Read Online Rules of Vengeance by Christopher Reich - Free Book Online

man.
    “Dr. Blackburn. It’s a pleasure.”
    They shook hands.
    “Good flight?” Blackburn was near sixty with dark, steadfast eyes and a no-nonsense manner. Jonathan liked him immediately.
    “Early if you can believe,” said Jonathan. “These days that’s more than you can ask for.”
    “Hotel taking care of you?”
    “It’s too much, really. You shouldn’t have gone to the expense. The bathroom alone…”
    “Like a Roman whorehouse. Between you and me, it suits my wife’s taste to a T I’m afraid you wouldn’t last long at my house.”
    Just then the woman returned with Jonathan’s name tag and pinned it to his blazer. While the other name tags were printed on three-by-five paper encased in translucent plastic, his looked half again as large and sported a blue ribbon.
    “You’re to wear it at all times,” the woman instructed. “Some of our members aren’t as good with names as one might like.”
    “Thanks.” Jonathan shot a horrified look at his chest. He was pinned like a prize hog at the county fair. He turned to speak to Blackburn, but the older man had disappeared into the crowd.
    The room was filling up. Jonathan observed that there were an equal number of male and female physicians present, most with their spouses in tow. All were dressed to the nines: the women in cocktail dresses, the men in dark suits. He headed to the bar and ordered a Stella. “No glass, thank you,” he said. The beer was ice cold, just as he liked it, and he quickly drank half the bottle. A trickle escaped the corner of his mouth and he wiped at it with his sleeve.
    “There is such a thing as a napkin,” came a crusty British voice from over his shoulder.
    “Excuse me, I—” Jonathan spun and looked into the face of a pleasantly chubby man with curly brown hair and merry blue eyes. “Jamie. What a surprise!”
    “If you ever want to join me on Harley Street, you’ll have to clean up your act,” said Jamie Meadows. “My patients prefer their surgeon sharp. White jacket, polished shoes. Goodness, are those desert boots you’re wearing?”
    Jonathan clutched Meadows in a bear hug. The two had been at Oxford together, each the recipient of a fellowship in reconstructive surgery, and had shared a flat on the High for twelve months.
    “What are you doing here?” Jonathan asked.
    “Think I’d miss a chance to lob a few tomatoes at my old roommate?” said Meadows as he pulled his own copy of the conference brochure from his pocket and slapped it in his open palm. “Continuing education. Your speech is going to earn me two hours of credit. I’ll give you fair warning. I’ve prepared several interesting questions guaranteed to raise a sweat when you’re on the dais.”
    Jonathan smiled. It was the same old Jamie. “How have you been?”
    “Not bad, all things considered,” said Meadows. “Been in private practice for six years now. I’m doing the cosmetic thing. Boobs, bums, and brows. Not enough hours in the day. I’ve got a surgical suite in the office.”
    “What happened to the National Health Service? I thought you were headed off to the wilds of Wales to be an Accident and Emergency doctor.”
    “Not Wales, Cornwall,” said Meadows in an injured tone. “Didn’t last six months. The government’s awful. Won’t pay for a new kidney, let alone a new pair of knockers. What’s a man with ambition to do?” He placed a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder and pulled him close. “I wasn’t kidding about the job. There’s plenty of room in my shop if you decide to cross the street. Hours are long but the pay’s handsome. Actually, it’s more than that. Pru and I just bought a little shack in St. Tropez.”
    “I didn’t know they had shacks in St. Tropez.”
    “They don’t. They charge you a million quid and call them villas.”
    The two stood looking at each other, calculating the changes the years’ passage had wrought. In his worn flannels and blazer, Jonathan felt scruffy, and for once