Nurse Venus

"MR. TIGGS? MR. TIGGS?"

A woman's voice was loud in one ear. There was more than a hint of anger in it.

"Martin, I am here now," another voice called. A different woman, in a soft, clear voice. "Please, you must wake up."

Where was he? There was bright light shining in his eyes. Even with the lids closed, it was too bright. He tried to raise his hands to cover his eyes, and found he couldn't. His wrists were bound--he could feel straps on his chest and elsewhere on his arms. And on his legs.

"Martin, don't try to move, please."

"Mr. Tiggs," said the harsher voice. "Don't struggle. Do you know where you are?"

"No," he answered. "Who are you? Both of you."

"Martin? You don't remember me?" The soft-voiced woman sounded hurt.

"Don't you go ballistic on me, Suzy," said the other woman, not as harshly. "Let me do the talking for now." Now the harshness returned. "Mr. Tiggs. You have suffered a head trauma. It is very important that you try to stay awake now. Very important. And please don't struggle with the restraints."

"Why am I strapped in like this?" asked Tiggs.

The harsh voice said, "I had to immobilize you. We'll take off the restraints in awhile. Right now I need you to wake up and stay awake. Can you tell me the last thing you think you remember?"

Tiggs said, "I was driving . . . to Mrs. Jones'. Mr. Jones wanted me to take her . . . somewhere."

The soft voice said, "You can trust the doctor, Martin."

The doctor--the one with the harsher voice--said, "So you're driving. What day is it? Was it?"

Tiggs said, "Wednesday."

"Wednesday?" said the soft voice. "Were you taking Mrs. Jones to Concord?"

Tiggs said, "Yes, that was it . . . Concord. She was going to see a Mrs. Jarusek. Used to work for her."

"Do you remember what happened next?" asked the soft voice.

Tiggs struggled to remember. "I . . . no . . . No, that's the last I remember . . . could you get that light out of my face? Hey, that hurt!"

"Sorry, Mr. Tiggs," said the harsher voice without a hint of apology.

"Let me do the rest," said the soft voice.

The light stayed in his face, and in fact got brighter. He could feel heat on his face.

"All right . . . I think you're making a big mistake, but it's your life, Suze." The light was gone.

Martin Tiggs opened his eyes and saw two beautiful women. One had marred her face with an irritated expression; she was blond, and she was moving a lamp away from him. The other had deep green hair, and an expression he found hard to read.

The blond, the "doctor," the one with the harsh voice, said to the other woman, "Look at that. I don't even think he remembers who you are, Suze."

"He will remember," the soft voice replied. "Look closer." The soft-voiced woman did not stop looking at him as she spoke. "You haven't forgotten everything, Martin."

"I don't know who you are . . . but . . . " He did remember something . . . that face, that voice . . . words in a language he didn't understand, didn't even recognize, but yet . . .

The "doctor" shook her head. "I can't take any more of this now. Don't call me unless you really need me." She went to the windowless door, opened it into a featureless corridor, and then closed it behind her. Metallic noises indicated it was being locked.

The soft-voiced woman began unfastening the straps holding him fast to the bed--a hospital-type bed. But the place he was in was not a hospital. "Where are we?"

"A safe place. I'm not supposed to know where, but my guess is somewhere in West Oakland . . . You still don't remember me?"

Tiggs said, "I don't know who you are . . . I remember your face . . . and your voice . . . but I don't really remember knowing you."

"Well, that is something, I suppose . . . my name is Setsuna, Martin. Some of my American friends call me 'Suzy.'"

"Do I call you that?" asked Tiggs.

"You call me 'Setsuna.' You are not one for cute nicknames."

"And you call me Martin . . . what are you to me?" asked Tiggs.

"I am your wife, Mr. Martin Tiggs. That is why I am here, wherever this is." She had finished with the straps. She began rubbing his legs. "I am not a nurse, but Minako told me this would help."

"It doesn't feel bad . . . You're my wife . . . since when?" Tiggs asked.

"Since twenty-four days ago. Unfortunately, you have been here for twenty-two of them. At least, I assume you were here; Mr. Jones did not let me come here until a few days ago . . . Do you think you can get up now?"

Tiggs said, "I think so." She let down the rails on one side, and he eased his legs over the edge of the bed. He felt quite weak, but he pushed himself off and began to stand--wobbling. He would have fallen if the woman--Setsuna--had not steadied him. "Well, that was interesting . . . so, you are Mrs. Martin Tiggs now. There was one before you."

"I know that. Lorraine. You have not told me much about her. I do not care to know more."

There were more immediate mysteries. "Why am I laid up like this?"

"I assume you were shot. Your boss decided to keep you here. He said you would be safer. Of course, he is safer if you are not in the hospital with police to question you . . . but he is protecting you." She shook her head. "Maybe it is better not to remember what you did. Even if you have forgotten us."

Tiggs said, "Wait . . . wait. Let me sit down . . . Okay, why don't you just tell me from when I last remembered? What you know, or think you know?"

"That Wednesday . . . the only special thing was that we had time to really meet and be by ourselves. There was no such time until Mr. Jones decided to get married. I thought, why not us, too?" She smiled, but her eyes remained sad. "I took the risk. I felt something special about you. There would never be another chance to come together."

"And then?" asked Tiggs.

"When your boss came back, someone tried to shoot down the plane. The pilots were killed. I managed to land the plane--"

"You landed the plane?" exclaimed Tiggs.

