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  The Deal

  Michael Palmer

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  The Deal

  Michael Palmer

  There is a defining moment in every life—only one—that changes the course of that life forever. For me, that moment came the day I decided to rob the Harpy.

  Knowing what I know now, of course, I wish I could wind the tape back and do it differently. I suppose everyone feels that way sometimes. Knowledge can be a powerful thing, for good or bad. But you have to get the balance just right. Either a little too much, or not quite enough, can be a real problem. I’ve had a lot of time to think about what went wrong, where I made my mistake. Why is it that you learn the really important lessons when it’s too late?

  The Harpy had a real name. Maybe it was Harper, something like that. But from when I was born until I finally left that god-forsaken town at the age of twenty-four, she had been the Harpy. She owned most of the hill she lived on top of, and everybody in town knew she had money hidden in that huge house. Logan was an old mill town and the house on the hill had at one time belonged to the man who owned the mill. Now, no mill, no hope, and, for me, no way out.

  The big change in my life began the day Bobby Petrie drove back into town to visit his mother. The only thing hotter than the fire-engine-red Corvette he was driving was the blonde in the tube top and push-up bra sitting next to him. The stuff dreams are made of. At least in Logan. Bobby was five or six years older than I was, and he was responsible for bringing me into the Rabid Dogs, the toughest gang in town. A few years earlier, Bobby had disappeared. He left town without telling anyone where he was going or why. Turns out, he had been in Vegas. We didn’t talk long, but he told me that he had parlayed the proceeds of a liquor store stickup into part-ownership of a small casino somewhere off the strip.

  A couple months after Bobby first left, I had tried something similar and wouldn’t you know, ended up doing a year of hard time. Some guys have all the luck. Me, I’ll die before I spend another day in prison. But I needed to get out of this town and I decided that the surest ticket out was the Harpy’s fortune. For as long as I could remember, there were stories about the woman and stories about the house. Strange sounds late at night, that sort of thing. One kid claimed that he had peeked in the window and seen the woman floating in the air with a giant snake wrapped around her. She spotted him, raised a hand, and damn near choked him to death. I don’t know exactly what a Harpy is, but everyone knew that she was some kind of witch.

  I cased the house on the hill for three days and didn’t see anybody going in or coming out. I didn’t see the Harpy either, but I knew she was in there because the lights would come on at night and stay on until exactly midnight. That’s how I settled on two in the morning as the best time to move. I went in through the back. I thought that I’d have to break a window, but she hadn’t even locked the door. I guess she figured she didn’t have to. Who in their right mind would rob a witch?

  I figured that I’d search the house from the bottom up. The last place I’d look would be her bedroom. I had my seven-inch switchblade in my pocket, and I figured that would be more than enough to handle an old lady. If she wouldn’t tell me where the money was, I wasn’t afraid to do what had to be done. I know how that sounds. But like I said, I was desperate. I wasn’t entirely certain what I was looking for. It could have been piles of money, gold coins, or jewels. But I was positive that somewhere in the house was a treasure that would transform my life.

  The moment I swung the beam of my flashlight around the living room, I knew I would have to change my plan. The rooms on the first floor were so cluttered that I could have searched for a week without being certain I hadn’t missed something important. One wall of the living room was covered by shelves packed with books, many written in foreign languages, along with stacks of yellowed paper. On one of the lower shelves were a human skull and scattered bones, some that looked human and some that seemed like they were from small animals. All around the room were grotesque statues carved from a blood-red stone. Two huge couches were almost buried beneath more books and papers. By the drawn curtains was a dummy made of heavy wire and shaped like a woman’s body. A black jacket was draped across its shoulders. Large paintings hung on the walls in heavy gold frames.

  The dining room table was set for eight, but there was a thick layer of dust on the plates and the silverware was tarnished black. I decided that the only answer was to go right up to the old lady’s bedroom and make her tell me where she had hidden the treasure. Suddenly, the huge chandelier turned on and I was standing there holding a flashlight in a room lit as bright as day. I turned to find the Harpy standing right behind me wearing a white silk nightgown. She was calm and as cool as frost. Her hair was long and white and thin. I could see the bumps of her skull underneath. Her face was narrow and she had a mole on one cheek. There really was nothing about her that should have frightened me, but I almost bolted from the house right then. Now, I wish I had.

  Instead, I pulled the switchblade from my pocket and flipped it open. Unless she gave me no choice, I didn’t want to do more than scare her, so I kept the blade down low where she could see it.

  “Hello, John,” she said.

  She knew my name! I raised the knife as though she had just pulled one of her own.

  “How do you know who I am?”

