Consequences (m, m/m)

[LeapYearKisses]

Something else I wrote on Tumblr.  This is complete, although I know it begs for more.  I'm not committed to writing the novella that goes with this.  ANYWAY.  A short summary:  a crooked scientist and a black-market doctor end up fleeing from some consequences.

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Murasaki Aritomo lifted the small white pill and examined it with a critical eye.  It looked no different than an aspirin or a breath mint, so innocuous as to be almost unbelievable.  But he was running out of options.  There wasn’t a lot of time to arrange anything different, and he wasn’t sure now whether there was any other course of action that wouldn’t land him in prison.  “This pill will make me sick?”

“It will, I can promise you that.”  The drug’s purveyor, Paul Gascoigne, had been Murasaki’s classmate in undergrad, although while Murasaki had gone into research chemistry, Gascoigne had pursued medicine.  Or at least black-market pharmacology.  He looked the part of a doctor, dressed in a bespoke black suit and a white lab coat for effect, although his bright ginger hair brought a touch of life to the somber outfit.  “Flu symptoms for a week, starting about six hours after taking it.”  He shook the unlabeled bottle in his hand.  “If you double up, the symptoms get worse and last longer.  I’ll even give you a discount.”

Murasaki eyed the bottle, then shook his head.  “No, I only need to be unavailable for the length of the Summit.”

Gascoigne smiled in a manner befitting a fox.  “Yes, I’d heard on the grapevine there’s some nasty business with the LiveBetter plastics.  Are you seeking new employment opportunities?”

Murasaki produced his wallet.  “I’ll give you an extra €50 to stop asking me questions.”

“Deal.” Gascoigne slipped the bottle back into an inner pocket and got up from where he’d been leaning against the wall.  He held out a hand for the money and didn’t make a secret of counting it before hiding that away as well.  “Pleasure doing business with you,” he said.  “While I have your attention, may I just say that my doors are always open if you’d like to seek out other opportunities as well.”

“I’m married,” snapped Murasaki, automatically running his thumb over the place where his wedding band used to be.

“Ah, young love,” Gascoigne said, mocking.  “You know, she’s a decade gone to Monaco, or Dubai, or wherever it is these days where they pay for high-class whor-”

“Get out.”

Gascoigne spread his hands.  “On my way.”  He turned on his heel and left the office, letting the glass-fronted door swing shut behind him.  Murasaki glared at his retreating back until it was gone, then glared at the door itself.  White frosted writing identified his sins.

Aritomo Murasaki, Ph.D.  Senior Project Lead, LiveBetter Development Group

He’d shredded all of his files already, but he checked the desk once more to be sure.  His money was in Switzerland.  Everything else he wanted to keep he’d put into a slim silver suitcase.  He wouldn’t be coming back here, God willing. The pill sat on top of his desk.  He swallowed it with a mouthful of whiskey from the decanter underneath.  With luck, he could make his excuses the next morning to the relevant people and be on his way out of the country by evening.

——

Murasaki reached his room at the Holiday Inn just past midnight.  He put his suitcase by the door and stripped to his shirtsleeves and boxer-briefs before going into the bathroom to splash some water on his face.  He’d always been one to keep up appearances for the investors, but after all the late nights and alcohol he was starting to look wan.  He rubbed his eyes, pushing up his glasses.  He hadn’t expected that, at 37, his life would be self-destructing in such a public manner.  As soon as the environmental compliance reports were brought up in front of the EU, the company would throw him under the bus and that would be that.

Not that he didn’t deserve it.  He drew away from the mirror and back into the darkened bedroom.  He’d been present for almost every step of the process.  His initial warnings had fallen on deaf ears, and then… well, the money had been too good.  Little bit of poison leeching into the Black Sea… who cared when he could drive a new Mercedes every two years?

“Lead me not into temptation,” he mumbled, laying down on the bed closest to the exit.  Maybe he should have stuck with the whole religion thing after Satine had left, but he hadn’t been too fond of faith in the months after.  He touched his ring finger again.  He knew he was a fool.  Gascoigne was right, if insufferable.  He closed his eyes.  Unbidden, the man’s face came to him.  Always looking sly and fit, he’d cut a dashing figure in college, too.  They’d made out once, twice… Murasaki had already been married then, but a little bit of beer and bisexual guilt had motivated a slip here and there.  He’d never felt like he was “settling” for Satine - in fact, he’d loved her quite dearly - but he’d always been afraid of missing out.

He was too tired to touch himself, so he forced Gascoigne from his mind.

He set an alarm for 5 AM.  That would give him enough time to contact the VP.  Hopefully by then the pill would have kicked in so it didn’t seem like he was shirking.  Of course, everyone would know why he wasn’t there soon enough, but he’d have a head start.  He felt fine at the moment, if stressed.  It had been four hours.

For the price he’d paid, Gascoigne had better not have ripped him off.