"Yes . . . not a very smooth landing, but no one else died. Those strange angel girls helped get people out of the plane . . . then there was the war between your boss and his enemies."

Martin Tiggs considered the woman, and where he was, and how he felt. "That's quite a story. But I don't remember any of it."

She was sitting beside him, and her hands gripped him a little more tightly, for a moment. "As I said . . . perhaps it is better you do not remember." She looked away from him, and started to talk about flying. He had no doubt after a few minutes that, whatever else she really was, she was a pilot.

The windowless door opened after Martin Tiggs had heard a lot of flying stories, and the details of various aircraft. It was Marvell Jones, the man he had been stalking for nearly two years. He came in alone, but there were others outside, casting shadows, making footsteps, adding their presence.

The woman fell silent.

He walked up to the bed, a considerable distance--the room looked like it had been an office area, long ago; there were marks in the old linoleum that marked out desks and filing cabinets. There had been windows; they were now patches of mismatched concrete.

Marvell Jones stopped a few feet away, just far enough so that he couldn't be reached by a sudden rush. He looked at Martin Tiggs for what seemed a long, long time. Finally he began to speak. "Heard you don't remember."

Tiggs said, "Some, boss. A lot. Including how I got here."

Marvell stopped speaking again. After staring a little longer, he turned, and began to walk away. But then he stopped, whirled around, and brought out a gun. Martin could see the lands down the barrel. Jones stepped forward again, stopping, again, just beyond a sudden rush. Keeping the gun aimed, he said, "I ain't sure you were the one who did Huffy. But I owe her. That's why you're here, Agent Tiggs. Alive. Tell me you understand that."

"I understand," said Tiggs.

"Bullshit." Jones holstered his gun."Don't matter to you. But it matters to me." He looked at his watch. Then he fished something out of his pocket, and threw it on the floor. Car keys. "Get him out."

"He's very weak," said the woman.

"Get him out," said Marvell Jones.

Jones left. The woman picked up the keys. Then she boosted Tiggs off the bed. "Come on, before Mr. Jones changes his mind."

"Where are we going?" asked Tiggs.

The soft-voiced woman that was now his wife said, "To my car. Mr Jones had my keys. I assume it is somewhere nearby . . . sorry, nothing for your feet. Do you want me to carry you?"

The building they had been in was an elderly warehouse, no great surprise. His "wife's" car was an undistinguished small coupe, although he was alert enough to notice it had very-low-profile tires, allowing for larger wheels--and brakes. The shift was manual, and the woman was very smooth using it. She drove fast, but seemed well in control of the car.

It was night. No moon was visible, and few stars--reading the sky wasn't one of his talents. There was no car clock he could see. "What time is it?"

"Almost four, I think," answered the woman.

"Almost four. Sounds like a good time to ask. Where are we going?" asked Tiggs.

"Home. My place . . . Would you rather go to yours?" asked the woman.

Tiggs said, "Your place is fine for now . . . I live--I did live at Mr. Jones'. On-call all the time. You didn't know that?"

"No."

"You're my wife, and you didn't know that?"

The woman said, "You did not tell me. You did not tell me you were a policeman, either."

Tiggs asked, "Are you working for him? Marvell?"

The woman said, "No. I may have done some work for him, through others. But I have only spoken to him a few times, and never about a job . . . All I knew of you was that you were his favorite driver, until we got together. You didn't tell me anything about the trade, as Mr. Jones calls it. I didn't ask. I won't ask now . . . I didn't marry you to get into your trade."

"Why did you?"

"I decided you were worth the risk, Mr. Martin Tiggs . . . and you still are, to me."

They were almost on the freeway. A police car was alongside them, waiting for the same light. All he had to do was flag them, and . . .

The light changed. The woman--Setsuna--turned onto the freeway; the police car continued on, passing under the freeway, vanishing from sight.

Tiggs said, "I do remember . . . something . . . I saw you once or twice at that place where Kev lives."

Setsuna said, "That is also my place . . . I live with my friends there. And my ward, Hotaru. Though now . . . "

"What?"

Setsuna said, "She is married now. Suddenly, like us. Though she has known the boy for many years . . . I could hardly tell her to wait, could I?"

They passed several police cars on the way to the mansion. She took the most direct route; it was so near Marvell's mother's, there could be no mistake.

They went in through the back gate. She took him in through the kitchen, and was going on to the elevator, when he said, "Stop."

"Here?"

"I need to call in," said Tiggs.

"You can call in from upstairs." She took him into the elevator. She was a lot stronger than she looked, and he was still unsteady.

It was a long ride up.

"I'm sorry . . . I just don't believe what you've told me," Tiggs said to the woman.

"I know. You do not remember. I am like a stranger to you now."

Nothing more was said in the elevator. She led him to a room which faced out over the front of the house, and to a bed. It was not a particularly feminine room; the walls were hung with pictures of aircraft, mostly old ones. The only really soft touch was a spray of roses in a beaker of water--blue roses. He looked closely as he passed them; they were real.

Then she guided him onto the bed, and set the phone down next to him. It had buttons for several lines. "Nine first for an outside line."

He expected her to leave. Instead, she slipped out of her clothes, putting them all into a hamper. He watched her, of course, and continued to watch as she put on a robe. "A long time since my last shower," she said. When he didn't reply, she added, "Yes, I am like a stranger to you. But you are not a stranger to me, Mr. Martin Tiggs." Then she left.

When he was sure she was gone, he began his call.