Bangkok Express (Joe Dylan Crime Noir, #1) by James Newman

Author:James Newman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: James Newman
Published: 2016-07-11T04:00:00+00:00

“Yes,” said the doctor. “Take this slip to the pharmacist, just a little codeine to help with the pain. Are you taking any other medication?”

“No, but I could use something to repair my pride.”

“We don’t prescribe anything like that here.”

“Just a minute Doctor, you might be able to help me out.” Joe eased himself up onto his elbows. He looked at the doctor and something fell into place in his mind. He remembered the meeting with Hale. The policy. The death certificates.

“Go on.” The doctor looked down at Joe impatiently.

“I heard some stories about a couple of diving incidents on the island. I’m looking to take diving lessons. I’m worried about the safety aspect. Two divers have died. You signed the certificates.”

The doctor looked at Joe with squinted eyes below furrowed brows. It was as if he were examining a new unusual deadly tropical disease. “Yes, well unfortunately I am at not at liberty to discuss any other patients that may come through these doors. Doctors oath.”

“But would you be worried about diving on the Island?”

“That right now is the least of my worries. I would say by in large you are safer back in England.”

Joe sat up so he was almost eye-level with the doctor. “You and me both. Tell me about the Fin and the Italian, doc.”

“What do you mean?”

“The job. The death certificates you signed, doctor.”

“What certificates?”

“The ones in the file. I’m from London. The insurance company sent me, sir. How much did they pay you to sign, doctor?”

“I didn’t get paid to sign anything. Now if you will excuse me. I have emergencies to attend to.” Doctor Johnson placed the prescription in Joe’s hand and disappeared through the curtains. Joe could sense the cloud of anger left in his wake. Joe smiled and reached for a glass of water that sat on the bed-side table. He drank it. It tasted terrible. Joe laid back down and closed his eyes and fell into a fitful drug induced sleep. He saw the Finnish girl, he saw the Italian. He heard Jazz piano. It was too late. The coordinator was sat there in the desk in front of him, clicked his fingers and Joe opened his eyes. The coordinator mutated into Gantira sitting at the end of the bed. He wondered if it was one of those dreams within a dream deals. She looked real enough. Her hair fell in spirals beyond her shoulders. Joe ran his hands through his hair and sat up; if it was a dream then it was one he didn’t have any desire to wake from.

“How you feeling Joe?”

“Like I just got beaten up by a tree-hugging-psycho.”

“Well we can’t all be tough guys. Here have some of these.” She put down a plastic bag containing a sliced fruit with green skin and white flesh.

“What’s this?”

“Oh come on Joe, You never have sour mango before?”

“I usually wait until it’s ripe.”

“Well, you wait too long. Have some.”

The sour taste livened his taste buds. Then he tried to bite and winced with the pain.

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