Flesh and Blood Read Free Page B

into a megaphone. "Paging Dr. Deathray! Dr. Deathray to center stage, stat. Come on, Phil, show yourself, boy!"
    Chants of "Phil, Phil, Phil, Phil. . ."
    Then: "Here he is!"
    Thunderous ovation as the crowd rippled and Phil Harnsberger, clutching a martini glass, was expelled from its midst and shoved next to Beckwith.
    Balding and normally pallid, with a pink-red mustache demeaning his upper lip, the radiotherapist was flushed incandescent. His smile was a paranoid smear, and he seemed on the verge of tipping over. He had on a black T-shirt so grossly oversized that it skirted past the knees of his slacks. A yellow cartoon silk-screened across the front portrayed a hefty, leering bride gripping a leash that tethered a pint-sized groom prostrate before a hanging judge and looming scaffold. A bold legend protested: I Dint Kill No One, Yer Honor, So Why the Life Sentence?
    Beckwith slapped Harnsberger on the back. Harnsberger flinched and tried to down some martini. Most of the liquid ended up on his chin, and he wiped himself with his sleeve.
    "Sterile procedure!" someone shouted. "Call the fucking JCAH!"
    "Fucking germ culture—stat!"
    Beckwith slapped Harnsberger again. Harnsberger labored at smiling.
    "Hey, Phil, hey, old guy—and I do mean old—speaking of which, it's about time you lost your cherry!" Stooping, Beckwith pretended to search for something on the floor, examined Harnsberger's cuffs, finally straightened and picked the olive out of Harnsberger's martini. "Ah, here it is! Turned green from disuse!"
    Whoops from the crowd. Harnsberger smiled but hung his head.
    "Phil," said Beckwith, "you may be pathetic, but know we love you, big guy."
    Silence.
    "Terminador?" said Beckwith. "Do you know it?"
    Harnsberger muttered, "Sure, Jim—"
    "You know what?" said Beckwith.
    "You love me."
    Beckwith backed away. "Not so fast, Lone Ranger!" To the crowd: "Don't ask, don't tell is okay for those fruits in the Navy, but maybe someone should inform the bride!"
    Harnsberger flushed. Wild laughter. Beckwith closed back in on his target, going nose to nose. "Seriously, Phil, you're sure you're having a good time?"
    "Oh, yes, absolutely—"
    Beckwith reached around and delivered yet another backslap, hard enough to cause Harnsberger to drop the martini glass. Beckwith crushed the glass underfoot, ground the shards into the carpet. "Like the Jews say, moozel tav—happy batch-day, Phil. Sure hope you're enjoying your last meal—er, last rites. Grub to your satisfaction?"
    Harnsberger nodded.
    "Get enough to drink?"
    "Yes—"
    "'Cause none of us want you pissed off and beaming that death ray of yours down at us, Philly."
    Shouts of agreement. Harnsberger simpered.
    Beckwith said, "That's also why none of us want to be around when you get the bill!"
    Momentary panic in Harnsberger's eyes. Beckwith slapped him again. "Scared you there, huh, boy? Nah, don't get your co-jone-jones in an uproar, it's all taken care of—lifted it out of patient funds." Beckwith rubbed an index finger against a thumb and winked. "Sorry. No kidney transplants for Medi-Cal patients this month!"
    Peals of merriment.
    Beckwith took hold of Harnsberger's arm. "And now, for the piece de resistance, Phil. Pieces. So to speak— Sure you've eaten enough?"
    "I'm sure, Jim."
    "Well . . ." Beckwith grinned. "Maybe not." He flourished an arm. Nothing happened for a moment; then the lights dimmed and music surged from behind the giant TV. Warp-speed disco beat, louder than the porn score.
    The crowd parted, and two women in long black trench coats pranced into the clearing. As Beckwith slipped from view they positioned themselves on either side of Harnsberger.
    Young women—tall, shapely, coltish, stepping high on spiked heels. Wide-smiling—tossing the smiles as if dispensing candy—they rotated their hips, thrust their pelvises, made the exaggerated moves of trained dancers. Long mass of coal black hair on one girl. Her partner's coif was white-blond,