——

Five o’clock came too quickly.  Murasaki groped for his phone on the bedside table, slapping at it uncoordinatedly to turn off the alarm.  The room was still pitch black.  He groaned.

The doctor hadn’t been playing him; he felt awful.  His head was heavy and his limbs ached dully - perhaps he was already running a fever?  His mouth was dry, and when he tried to moisten it he realized why: he couldn’t breathe through his nose at all.  Rubbing it produced no relief, just an irritating shift of congestion in his sinus that led to sharp gasp and a rushed sneeze.

“Hahkyusht!”  He caught it against his wrist, and the next two in his palms.  “Hhkyuschtt!  Hgkktschkt!”  Head throbbing, he wiped saliva and snot on the sheets and got out of bed.  He’d seen a tissue box on the toilet tank last night and was in great need of it.

The fluorescent overhead light set him cursing when he flicked it on.  It felt like high beams stabbing him in the face after a particularly intemperate night of drinking.  He shielded his eyes with one arm and grabbed a handful of tissues to crush against his nose.  He was going to sneeze again.  He could feel an itch clawing deep inside his left nostril.  He squinted against it, trying to take shallow breaths, but it didn’t help.  “Hahgktsciutsz!”

The tissues were a mess already, but he tried to blow his nose.  That lead to coughing, too, and he found himself leaning over the sink, trying to get his bearings.  “The fuck did you put in that pill?” he growled to himself.  Surely not a live virus?  The consequences would be staggering.  And not just because he felt himself a little dizzy and unsteady on his feet.  It would be easy to transport pills across borders, easy to disguise them as something harmless - they already looked it.  Influenza was already one of the most deadly of epidemics.  What if Gascoigne could take TB, rabies, ebola and weaponize it marketed as aspirin or loperamide??

In the mirror, his gray eyes were wide and Murasaki could see even without his glasses that he was sweating.  He shivered.  Right.  Things were getting out of hand.  He was just feverish and letting his tension take over.

He took the tissues back into the room with him and returned to the bed.  He just had to make a few calls and then get out.  Everything would be fine.  He could make flight arrangements in the taxi and then be on his way back to Japan faster than you could say “non-extradition country.”  

It was 5:12.  The VP picked up on the third ring.  “Dr. Murasaki?” she asked, sounding like she hadn’t had her coffee yet.  “What is it?”

“Good morning, ma’am.”  He didn’t have to force the coughing that followed.  “I realize it’s terrible timing…”

“You sound awful.”  

He coughed again in agreement.  “I feel awful.  I’m nih- not sure I’ll make it to the convention center.”  He pinched his nose, at least until he could feel the sneeze cresting.  Then he let it out, not too far from his phone’s microphone.   “Hahkgtschgt!”  Mess painted his lips and he struggled to breathe past it for a moment.

“Santé!” She was too polite to sound appalled, but she was quick to dismiss him.  “We’ll miss you at the luncheon and awards ceremony.” 

“Oh, I don’t mind,” he said, through more tissues.  “The team is just as deserving of recognition for this as I am.”

“Yes, of course.  I will pass on news of your absence to the event coordinators.”   In the end, it didn’t really matter to her whether the scientists behind the company’s products were there or not, just that the presentation was made on time and the right people (her) made the right headlines.  Someone would make sure the info made it to the European stage.  And that someone would not be Murasaki.  He didn’t envy whoever was left with the data.  He didn’t even know if anyone else who was there from the company knew exactly what they meant.  But the audience would.

He was free, though, for now.  He thanked her and hung up, then let the phone fall from his hand to the pillows.  “Hah… haah-”  If he could leave off sneezing for twenty minutes, he would be golden…  His nostrils flared, and he fumbled for more tissues as the right started running, worsening the irritation to an unbearable degree.  “Hakgschtgnx!  Nktscgshx!”  His ears rang and he dropped to lay back on the bed.  He hadn’t felt this bad since back in college, junior finals week, when he’d stayed up for four days and then been bedridden for just as long.  His nose felt raw already.  Even his eye sockets hurt.  He lay his arm back over his face, enjoying how cool it felt on his forehead.

He would just close his eyes for a minute.  For one minute, he would try to will away the pain and heat.

——

“HEY!”

Murasaki startled awake to the sound of fists raining down against the door.  He tried to kick out at an assailant, caught the sheet, and struggled until he found himself on the floor.  Threadbare carpeting pressed into his cheek and he tried desperately to remember where he was.  Not the office.  Not his apartment in Montmartre.  He forced himself to sit up and had to lean against the bed to stay upright.

He was in a hotel, he finally remembered. He was staying here before he left the city.  Just a few phone calls to make- no, he’d called the VP.  The room was awash in the orange light of fading afternoon.  His stomach twisted.  That wasn’t right.

