up, couldn’t even move. Must be the loss of blood … but then again … that strange sensation of being split between two realities. “Ya can’t be here, love. This can’t be happening.” And the music got louder.

***

The surgery was going into its third hour. The patient was stable but the damage to the hand nearly irreversible.

Dr. Richard Spelling and his wife, Marla, were visiting from the States; the good doctor taking his first vacation in five years. He’d taken Marla to the Beijing Central Hospital to visit a friend of theirs who’d just had a baby. Spelling knew what he could get away with and took a free parking place near the emergency entrance. If he wasn’t such a cheap fucker, he’d be cooing over May Lee’s new daughter instead of trying to repair Terry Thorne’s destroyed right hand.

As he cut through the emergency entrance, he saw the gurney roll in and recognized O’Leary immediately. “Dino? What happened?”

“Fuck,” Dino grunted. “There is a God. Jesus, Rich, you’re the best orthopedic surgeon I know. Terry needs help man. This is ugly as sin!”

“Calm down. Where the hell have you been? You look like a homeless bastard from San Francisco’s Tenderloin.” They were running behind the gurney, Zack right on their heel.

“Long story. Do what you can, man. Just do what you can.”

Spelling spouted Chinese to the desk nurse and the wheels were in motion. Mr. Thorne was his patient (and K&R insurance man, although he didn’t bother to add that). He did a quick examination of the wound, had ex-rays done and arranged for emergency surgery. The longer they waited, the less likely it was going to be that the severed tendons and nerves could remarry and regenerate together. There was little time.

In his coat pocket, his favorite CD. “Play this,” he said and the disc was popped in for sound to fill the quiet operating room. He had to grin, listening to the surrounding Chinese medical professionals sing along in slurred Spanish to the Gypsy Kings. But it was the last smiling Richard Spelling was going to be doing that evening.

He’d done everything he could do. “Let’s close up here. No point in trying anything else. Fuck, all it’s likely to do is cause more damage.” He rubbed his eyes and left the surgery in search of Dino.

***

Again Terry was on the hill in Tacala. He glanced down at his bandaged right hand and shook his head. The tail lights from Alice’s car had just disappeared around the bend and he groaned. This ain’t happening, his rational brain struggled. It’s a dream or a memory. Bloody hell, it’s not even as strong as before, that time I could fuckin’ smell the jungle and my own sweat on me. This isn’t happening … but … what is?

“I’ve let you go,” Alice’s voice drifted in his mind.

“No, love, I let you go. And it was the right thing to do. Listen,” he sighed with a deep ache. “There’s no bloody room in me for this crazy shit right now. Go back where ya belong, Alice. Have a good life, but go back there. I got work to do.”

“Yes you do,” her voice drifted softly into the distance. “Work hard and you’ll be fine. Good bye, Terry.”

A tear squeezed from his closed eyes.

“And Terry … you were right … we’re even.”

“Terry? Terry?” That was not Alice’s voice, not by a long shot. “Fuck Terry, wake up, dammit. The doctors are getting worried about you. Open your fucking eyes.”

“Shut the fuck up, mate.” Terry grumbled and heard Zack chuckle in the background.

“Knew I could rouse you. Open your eyes, Terry.”

“Dino, what part of ‘shut the fuck up’ don’t ya get? Leave me alone, I’m just … tired.”

“You’ve had enough sleep. Open your eyes. Got a surprise for you. Remember Dr. Rich Spelling? That guy who fixed Peterson’s back?”

“So,” Terry still hadn’t opened his eyes. Not because he didn’t want to, he simply couldn’t get them to move. He was amazed he could speak, he felt so weak.

“So … he just worked on your hand, buddy. He’s here to check on you and talk with you. He’s heading back to New York and we’d like to be taking you with him … if you open your fucking eyes that is.”

“Where am I?”

Spelling pressed fingers against Terry’s good wrist, counted. “Where do you think you are, Terry?”

Terry struggled with his mind. Was he in reality; Beijing? Was he in fantasy; alone and holding Alice? Was he in that other world; Tacala after a particularly harrowing extraction? He was going for door number one. “Beijing. Hospital. Right?”

“Right.”

“How long?”

“Two days, Terry. We really need you to wake up fully before I can make decisions about what to do with you next.”

He fought and fought. Finally a sliver of light flashed through the crack in his eyelids and he was able to let them slowly drift opened, wider and wider until his eyes adjusted to the light. “How bad?”

“That’s a pretty loaded question, Terry. We’ve got a lot to talk about, but let’s do a thorough examination and determine if we can take you to the States today.”

Terry endured whatever was dished out, avoided looking at his heavily bandaged right hand and answered every question his mind could grasp. When it was done, he watched Spelling’s face carefully. “Now … how bad is it, mate?”

The doctor didn’t even bother to ask Dino and Grant to leave the room. He knew they wouldn’t. It was time to put on his game face, wished he could comfort this man. “Terry, I’m not going to lie to you. The damage is serious. I’ve done everything I could do and we did get to it quickly. The delay of just a few more hours could have cost you full use of the hand … but as it is – ”

“How bad?” Terry repeated.

Richard Spelling sighed, he rubbed is eyes and looked directly at his patient. “Thirty, maybe forty percent. No more.”

Terry showed no emotion, cleared his throat. “Further surgery?”

“Will be useless.”

“Therapy?”

“Strong surrounding muscles in the hand could possibly take your odds up to fifty percent for lifting and holding items. But Terry, this isn’t muscle damage, buddy. This is severed nerves and tendons. The tendons might miraculously reconnect and that’s the best we can hope for. The nerves?” Spelling shook his head slowly.

“I see. Now what?”

“Back to the United States, Ter,” Dino answered. “After a short stay in New York under the good Dr. Spelling’s ongoing supervision, I’m taking you home.”

“Home? I got no home.”

“Yes, you do. I’ll take you to the Inn and we’ll get you as strong as that hand is ever going to be. John’ll have you chopping wood, you’ll see.”

“Just leave me here.”

Zack and Dino exchanged a look and the doctor joined them, his eyes glowing clear warning. “Can’t do it, Terry. They’re expecting you at the Inn. You know the family. They don’t take no for an answer. If we move today, I’ll have you there for Easter.”