Deadly Intent (2 page)

Whatever pain he felt, three hours later Mr. Smith sat up asking for water. He drank thirstily before resting back and closing his eyes. His entire body felt as if it had been run over by a ten-ton truck. The pain was making his head throb; it was excruciating and he could find no comfort, even lying on his side.

"How long do you need before you work on my face?" he asked hoarsely.

Manuel leaned close to him, checking his pulse.

"I really cannot begin any more surgery. I suggest you rest for two days. Then we will be able to remove these bandages so you will be more comfortable."

"I don't have that amount of time. I want it done today."

"I have to refuse. Your blood pressure was very high and you will need to have a second general anesthetic. It will be impossible to operate using only Fentanyl."

"You get another ten thousand dollars if you continue."

"It is too much of a risk. The work will take at the very least three hours. I have to virtually lift your entire face off and—"

"Just do it."

"I advise you to rest at least for tonight and return tomorrow."

"Do
it!"
the man hissed. He needed to be awake, to make sure he did not overdose on the Fentanyl. He trusted no one but himself to measure it. The pain dulled by the Fentanyl, he closed his eyes.

Enrico was silent, as usual, as he cleaned up and removed the bloody gauze pads. He was surprised when Manuel asked if he could remain all night at the surgery. He gave a small nod of his head and continued clearing up.

When Manuel returned to the table, Mr. Smith was already lying motionless, his eyes closed.

"He is mad," Enrico whispered.

"For Jesus' sake, don't let him die on us. And make me some strong black coffee." Manuel raised his electric wheelchair to its maximum height. He would now be able to work from above the sleeping man's head and move easily around to the left and right of the table.

Using a black marker pen to draw the lines on Mr. Smith's face where he wished to cut, Manuel lifted both eyebrows up and took a section from the brow. He marked the upper and lower lids and made a line around both ears for an auricular incision. He then marked the lips to augment with silicone and put dotted marks between the eyes for Botox.

As he worked, he drank two small cups of thick black coffee, with heaped spoonfuls of sugar. His patient remained oblivious, eyes closed and sleeping.

Enrico prepared the prosthetic implants for the cheeks and chin, and when Manuel was ready, he administered the second general anesthetic. It was, by now, almost six o'clock and cooler outside, but as always I

Manuel maintained a very low temperature in the operating room. They both went through the same procedure of scrubbing up, and now that the anesthetic had kicked in, work began.

The first incision was to the eyebrows. Manuel removed a slice, like a small section of orange, drawing the skin upward, and stretching out the lines in the forehead. This took a lot of pulling and stretching before he was satisfied. Then he cut a long line from behind the ear, continuing down to the chin. He drew up the scraggy skin of the neck, again removing a slice like another section of orange, so he could restitch and pull tightly back toward the lobes of the ears. He also implanted a small section of what looked and almost felt like a sponge. He inserted a piece into the lower chin, then used a thin flattening spatula to ease up two more sections to rest over each of the cheekbones, working with the finest suture scissors. He removed the mole from Mr. Smith's right cheek and gave two neat stitches, before he began work on his nose.

Twice, Manuel became concerned as his patient's pulse shot up; his heart rate was worrying too and it was a while before he felt he could continue. Enrico gave Mr. Smith more oxygen until they were both satisfied that his pulse rate was not life-threatening.

The bridge of the nose had a scar; his nose must have been broken at one time. Manuel broke it again and began reshaping and cutting around the nostrils. He was tired; it had been concentrated work and Enrico kept wiping his brow with an iced cloth.

"Only eyelids to go now," he murmured.

The two men worked well together, Manuel checking his drawings and the ink markings he had made to Mr. Smith's face. He didn't want to take too much from the eyelids, and as he was doing both top and bottom, it was imperative he took only his exact measurements. He couldn't remove the age lines from around the eyes completely, nor the two lines from the nostrils down to the lips, known as puppet lines. These he injected with Botox and collagen, and then at last it was down to the bandages.

Mr. Smith did not regain consciousness until his head was tightly bandaged. He resembled something out of an old-fashioned horror movie. Only his puffy, bloodshot eyes and his swollen lips could be seen. He could not dress himself, as his hands had been operated on and laser treatment carried out on his fingertips. Enrico had to ease him into an old wheelchair to take him out into the reception. Mr. Smith was hardly holding it together due to the waves of pain that swept over his entire body. There seemed not an inch of him that didn't scream out. He said hardly a word as Enrico wheeled him out into the early evening sun; he had been in surgery for over ten hours. A white, four-door Mercedes with tinted windows was parked outside. The driver had been waiting all day; his face was sweaty and his cheap black suit wrinkled and creased. His dark greasy hair was combed back and hung in a wave at his collar. Enrico and the driver helped Mr. Smith into the backseat. He let out soft moans of pain, but he didn't speak, just lay on his side, his legs curled up. Manuel watched the Mercedes drawing away. He had learned over the years never to ask questions or get into even the briefest conversation with the drivers. It would be two days before he could check on the liposuction treatment and a further five days to examine and remove stitches. It would therefore be seven days before he was paid.