  “I know things,” she replied. If she was at all afraid of the knife that I held inches away from her, she didn’t show it.

  “I hope that one of those things is where you keep your money. Otherwise, this could be a long night for you.”

  “I’m sorry,” she replied. “I know what they say in the town. But there is no treasure hidden here. There was, of course, but it’s long gone. What’s left is hardly enough to maintain this house. I’ve been selling off pieces from my various collections over the years, but I’m afraid interest in those items is limited to… specialists. There’s nothing here for you.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I said.

  I stepped closer to her and pushed the tip of the blade up against the side of her neck. She seemed completely unconcerned. I pressed the knife more firmly against her neck. Still, she didn’t draw back. I might as well have been threatening her with a rolled-up newspaper.

  “There’s nothing here for you,” she repeated. “But perhaps I can offer you something else of value.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, losing my patience.

  “A deal,” she suggested.

  “What kind of deal?”

  “Knowledge,” she said. “The kind of knowledge that some men would kill for. Lower that knife, spare my life, and in exchange I will tell you the exact moment you will die—the day, the hour, the minute—even the second if you so desire.”

  I don’t know why, but I believed her. I was not a superstitious man. I walked under ladders without a second thought. I had broken my share of mirrors. I did not believe in God.

  Even so, I believed the Harpy. Maybe it was because she knew my name without being told. Maybe it was because she was unafraid of the knife I was holding at her neck. But I think it was her eyes. There was something in those eyes that persuaded me that she could make good on
her part of the deal.

  At first, what she was offering gave me the creeps. What if she told me that I was going to die tomorrow? What would I do with that? What if tomorrow came and I didn’t die? What then? I supposed I could pay a return visit to the old lady.

  “If I make the deal, and I don’t like the answer, is there anything I can do to change the date?”

  “I can only foresee the day of your death. As to whether you can change it, you cannot. Your fate is just that.”

  My head began to spin. Until the day came, I would be immortal. I understood why she had said that there were those who would kill for this knowledge.

  “Alright, witch. We have a deal.” I lowered the knife.

  The Harpy reached out and took the switchblade. I did not resist. Turning my hand over, she slashed across my palm with the sharp blade so quickly that I cried out more from surprise than from any pain.

  Blood oozed from the shallow gash. The witch ran her right index finger through it. Instantly, I felt a surge of energy run up my arm like an electric current. She raised the blood-smeared fingertip to her mouth and pressed it against her tongue. Her eyes became milky white and rolled back in their sockets. A weird moan rose from far back in her throat.

  The witch’s left hand still gripped my arm. Her fingers went cold, clutching my wrist like icy talons… like the hand of death.

  After only a moment, her fingers regained their warmth and her eyes returned to normal. The electric feeling in my arm vanished.

  She looked at me as if nothing had happened.

  “Last chance,” she said. Her voice was as it had been.

  “You mean you know?”

  She nodded.

  “Then tell me,” I said. “Tell me now.”

  “You will die on a Saturday,” she said. “In the month of September. The twenty-first of September. At 11:35 p.m.”

  “The year, Harpy! Tell me the year.”

  “Two thousand and seventy-five,” she replied.

  “Yes!”

  Two thousand seventy-five. I did the math. I will be shot to death by a jealous husband at the ripe old age of eighty-six. I can live with that.

  “Now leave my house,” the Harpy said. “And never return.”

  “Tell me the date again.”

  “September 21, 2075. 11:35 p.m.”

  “That’s like living forever.”

  “Some might say that.” She dropped my knife on the floor, turned, and walked up the stairs.

  I spent three days planning my next move. The Harpy had given me an incredibly valuable piece of knowledge. Now, I had to make use of it. Profit from it. Bobby Petrie had made his fortune in Las Vegas, and if it was good enough for him then it was good enough for me. But, I would need seed money for the move and I wasn’t going to risk going to prison to get it. I was immortal. I could take enormous risks with my life, but not with my freedom. The answer was Turk Winslow, the biggest drug dealer in Logan. Before I went to jail, I had done some bill collecting and some low-level dealing for Turk. I knew that every Tuesday, he paid off his distributors from a room in the Starlight Motel that he rented year-round, peeling hundred-dollar bills from a stack the size of a brick. Turk was a violent son-of-a-bitch, but the one thing he would never do is involve the police in his business.

  It was even easier than I thought it would be. I bought a cheap pistol off one of the Rabid Dogs and took it to Turk’s room at the Starlight. Ordinarily, Turk never went anywhere without two oversized bodyguards, but this Tuesday—for whatever reason—he was on his own. I was lucky. No. I was more than lucky. I was immortal. Turk looked into my eyes and saw the complete absence of fear. He turned over the money without a word of complaint.

