“Good-bye, you pathetic bastard.” Lander started to turn away but paused, eyeing the IV lines. “You know, it’s tempting to put a pillow over your face and finish you off right now. But I want you to have a little more time to think about how you failed to cheat me out of what’s mine. I want you to suffer a little longer,Dad.”
Lander turned on his heel and walked swiftly out of the room. If he stayed for even another minute, he would give in to the rage and the urge to pull the plug on the old man.
Once out in the hall, he went quickly toward the elevators. He could feel the eyes of the medical staff boring into his back.Screw them.He was never going to see any of them again.
In room 322, Quinn’s head cleared a little as he raised what was left of his old talent. The effort dumped a small jolt of adrenaline into his bloodstream, countering the effects of the drugs. After three fumbling attempts, he managed to press the call button.
The nurse appeared. Quinn dredged up the name out of his failing memory banks.
“Nathan,” he rasped.
“Are you in pain, Mr. Knox?” Nathan came to stand beside the bed. “I can give you another injection.”
“Forget the damn drugs. Help me make a phone call.”
“All right. I can dial it for you, if you like.”
“Number’s in my wallet. It was with me when I got here.”
“You aren’t supposed to bring valuables with you to the hospital,” Nathan said.
“Nothing valuable in my wallet except that phone number. Get it.”
Nathan went to the closet, pawed through the meager assortment of personal belongings and produced the aged, well-worn wallet. He brought it back to the bed and opened it.
“Dial the number on that old card,” Quinn said. “Elias Coppersmith. Hurry, man, I don’t have a lot of time.”
Nathan punched in the number. A man picked up. The voice had a faint, Western edge to it, the kind of voice you associated with cowboys and pilots. The classic Chuck Yeager twang, Nathan thought. The voice also had the ring of authority.
“Coppersmith.”
“I’m calling from Oakmont Hospital,” Nathan said. “A patient named Quinn Knox wants to speak with you, Mr. Coppersmith. He says it’s urgent.”
“Quinn? Put him on.”
Nathan helped Quinn grip the phone and maneuver it to his ear. Quinn pulled on the last of his fading strength and his talent. He got one last rush of energy.
“Elias?” he croaked. “That you?”
“Damn, it’s good to hear from you, Quinn. It’s been at least twenty, twenty-five years. Didn’t know you had my number.”
“I kept track of you,” Quinn said.
“Glad to hear it, but you should have stayed in touch. You sound awful. What the hell are you doing in the hospital?”
“Dying,” Quinn rasped. “What the fuck do you think I’m doing? Shut up and listen, because I don’t have a lot of time. I’m down to hours here, maybe minutes. I think someone may have found Ray Willis’s notebook.”
“Are you serious?”
“I just told you, I’m dying. Turns out people get real serious when shit like that happens.”
“Quinn, where is that hospital?”
“Florida.”
“I’ll be on a company plane within the hour. Be there by morning.”
“Forget it,” Quinn rasped. “Not gonna last that long. Here’s what I know. There’s some rumors floating around in the hot-book market that the notebook has surfaced somewhere in your neck of the woods.”
