Thicker Than Blood (3 page)

She faced him and tried to look serious, "You need to rest now. I'll tell you more later." With that, she turned and left the room. Joe wondered why she didn't answer his question. Maybe, she's still fuming about that man, he thought. Joe's head was starting to swim, but he was determined to save a little of his own blood for later. He spotted his cell phone on the nightstand. He groaned as he reached behind his head. He pulled the phone closer by the extended antenna. It beeped as Joe pushed the outside cover off. He pulled the fuel cell from the back of the phone's exposed innards. He turned the fuel cell upside down and poured the alcoholic contents under his pillow. The strong smell was making him more tired. "I hope this works," Joe mumbled to himself. He held the empty cell container to the wound on his other hand. He pulled the bandage away and aggravated the cut underneath with his fingers. Only a few small drops of blood dripped into the cell. I must be loaded up with coagulants, Joe thought. Joe snapped the fuel cell back into it's compartment. He dropped the phone on the distant stand behind him, wincing in pain with the awkward movement. He was tired. He lay still with his eyes closed, waiting to hear his aunt return.

"You can't wake him up." "Why not? He's already been awake. They let us in here." Was this a dream? Joe heard middle eastern accents all around him. "Do you want to make him sicker?" "No, I guess you're right," Mark uttered. I know that voice, Joe thought. "Where am I, Pakistan?" Joe wasn't going to let his friends have one more moment of sympathy and pity for him. "No, New Iraq, and you're our prisoner. Moo-ha-ha!" Mark tried to sound Arabic, but still sounded Indian. "I thought so," Joe shook his head, "I woke up hearing crazy accents. I wasn't sure what I did last night." Another voice said, "Mark, your accent was terrible." Joe recognized the voice. The other person in the room was Amman. Joe opened his eyes and looked through the doorway for Feds. Obviously they hadn't arrived yet, Joe thought sarcastically. "Hey, how's it going Amman?" Joe asked. "How are you feeling?" Amman replied. Amman was in his early thirties. He looked short next to the tall, slim Mark. His dark skin and deep accent gave away his Middle Eastern decent. His unkept clothing, hair and beard hinted at his nerdy ways. "I feel worse than yesterday," Joe said. "Oh, so you've been awake. Why didn't you call? We're sunk without you. It took me two days just to install the new hip servos." Mark sounded indignant. "Two days?" Joe mumbled.

"Yeah! What do you think, everybody is some kind of mechanical superman? The program for the servos is tied to..." Mark was interrupted by Joe. "That's not what I mean. I was out for two days? What day is it?" "Monday," Mark responded. "How long has it been?" Joe asked. "A week and five days," Mark said. Joe started sounding angry, "What? I felt fine two days after. I've been asleep for a week?" "Your aunt said you are very bad, and that you almost died... twice." Mark was talking in an even calm voice. He seemed to think Joe was becoming too agitated. "Twice?" Joe mumbled. His head was spinning. He definitely felt worse than the other day. Joe was staring at Mark when he realized the room was no longer filled with gray dots. I almost died the second time when they shut the nanites off, Joe thought. Joe snapped his neck back and forth and saw the discharged phone sitting on the end table. "Yea, some complication. What do you need?" Mark asked. He was watching Joe. Joe reached up to grab Mark's arm and pull him closer. He stopped short when he almost yanked the IV out of his arm. Joe grimaced when he saw a little blood drip from the needle in his arm. Joe struggled to lift his head up and whispered in Mark's ear, "My cell phone, take it with you. Store the blood in the cell in the fridge. Don't mention this to Amman." Joe let his head fall back on his pillow. He looked relieved. "Huh? Do what? Are you delirious?" Mark looked concerned. Joe felt his heart pounding in his chest. "He probably is." Teressa Graceland said as she strode in the doorway. "Perhaps it was too soon for you boys to see him." Oh no. Mark come on. Do as I told you. Don't say anything about the phone, Joe thought. He stared intently at Mark, trying to look as stern as possible. "Why don't you let him rest and come back tomorrow?" Dr. Teressa Graceland stared at Mark and Amman. She grabbed the computerized tablet from his beds foot board and glared at Joe's vitals. It began beeping rapidly in tune to his heart when she touched it. It's graphs were moving erratically. If his aunt knew about the hidden blood, she would make it worse for both of them with her honesty. Just take the phone, Joe thought. Mark walked past Joe's aunt and grabbed the cell phone off the end table. Dr Graceland gave Mark a strange look. "Joe asked me to please check his messages. I need the password off the scratch pad." He plunged the phone into his pocket. "Oh. Okay," she said. Joe's face relaxed. He felt exhaustion creeping in. Looking at his friend, he managed to say, "Thank you, Mark." Joe closed his eyes and went to sleep. The clipboard began to beep more slowly.