"Mr. Smith" was hurried through the lobby of the Santa Cruz Hotel in the wheelchair. He was occupying the so-called penthouse suite. He found it difficult to even sit on the bed and he hadn't the strength to take off his clothes. He finally managed to ease himself down, thankful for the soft pillows.The driver left the hotel with instructions to collect him in seven days. Mr. Smith remained lying on the bed for twenty-four hours, before he managed to undress. Beside the bed were an array of bottles of water, vitamins and antibiotics, and a large amount of arnica tablets. He consumed them in handfiils, as they helped the bruising, but ate nothing else, just drank bottle after bottle of the water and only moved to go to the bathroom. He was in constant pain and found it difficult to find a single position to lie in that didn't make him feel as if his body was on fire. Not only did the clastic bandages around his body feel too tight, but the dressings on his scalp and face were so uncomfortable that he found it difficult to breathe. His head throbbed.The discomfort didn't ease for forty-eight hours and he had, once again, injected himself with Fentanyl. Manuel and Enrico entered the hotel suite to find Mr. Smith lying on the bed with a towel wrapped loosely around him. Manuel watched as Enrico removed the wrappings from his body. The bandages were very bloody, as there had been some leakage. The torso was black from the bruises and yet the small incisions made for the tubes were healing well. Manuel placed small strips of Elastoplast over the incisions and then waited as Enrico cleaned up the bloody bandages and gauze. He unwrapped the bandages from around Mr. Smith's head, checked his stitches were healing, and instructed Enrico to rebandage.

"You are healing very well, Mr. Smith." "My arse feels like I got some rabid animal chewing on it!" Neither Manuel nor Enrico showed they were amused; they left as quickly as possible. On the fourth day, Mr. Smith got up and walked around the suite. It was painful but he forced himself to move. He still did not eat but sent down for more water, lemons, and honey, and continued to use his Fentanyl stash to give him relief and help him sleep. By day seven he was feeling stronger. Fully dressed, he walked down through the hotel reception to meet his driver. Manuel was waiting at the surgery. He could see that his patient was making a remarkable recovery and could walk unaided from the car. They went straight into the operating room; Enrico had already prepared a tray with disinfectant swabs and needle-sharp scissors. There were still extensive black bruises almost covering the padent's entire torso. However, the small incisions were healing well, and Enrico cleaned them and replaced the small round plasters. Manuel then asked his client to sit in a chair beneath a strong lamp, and he personally unwound the head bandages. The fine, delicate stitches were snipped one by one and Mr. Smith could hear a faint sound as each was placed into a stainless-steel bowl. Once the last area of plaster across the nose had been removed, Manuel leaned close to inspect his work."Good, very good."

Mr. Smith examined himself in a mirror. His face was puffy and the scars were still red, but none were infected, and within hours the narrow bridge of his nose would broaden. His thinning hair was dirty and the ponytail was caked in blood. He had not had a total browlift because of his receding hair; hair plugs would have made the skin too stretched and raw.

"How soon can I get plugs done for a hairline?" he asked Manuel.

"In a couple of weeks, 1 would suggest."

"What about the teeth? I can begin a series of dental implants, can't I?"

"Yes, of course."

Manuel was astonished that his patient gave no reaction to his finished work. It was, even by his standards, a superb transformation. The man hardly resembled himself, yet he seemed intent only on leaving as quickly as possible. Manuel was paid twenty-five thousand dollars in used notes, packed into a large brown envelope. Smiling, Mr. Smith passed over a second envelope containing the extra ten thousand dollars.

Manuel placed the money into the pocket of his wheelchair without counting it.Then Mr. Smith surprised him. He was about to click shut the briefcase when he hesitated and removed a small square box which he passed over to Manuel.

"A little extra gift," he said. "Enjoy ..."

He strolled out, albeit stiffly because the liposuction soil made it uncomfortable to walk. His suit hung as if too large and he placed a cream cotton cap on his head to cover his scalp and donned a pair of dark sunglasses. Back in his hotel room, Mr. Smith spent almost an hour staring at his reflection in the dressing-table mirror. It was an amazing transformation: his chin and neck were taut and the cheek implants made his face look chiseled. His lips were still puffy but his nose was looking much better. Before, he had had an aquiline, almost hooked nose; now it was small but perfectly straight.

After a much-needed shower, he looked again at his reflection. Gone was the beginning of a paunch and he had regained a muscular slenderness. In fact, he had dropped at least fifteen years; by the time he had his hair transplants and new teeth, he reckoned he would look no more than late forties or early fifties.

Enrico had returned home to his family. As ever, Manuel had been very generous, but he was concerned. The box had contained four vials of Fentanyl, and when he had tried to take it, Manuel had snapped at him to leave it in the fridge. Fentanyl was unobtainable in Mexico and he feared that the young man, although clean for four years, might be tempted.

Mr. Smith flew to Los Angeles and from there on to Brazil for the rest of his makeover. Although he was still feeling some twinges of pain, the worst of it was over. He did as Manuel instructed and waited another six weeks before he had a full transplant of hair, not gray, but dark brown, combed back from his forehead and cut into a shorter style. Now it was just below his collar, exactly as Manuel had worn his.

Lastly, he had a three-week session with a dental surgeon who implanted six back teeth and gave him what they termed in Hollywood "the smile" makeover. By this time he had begun to work out, not too strenuously, but he wanted to retain his slenderness.

The entire "operation" had taken almost three months and he was finally ready to return to England. Money was running out and he was about to make one of the biggest deals of his life. His luxurious life had been disrupted by a disastrous turn of events in the German and American money markets, leaving him on the verge of bankruptcy. Never one to dwell on misfortune, however, he was certain that he could—and would—once again return to the lifestyle he had grown accustomed to. With his new image, he was confident that he could remain undetected until his deals had been organized.

Leaving Brazil, he flew to Spain to arrange finances for a boat he had ordered to be brought into Puerto Banus. Money by now was a major problem; he had to get financed and fast, and it had to be cash. But he remained assured that he would be able to accomplish his deal.

However, dealing with drug cartels from Colombia, he could not afford to make any mistakes.

One mistake would obviously have been his connection to Manuel, but as a man who had been around drugs and addicts for many years, he was sure that temptation would rid him of any risk from that quarter. He was correct. Enrico, not having heard from Manuel for over a week, went to the clinic. He knew by the accumulation of black flies in the overheated reception room that what he had feared had happened.