Invasive Procedures Read Free

homeless by the looks of him, with the face of a junkie if Dolores had ever seen one. Kid probably wasn’t a day over fourteen, although the drugs made him look much older. He had shaggy black hair, wore a tattered trench coat, and sported a tattoo of a snake, which began somewhere under his collar and extended up the side of his neck.
    “Your friend Nick don’t talk much,” said Dolores, turning in her seat to face him.
    “Not much to say, I guess,” said the boy.
    “What about you? What’s your name?”
    “Why? You taking a census?”
    Dolores made a face. “You’re the funny one, huh? The Teller?”
    “The what?”
    “Teller. You know? Penn and Teller. Magicians. One of ’em talks and the other one doesn’t. Maybe it’s Penn who talks. I can’t remember which. Marx Brothers had the same gag. Harpo never said a thing, just played the harp and honked this little horn.”
    “I’m Jonathan,” the boy said.
    “Like Saint John. From the Bible.”
    “No, just Jonathan.”
    “Fair enough. You and your friend Nick come along for the free food too, I take it?”
    Jonathan looked out the window. “Yeah. We could use some free food.”
    You and me both, thought Dolores. You and me both.
    Up in the passenger seat, Galen sat whistling and tapping his fingers on the armrest. The driver was one of the big Healers, possibly the biggest Dolores had ever seen, nearly seven feet tall and thick as a horse. Unlike Galen, he seemed on edge, both hands on the steering wheel, leaning forward slightly as if the van wasn’t going fast enough for him. The Healer named Lichen sat behind Galen near the sliding door. He wasn’t nearly as large as the driver, but he was big enough to make Dolores wonder how many hours a day he spent in a gym.
    “Where’s this place we’re headed?” Jonathan asked.
    Galen turned around in the passenger seat and smiled. “Close, Jonathan. We should be there shortly.”
    “Seems awful far,” said Nick.
    Galen merely smiled again. “I hope everyone likes pot roast,” he said. “It’s been simmering for hours now. And twice-baked potatoes.”
    Well that sounded right tasty to Dolores. She couldn’t remember the last time she had pot roast. Nowadays it was just whatever looked edible, put it in your mouth and chew. Don’t ask what it is. Don’t ask where it came from. It’s got nutrients you need. So eat it.
    Yes, sir. I could go for some juicy pot roast about now.
    Hal was of another opinion. “Pull over,” he said. “Gotta puke.”
    The van immediately pulled over and the door slid open. Hal was out in flash, dry heaving over some sagebrush.
    Dolores wasn’t sure which kind of vomiting sounded worse, wet or dry.
    “Shouldn’t drink so much,” said Galen.
    “You don’t say,” said Hal.
    Dolores shook her head. This was downright unappetizing.
    “You’ll feel better once we get some coffee in you,” Galen said.
    Hal nodded. “Just give me a second.” He was still on his knees on the asphalt as he bent over and retched again. If it weren’t for the soundtrack, you’d think the guy was praying.
    It was pathetic, really. Dolores couldn’t help but feel sorry for the man.
    Hal stayed there for the longest time, not moving.
    The other two Healers didn’t like this one bit. The driver kept looking at his watch and then up the road, like he was expecting someone or had an appointment to keep. Lichen stood outside with Hal, standing over him like a fidgety prison guard.
    “It’s late, sir,” the driver said.
    Galen put a finger to his lips. “Patience, Stone.” He rolled down the passenger window. “Are you all right, Hal?”
    “Fine,” Hal said. Then he slowly got to his feet. Galen got out of the van and helped him back inside. It was kind, the way the old man treated him—paying no attention to the smell and not minding having to touch his filthy clothes. Like the Lord, Dolores thought: reaching out and healing the blind and the lepers.
    They hadn’t driven two