"Dad, I'm going over to Lucy's," Joe announced. He strode through the sparse kitchen to the table where his father was sitting. His father looked up at him through a smoky sunbeam. His brow furrowed, deepening the lines on his forehead. "You sure you're up to it?" He asked in a deep scratchy voice with a slight Brooklyn accent. Joe was staring at the smoke wisping up from the cigar in his fathers ash tray. He snapped out of his trance, and said, "Yeah I am. I have to go out sometime." He was staring at the long ash on the cigar. "I can't be afraid to live." "I may not be here later. Call me if you have any trouble." "Do you have an interview? Or work?" Joe asked. He knew his father wasn't sensitive about unemployment. He was not alone. Many people were looking for work. "No, I'm going down to have a beer. I've had enough today." His father eyes looked as if he had. "Sometimes you can just feel when you are wasting your time in your gut." Sergio put his hand on Joe's bicep. "My gut tells me good things about you. You're tough as nails." Joe replied in a deeper voice, "Thanks, Dad." He turned and walked from the room. He turned his head but couldn't see his dad through the cigar's growing smoke cloud. He clicked the screen door shut behind him. Joe loved his dad but could not spend too much time with him. It was not in his nature to provide the level of emotional support his dad needed. Joe wondered if his dad would ever get over the death of his mother. I know I won't, he thought. Joe walked up to the front door of Lucy's house. He reached up and used the wrought iron door knocker. The metal clank pierced the soundless expanse of weekday suburban sprawl. The wooden door creaked open an inch. "Oh, hi Joe," Lucy uttered groggily. She rattled the chain and pulled the door fully open. "I fell asleep," she said, pushing her dark brown frazzled hair away from her face. She stumbled back inside and Joe followed her. She turned around and hugged him, "I'm so glad you're okay." Her warm body distracted him from thoughts of his dad. It felt good to be touched. He had not felt a woman physically comfort him since the crash. He hugged Lucy back. Their embrace lingered a little longer than normal. Maybe she didn't notice, but Joe did. "I'll be right back, and then we'll go." Lucy smiled. Joe sat down and watched her leave the room. Lucy was twenty-seven years old, not that you could tell. She posed as a convincing teenager, of medium height and athletic build. She carried herself out of the room in a feminine lighthearted way, swimming a little in her light loose shirt. He watched her figure, but knew better, Lucy was a focused mature woman. Joe was sure he would never let himself have feelings for her other than friendship. She wouldn't want it any other way. A minute later, she strode in the room donning her older blue "A Team" shirt. The new shirts would eventually read "Team A", since they officially changed the name. The Cyborg Wars producer got a nasty call from a lawyer claiming trademark infringement. They ended up sarcastically correcting the announcer during every interview. As a cheap shot, the announcer read the name in the original order at every interview, only to be corrected by a team member. Their elaborate plan turned into Team A's very own trademark of sorts. Joe was surprised they hadn't been told to stop. Joe said, "We'd better keep winning, or we'll have to make new shirts." Lucy fumbled through a desk drawer by the door. Gritting her teeth, she pulled some keys on a stretchy chain free from the overflowing drawer. "Okay lets go." "Were you planning on going to the shop?" Joe said, a little perplexed by the shirt. "No, we really need to go soon though." She glanced at the A on top of her breasts, "Cyborg wars have been pretty accommodating, but they can't keep us out of the lineup past next week." "Crap." Joe muttered. He recalled his idea to modify the cyborg in the car three weeks ago. He began to imagine the cross member supports again. How many holes was I going to drill again, he wondered.

