High Stakes: A Wild Cards novel by Martin George R. R. & Trust Wild Cards

Author:Martin, George R. R. & Trust, Wild Cards [Martin, George R. R.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781466824355
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2016-08-30T04:00:00+00:00

There had been armored limos waiting out front of Teterboro. Franny had hoped the caravan of Russian mobsters would be stopped, but Grekor was efficient. The people at Teterboro had been relieved of their cell phones, the landlines cut, and they’d been tied up. Eventually the lack of response from the tower would get someone’s attention, but it was a quick trip into Manhattan and they had reached the clinic before that happened.

Franny had been handcuffed to a door handle in the limo and left with one guard while Grekor’s goons entered the small hospital. Franny had jerked at the sound of gunfire, but it was only two shots. He prayed no one had been killed.

After some time had passed a thug arrived at the car, unlocked the cuffs, and dragged Franny into the clinic. He was taken to a room where Baba Yaga was ensconced in a hospital bed propped up by a mountain of pillows.

Dr. Finn was at her bedside, his hooves beating out a nervous tattoo on the floor. The joker’s expression was mutinous and he kept throwing glares first at the man holding a gun on him and then at Baba Yaga. Grekor was seated in a chair looking very much at ease.

Finn reacted when Franny was pushed into the room. “Detective Black! Why are you…? Do you know…? Are you…? Are you with these people?”

“Not willingly.”

“I’ve been treating some of the kidnapped jokers. They said you rescued them.”

“Yeah, I just didn’t manage to rescue myself.”

“Enough!” Baba Yaga snapped. “Time for you to do your job, errand boy. You will—”

Finn interrupted. “You have invaded my clinic, threatened my staff, locked up my security chief after you shot at him. You want medical care? Go find it someplace else. I won’t do a damn thing for you.”

Grekor looked over at one of his guards. “Start killing a patient every fifteen minutes.”

Finn gaped at the man. Franny grabbed him by the upper arm. “They’ll do it, Doc, trust me.”

Baba Yaga fingered the sheet with her remaining hand and studied Finn. “I am certain there are other doctors here and I have always wanted a horse hair sofa,” she mused. Her mouth began working.

“And don’t piss her off,” Franny added urgently.

“I know what she can do. The jokers told me.” Finn had recovered his equilibrium. He approached the bed with mincing steps, placing each of his four hooves with elaborate care. “Yeah, you can kill me horribly, your thugs can shoot patients, but while we’re treating you we can also kill you in a hundred different ways.”

Baba Yaga leaned back, swallowed the accumulated spit, and studied Finn. “You’re stupid brave. And what about your Hippocratic Oath, Doctor.”

“It’s flexible in your case. And I’m not so much brave as I have leverage. We have each other by the short hairs. You want care? Stop issuing threats.” They stared at each other for a long time. It was a ludicrous sight. The ancient one-armed crone in the bed with her dual-colored

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