VII – Mr. Cox

Something to ease the pain

Pain is liberating. Once you learn how to support it, you’ll learn how to control it and then there will be no limits to what you can accomplish.

I used to have that sort of power when I worked at The Centre. My background as a medical doctor – Chief-Surgeon in Nairobi Hospital until I was arrested for performing experiments on pregnant women – matched the Centre’s interests. (I was also a wonderful acquisition to The Centre's Curling Team. I killed at the Annual Curling Secret Organizations Tournament.)

Werner Krieg was the one responsible for my release from prison. He came to pay me a visit, although I’m still a bit confused about that, since most of the visitors came in for free. (I may be frightening, but I'm also funny. You should see me doing improv.)

Anyway, at first, I thought he was my aunt from Germany, but then I remembered her beard wasn’t that short.

“We need your services, doctor Cox,” he said.

“Listen pal, I heard that kind of talk before around here. You’re not getting lucky with me.”

“We know about your experiments on pregnant women.”

“So? Everyone who went to my trial knows that. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn't for it.”

“Actually, you were convicted because what you did was illegal, not because people found out about it.”

“Banana shamana.”

He sighed, annoyed. “Does your stupidity equal your skills?”

“People say I’m very skilful, yes.”

“That's not what I was asking, but all right.”

My real life began at that moment. The Centre rescued me from life in prison and took me to The Triumvirate headquarters where I received a job as Head of the Bio-Medical Department.

Climbing the stairwell of power was not a difficult task for a man of my fibber. Of course, I had to make sacrifices along the way, like giving up my macrame lessons. It was a great loss for the world of needlecraft, but a huge benefit for the world of science. Especially if it involved scientific experiments on human guinea pigs.

Lucky for me, those sacrifices paid off.

Unlucky for me, it has all come to an end.

The Centre and The Triumvirate were put out of business and I was forced to look for a job.

After spending almost a month checking ads in the newspapers I found something good enough for my qualifications – drugstore clerk.

I went to an interview and after making it clear to the owner that I would extract his eyes with my bare hands unless he didn’t give me the job, he was quite happy to accept me.

“I have one condition only,” he said.

“What?”

“You’ll have to wear a tag with your full name printed on it.”

“Can’t we stick simply to Mr. Cox?”

“No. It’s part of my policy. Full name or no job.”

I insisted. But he was firm in his decision, even after I pulled one of his eyes out. (Tough guy, I'll give him that.) I had no choice but to accept it.

I don’t like my name. People make fun of it.

Edgar W. Cox. The “W” stands for Wheeny and I have killed everyone who laughed at it.

My job requirements didn’t differ much from what I did at The Centre. One thing was different, though. This time, I had to be… nice to people. Mind you, I’m not rude – as a matter of fact, I consider myself to be an extremely well-educated man – but to demonstrate genuine sympathy to every disgusting slob that came here to get its prescription was pushing the limits a bit too far.

Not a night goes by that I don't cry and apologize to my ancestors for betraying their memory. They were polite, but apathetic and cold-blooded. I know that the circumstances that lead me to this situation were not of my control, but I can’t help but feel ashamed.

Saturday was usually a quiet day. It was after lunch time and, even though I hadn’t taken a nap, I felt pretty relaxed. So far, it had been a quiet day. Only a couple of customers to attend. People were either too healthy or decided that curing a cold wasn't as important as avoiding me. I may no longer be Mr. Cox, but it was nice to know I could still inspire fear.

However, that moment of peacefulness was about to end. I was thinking about how good it would feel to fill out the wrong prescription to a customer. I often thought about doing stuff like that, but never got the nerve to actually do it. Not because of remorse or regret, but because I have a job to keep. I have to say I am a bit disappointed about this professional class’ sense of humor.

Suddenly, the bell rang announcing a new customer. I pasted my fake smile and prepared myself to attend this… person. He was in his early forties and his face looked familiar. I was fairly certain I knew that man. But from where?

“Hello, Dr. Cox,” he said. You work here now?”

No, I just like to be behind the counter. It's higher on this side.

“Do I know you?”

“It's Ted. I used to work at The Centre. I was guarding your office that time when Jarod came in through the vents and redecorated it.”

“Yes, you did a good job that time,” Cox replied sarcastically. “What will it be, then?”

“Don’t you wanna talk about the old times, doc?”

Doc?! You son of a—

“I can’t right now.”

“That’s a shame. Hey! You look taller!”

“It’s this step.” I wanna kill you so much. “How can I help you?”

“I’ve been having stomach aches since last night. I think it was that Chinese food. Did you went? Big opening last night. I tell you this: Lyle may be a good manager, but as a chef, he’s a total failure. I knew I should have said no when he said he was going to personally assist the confection of my meal.”

Serves you right, bonehead.

Then, he noticed the name tag and things simply collapsed.

“Wheeny? That’s your name?”

And he began laughing. I almost lost my nerve, but I managed to keep it cool and returned a smile. A real one.

“I’ve got just what you need.”

I went to a cabinet and took out a box of tablets. Some very special tablets.

“This will take care of your stomach aches.”

“It will end them for good?”

“It sure will.”

“Gee! Thanks, Wheeny!”

“My pleasure.”

He paid and left.

The next Monday, when I arrived at the store, I had some people waiting for me. Apparently, Ted had met his doctor during the weekend and showed him the tablets I’d sold him. The doctor didn’t like my choice and my boss wasn’t happy about it either.

“What do you have to say in your defense, Cox?”

“He said he was feeling stomach aches. That takes care of it.”

“It also would take care of his life,” the doctor said. “I analyzed one of this pills and they’re not approved by the FDA.”

“Maybe you should have analyzed another pill.”

“I did. But the point is, they’re not legal.”

“Not yet.”

“One of these pills can cause a cardiac arrest on a person suffering from stomach aches. Were you aware of this?”

“I should be. I made them myself.”

“You knew this would cause a cardiac arrest on my patient, didn’t you?”

“Where are you getting at?”

“I’m saying you deliberately gave these pills to my patient.”

“Not deliberately. I had other options to choose from.”

“So you gave him these pills...”

“I didn't give him anything. I sold them. Then he paid for it and left. End of story.”

“No, not end of story. It could have got him killed.”

“Look, he complained about stomach aches. If he had taken them as I told him to, would he continue to feel those aches?”

“If he had taken them, he would have died.”

“You’re avoiding the issue here.”

“You tried to kill him. Admit it!”

“I did what I thought was best. I can’t be concerned with every single aspect.”

“Cox?”

“Yes, Mr. Peterson?”

“You’re fired.”

THE END