  Turk’s brick was my seed money. My ticket to glory.

  I flew to Vegas, bought a Corvette, black instead of red, and checked into the Bellagio. The next day, I looked up Bobby Petrie. I found him in his office at the Boneyard, a combination low-rent casino and even lower-rent strip club.

  I told Bobby that I was looking for a big score and I wasn’t afraid of danger. Did he know anyone who had anything that would fit the bill? As a matter of fact, he did. Bobby and his partner had a little problem that they needed taken care of. They were having a “business disagreement” with a relative newcomer from Hong Kong. Kai Fang was fronting in Vegas for the Chinese mob. The Boneyard was going to be their foot in the door and they wanted it at a steep discount. Fang had made clear that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Bobby offered me more money than I had ever dreamed of to make Fang go away… permanently.

  Fang was always surrounded by heavily armed men, and the only place he was ever alone was inside his penthouse apartment. Two men were on guard in the lobby and two more outside his door. But I had no intention of going through the front. I was always a damn good athlete and even before I became immortal I was never afraid of heights. I actually worked as a roofer one summer. Fang’s building was perfect for climbing, with gaps between the stones that made for easy handholds. I climbed straight up the face with my new SIG 220 tucked in my waistband. Fang made it easy for me by walking to within three feet of where I was perched on the ledge outside his window. Two quick shots and I was $50,000 richer.

  After that, the jobs started coming and I earned a reputation as a man willing to take risks. Significant risks. The jobs weren’t just in Vegas. Over the next year, I traveled the world on business, always taking the most dangerous jobs with the highest payoff. Why not?

  I had everything I wanted. Cars, a boat, a suite you wouldn’t believe in the Bellagio. There was only one thing missing. The girl. Bobby’s blonde was pretty, or at least sexy, but she had no class. I was looking for better, much better. Veronica Chambers had it all. Looks, style, and money. I met her at a party that Steve Wynn threw at the Mirage and we hit it off immediately. She said I had a certain confidence that she found attractive. Immortality will do that for a guy.

  Within six weeks, I knew I wanted to marry her. I bought a ten-carat diamond from Harry Winston. There was only one way to deliver the ring to her. She lived on the eighth floor of the Tantalus, the most desirable high-rise in the city. And she had a balcony.

  It was a cool, moonless April evening. There was a slight wind, but not enough to bother me. Piece of cake. The balconies were staggered up the face of the building in such a way that I could jump from the railing of one to catch the rails on the balcony of the apartment on the floor above.

  I was smiling at what I knew her reaction would be and anticipating the scene that ended with her enthusiastic “yes.” With Veronica, I would have everything.

  One floor… two… I felt strong and sure of myself. The stone and steel were cool on my fingers as I climbed. Three… four… five. I knew she would be home. It had been an exhausting day, and she had told me that she was planning on turning in at 11:00. By 10:45, I was dangling from the balcony railing on the sixth floor. I could feel the ring in its velvet box pressing against my side. The sensation gave me even more strength. I swung my legs up to catch the railing on the seventh floor. No problem. God bless you, Harpy.

  Maybe it was thoughts of the old woman. Maybe it was thoughts of Veronica. Maybe it was visions of my future. Maybe it was an image from the past. Whatever it was, I became distracted and in a second I felt my grip slip as I reached for Veronica’s balcony railing. Before I could react, I was falling through the cool Vegas air. Even as I fell, I was certain that something would save me. It had to. I was immortal. I held onto this certainty right up until the point where I slammed into the topmost branches of one of the trees by the front entrance. Then, there was only blackness.

  I awoke in darkness. My first thought was that I was dead. That the Harpy had been wrong. Then I realized that I had made it after all. The darkness remained, but I could hear voices. One of them was Veronica’s. I tried to call out to her, but found that I couldn’t speak.

  “The news is about as bad as it could be, Ms. Chambers,” I heard a man say. �
�Our tests show severe brain damage and a complete transection of the spinal cord at the third cervical vertebra. But at the moment, his heart and lungs are surprisingly strong. With proper medical care, I see no reason why he shouldn’t live.”

  About the Author

  Michael Palmer, medical thriller author and physician, died unexpectedly on October 30, 2013. Palmer wrote eighteen novels of medical and political suspense, all international bestsellers. In addition to writing, he served as an associate director of the Massachusetts Medical Society Physician Health Services, devoted to helping physicians troubled by mental illness, physical illness, behavioral issues, and chemical dependency. His nineteenth novel, Resistant, was released on May 20, 2014.

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