"This is nothing," Nate said as he quickly slid the needle from his arm and yanked the IV free. "Find me some clothes, Jevy. I'm checking out."
"You don't know dengue. My father had it."
"It's over. I can feel it."
"No, it's not. The fever will return, and it will be worse. Much worse."
"I don't believe that. Take me to a hotel, Jevy, please. I'll be fine there. I'll pay you to stay with me, and if the fever returns you can feed me pills. Please, Jevy."
Jevy was standing at the foot of the bed. He glanced around as if someone might understand their English. "I don't know," he said, waivering. It was not such a bad idea.
"I'll pay you two hundred dollars to get me some clothes and take me to a hotel. And I'll pay you fifty dollars a day to guard me until I'm okay."
"It's not about money, Nate. I'm your friend."
"And I'm your friend, Jevy. And friends help friends. I can't go back to that room. You saw those poor sick people in there. They're all rotting and dying and pissing all over themselves. It smells like human waste. The nurses don't care. The doctors don't check on you. The insane asylum is just over there. Please, Jevy, get me out of here. I'll pay you good money."
"Your money went down with the Santa Loura."
That stopped him cold. Nate had not even thought about the Santa Loura, and his belongings-his clothes, money, passport, and briefcase with all the gadgets and papers Josh had sent. There had been few lucid moments since leaving Rachel, just a few clear intervals during which he had thought about living and dying. Never about tangible things or assets. "I can get plenty of money, Jevy. I'll wire it in from the States. Please help me."
Jevy knew that dengue was rarely fatal. Nate's bout with it appeared to be under control, though the fever would surely return. No one could blame him for wanting to escape the hospital. "Okay," he said, glancing around again. No one was near them. "I'll return in a few minutes."
Nate closed his eyes and contemplated his lack of a passport. And he had no cash, not a dime. No clothes, no toothbrush. No SatFone, cell phone, no calling cards. And matters weren't much better at home. From the ruins of his personal bankruptcy, he could expect to keep his leased car, his clothing and modest furniture, and the money put away in his IRA. Nothing else. The lease on his small condo in Georgetown had been surrendered during rehab. There was no place to go when he returned. No family to speak of. His two older kids were distant and unconcerned. The two middle schoolers from the second marriage had been taken far away by their mother. He hadn't seen them in six months, and had scarcely thought about them at Christmas.
On his fortieth birthday, Nate had won a $10 million verdict against a doctor who failed to diagnose cancer. It was the largest verdict of his career, and when the appeals were finished two years later the firm collected over $4 million in fees. Nate's bonus that year had been $1.5 million. He was a millionaire for a few months, until he bought the new house. There were furs and diamonds, cars and trips, some shaky investments. Then he started seeing a college girl who loved cocaine, and the wall cracked. He crashed hard and spent two months locked away. His second wife left with the money, then came back briefly without it.
He'd been a millionaire, and now he imagined how he looked from the roof of the courtyard-sick, alone, broke, tinder indictment, afraid of the return home, and terrified of the temptations there.
His quest to find Rachel had kept him focused. There was excitement in the hunt. Now that it was over, and he was flat on his back again, he thought of Sergio and rehab and addictions and all the trouble waiting for him. Darkness was looming again.
He couldn't spend the rest of his life riding chalanas up and down the Paraguay with Jevy and Welly, far removed from booze and drugs and women, oblivious to his legal troubles. He had to go back. He had to face the music one more time.
A piercing squawk jolted him from his daydreams. The redheaded screamer was back.
JEVY ROLLED the bed under a veranda, then down a hallway headed toward the front of the hospital. He stopped by a janitor's closet, and helped the patient out of bed. Nate was weak and shaky, but determined to escape. Inside the closet, he ripped off the gown and put on a pair of baggy soccer shorts, a red tee shirt, the obligatory rubber sandals, a denim cap, and a pair of plastic sunshades. Though he looked the part, he did not feel the least bit Brazilian. Jevy had spent little on his outfit. He was adjusting the cap when he fainted.
Jevy heard him hit the door. He quickly opened it, and found Nate slumped in a pile with buckets and mops rattling around. He clutched him under the arms and dragged him back to the bed. He rolled him into it and covered him with the sheet.
Nate opened his eyes and said, "What happened?"
"You fainted," came the reply. The bed was moving; Jevy was behind him. They passed two nurses who didn't seem to notice them. "This is a bad idea," Jevy said.
"Just keep going."
They parked near the lobby. Nate crawled out of bed, felt faint again, and began walking. Jevy placed a heavy arm around his shoulder and steadied him by clutching his bicep. "Take it easy," Jevy kept saying. "Nice and slow."
No stares from the admissions clerks, nor the sick people trying to get in. No odd looks from the nurses and orderlies smoking on the front steps. The sun hit Nate hard and he leaned on Jevy. They crossed the street to where Jevy's massive Ford was parked.
They narrowly avoided death at the first intersection.
"Could you please drive slower," Nate snapped. He was sweating and his stomach was rolling.
"Sorry," Jevy said, and the truck slowed considerably.
With charm and the promise of future payment, Jevy cajoled a double room out of the young girl at the front desk of the Palace Hotel. "My friend is sick," he whispered to her, nodding at Nate, who certainly appeared ill. Jevy didn't want the pretty lady to get the wrong idea. They had no bags.
In the room, Nate collapsed on the bed. The little escape had tired him immensely. Jevy found the rerun of a soccer game on TV, but after five minutes was bored. He left to continue his flirting.
Nate tried twice to get an international operator. He had a vague recollection of hearing Josh's voice on the phone, and he suspected that a follow-up was needed. On the second attempt, he got an earful of Portuguese. When she tried English, he thought he caught the words "calling card." He hung up and went to sleep.
The doctor called Valdir. Valdir found Jevy's truck parked on the street outside the Palace Hotel, and he found Jevy in the pool sipping a beer.
Valdir squatted at the edge of the pool. "Where is Mr. O'Riley?" he asked. His irritation was obvious.
"Upstairs in his room," Jevy answered, then took another sip.
"Why is he here?"
"Because he wanted to leave the hospital. Do you blame him?"
Valdir's only surgery had been in Campo Grande, four hours away. No one with money would ever voluntarily submit themselves to the hospital in Corumba.
"How is he?"
"I think he's fine."
"Stay with him."
"I don't work for you anymore, Mr. Valdir."
"Yes, but there is the matter of the boat."
"I can't raise it. I didn't sink it. A storm did. What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to watch Mr. O'Riley."
"He needs money. Can you wire it in for him?"
"I suppose."