Lucy saw the telltale idle stare. "Worry about that stuff tomorrow," she said. "Where is Finny, isn't she coming?" Joe asked, looked at Lucy out of the corner of his eye. "I left her at her grandmother's last night. I need a break." Joe thought that was a little strange. The crew liked answering Finny's endless questions, and she liked watching the team build stuff. She wasn't a troublesome kid. Moping a little, Joe led the way out the door. Lucy clicked the button on her key chain and the lights blinked on a black van across the street. Joe heard the engine turn over. They climbed into the shinny windowless van, and Lucy clicked on the broadcast radio. A love song was playing. Joe flipped through the stations. "I hate the radio," he muttered, "Internet stuff is better." "Then why do you turn it on?" Lucy smiled knowingly. He clicked the tuner button and stumbled onto the weather. "Today it will be sunny and forty-one, a little cool and clear tonight at thirty-two degrees," the announcer paused, "In Seattle, forty six unruly protesters were arrested today, twelve were held on charges of disrupting a police investigation into potential terrorist activity." A new voice began. "When we tried to arrest the suspects for breaking and entering, thirty five students attempted to physically block the law officers." Joe drowned out the quiet radio. "The announcer can't even count," he sounded frustrated. Lucy suddenly slammed on the brakes. The van rapidly decelerated on the dry side street. Joe looked up to see a man in front of the van. The van stopped it's dive a few feet before the man. The man was wearing tight, dirty clothing. He stared right at Lucy. The man tried to look surprised, but looked too calm. "What are you trying to kill me?" the man yelled. "Uhh." Lucy just groaned. Joe leaned out his window, "What do you think this is, buddy? Huh? A free lunch? I saw the look on your face." Joe knew it was an attempted insurance scam, albeit a painful one. The man may have even wanted to steal the van. It was not uncommon for staged accidents to turn into car jacking. Joe stared the man down. His eyes widened and his knuckles turned white from his clenched fists. After sizing Joe up, the man stormed away. Joe continued to stare at him as the stranger quickened his pace to a jog. Joe had learned to communicate physically in way he could not with words. "Quick! What where you thinking?" Lucy asked. "You could have gotten us killed." Lucy was clearly shook up, she rarely called him by his nickname. Joe had earned the nickname "Quick" in high school. He had the best reflexes and was the fastest runner. He had to be, in order to keep his secret. "There are two guys behind the shrubs over there," Joe pointed. "And the look on the guy's face wasn't right. It was an ambush." Lucy looked at him wide eyed, but said nothing. "I had to trust my gut. If I was right..." he paused. "Okay," she said, "I'm glad you were here." Lucy pulled away from the intersection. "Lotsa desperate people lately." Joe interrupted her while she merged onto the parkway. "Lucy?" "Yes." "Why did you form the team?" Joe was thinking aloud. "I guess it was my gut," Lucy smiled. "You seemed focused on the mechanical aspects of robotics." "You mentioned something about men, ambition, competition," his voice sounded weak and unsure. "How do you see me? As a friend?" "Sure, Joe," Lucy said sheepishly. "No, really." "Really. If you want to quit the team, I understand. This is risky business for you." Lucy looked sincere. He paused. He hadn't even considered quitting the "A" Team. Not only did he need the creative output for his mechanical abilities, but it was less dangerous than his day job. "That's not what I meant. I need the money, and it's easier than Sun Auto." Joe paused, I have to trust her. What choice do I have, he thought. "Would you drop the team for me?" he asked. "Why?" "No, it's not like that," Joe paused. "I did something crazy." "Yeah you flipped you car, blew it up and almost died twice." "No.... Yeah... That last thing. Don't you wonder about that?" "What?" "That I almost died twice," Joe said. "Your aunt said there were was complications." "The complication was they shut the nanites off."

Lucy's eyes widened. "They put nanites in you? They have medical nanites? I thought they could only be built for a vacuum?" "So did I. This guy told my aunt to shut them off. But before they did, I stole some by draining my blood into my cell phone." Lucy paused. Wide eyed she asked, "Where's the phone?" "Mark has it." "Holy crap." "Yeah." They both sat and soaked in the implications. "Mark's gonna flip." Lucy started. "We have to be careful," Joe paused, "Amman is crashing with him. I don't trust him not to actually start some Jihad with them." "No, me either. He needs too much acceptance. He isn't sure of himself. Like he might say too much if he opens up." Lucy paused again, "Quick, you rock!"

Mark opened his apartment door. He was grinning. "Holy shit, Joe you are the coolest guy on the whole planet!" Mark exclaimed. "Cool, right?" Joe said. Joe was amazed that Mark already knew. "What are you guys talking about?" Lucy asked hesitantly. "The nanites!" Mark exclaimed smiling. "Uh how did you know?" Lucy asked pointedly. "I never told him." Joe said. "I've seen them," said Mark. "What? How?" Lucy asked. "A microscope, duh." "How big are they?" Joe asked. "About a tenth the size of a red blood cell in a ball shape. They look really far out." "Wow, cool. Do they do anything? I'm not even sure why they were in me," Joe said. "Why don't we go inside instead of broadcasting this to your neighbors?" Lucy half whispered. "Oh right, yeah," Mark said sheepishly. Joe and Lucy followed Mark inside. The living room was bathed in earth tones. There were many red rugs with tan and brown patterns. All the furniture was covered with intricate carvings. A gray stone Buddha watched them from the far wall. After Mark closed the door, Lucy turned to him, "Mark, where is Amman?" "He is over at the shop..."