The pounding hadn’t stopped, but by the time Murasaki thought he might be able to address it, whoever was outside had forced their way in.  He expected a horde of angry journalists, armed with cameras and microphones like on TV, but it was only one man.  Gascoigne, he thought.  It took him a moment to place the man without his glasses, but that hair…

“What are you doing?!” Gascoigne practically shouted.  He shoved the door closed again and used Murasaki’s suitcase to keep it from swinging.  “You’re still in Paris?  There’s an uproar!  They were showing parts of the Summit live, you know.”  He grabbed Murasaki’s elbow and yanked him to his feet.  “I wasn’t sure whether Le Monde or Greenpeace would get you first, but it’s much worse than that.”  No lab coat today, Murasaki noted distractedly.  Jeans and a bomber jacket.  Did black-market doctors get weekends?

He tried to free his arm and failed.

“I can’t believe you’re still here,” Gascoigne was saying still.  He shook the smaller man.  “Idiot.  Did you hear what I said?  The Russian mafia put out a hit on you!  Hey!”  He grabbed Murasaki by the nape.  “They found out LiveBetter is behind the collapse of their fishing interests in the Black Sea.  This is all over the deep web.  Hey.”  He shook Murasaki again.  “What’s wrong with you??”

Murasaki pressed his hand against Gascoigne’s chest, tried to push away from him.  “You,” he said.  “You poisoned me, or s- somethih- Hahktsch! Haktschngx!”

“Christ.”  Gascoigne let him go.  

Murasaki lifted his hands.  “Hgkttschzx!  You… what is this?  I’m burning up.” He was shivering, too.  He felt sick and dizzy.  “I must have passed out.”

“Yeah, you look like shit,” said Gascoigne.  He shrugged at Murasaki’s glare.  “What?  Sometimes it hits harder for people if they haven’t taken it before.  S’not exactly FDA approved.”

Murasaki collected more tissues and blew his nose.  “How did you find me?”  This was not good.  He’d be stopped at the airport, probably.  The mafia had connections all over Europe.

“Your phone.”  Gascoigne had picked it up off the pillow.  “You have… sixty missed calls and messages.  Wow.”  He dropped the device unceremoniously behind the bed.  “Yeah, we’re leaving that here.  Get dressed.”

“‘We’?” Murasaki tossed the used tissues to the carpet and started trying to button his shirt.  His pants were where he’d left them, and he picked them up, leaning against the wall dizzily as he tried to get them on one leg and then the other.

Gascoigne moved the blinds aside and took stock of the street outside.  “Yes, ‘we.’  I didn’t come after you for my own health.  Get going.  Where are your shoes?”

The two of them, led by Gascoigne, left out the back stairwell.  Gascoigne had parked an unassuming tan Renault at the sidewalk and he pushed Murasaki into the passenger seat before taking the wheel and driving out of the courtyard.  After only minutes, the car blended seamlessly in with the local traffic.  “We’ll head to Germany for now.  I’m sure the mafia has people at Charles de Gaulle.   When we get a chance, maybe Brazil?”  He was driving admirably despite the pressure he’d put himself under.  Not drawing the attention of anyone.

It didn’t occur to Murasaki, with how terrible he was feeling, to ask why Gascoigne had actually come for him until they were close to the border.  “I mean, you didn’t have to get involved,” he said.  “No one would have connected our names.”  He was looking up at Gascoigne’s face from under his bangs.  The car window was nicely cold against his temple.

Gascoigne glanced over to him and rolled his eyes.  “You’re an idiot.”

There was a silence.  Murasaki coughed.  “Is that it??”

Gascoigne didn’t meet his gaze, focusing on the highway ahead.  “You didn’t think I was just hitting on you to piss you off, did you?”

Murasaki frowned, then looked away.  “Oh.”

“You don’t have to answer me,” Gascoigne said, voice carefully neutral.  “I’m doing this because I want to.”  He reached down and turned on the radio.  The point was clear: no discussion was to be had at this time.

Murasaki stared out at the passing countryside and tried to get a handle on the mix of emotions churning inside him.  Fear, gratitude, helplessness, lust… he couldn’t think through the fever and eventually gave in to a numbing haze.  With luck, he would live long enough to figure out what he wanted a day, a week, a month from now…

Gascoigne kept driving.

[facet]

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Edited October 31, 2019 by facet
Removed by user.

[M214186]

I hope you continue this 

[LeapYearKisses]

@facet Ahhhh, thank you!  It's very flattering to hear that I've inspired anyone in any way. ;__;  Please do write more!  I guess I've been blessed with a sudden period of inspiration.  I'm on a roll.   And thank you for noticing; I do try to vary up the style of what I've been writing.  I like to read a variety of different genres, so I hope to bring that to my writing as well!

@M214186  I'm glad you enjoyed this bit!  I might brainstorm some more for this, but I don't think I'll write a whole lot more.  It would require a whole story to resolve this, and I've got a very short attention span.

[Agaba]

I just love this! I'm melting 😍

[LeapYearKisses]

@Agaba Thank for commenting!  I'm super glad you enjoyed it!