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“We’ll find you a good clinic. They’ll wean you off. You’ll be right as rain before you know it. You don’t have to be this, Lazlo. You’ve got everything to gain by making the right choice.”
Lazlo’s face crinkled into a sneer. “‘For once.’ That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?”
“No. But if it makes it easier, then I will. Make the right choice for once.”
He didn’t say anything for a long time and then his shoulders shuddered and he buried his face in his palms. When he looked up, his eyes were red and moist.
“I don’t deserve this. You’re far too good for the likes of me.”
Sam shook his head. “Nobody’s better than anyone else. We’re just in a position to help you right now. Just as you’re in a position to help us. It’s a simple transaction. We both get what we need. The basis of all working relationships.”
Remi stepped back and Lazlo wiped his eyes with the back of a grimy sleeve. “Be careful what you wish for, Sam.”
Sam smiled and caught Remi’s eye.
“I always am, Lazlo.”
Lazlo was living in a hovel near the river that would have been at home in the slums of Calcutta. Sam helped him with his few belongings, and soon they were rattling down the road back to Vientiane. Lazlo dozed off after the first leg and awoke only when Sam got cell coverage and left a message for Kendra, asking her to locate a suitable rehab center in the region that could handle both opium and alcohol withdrawals. Two hours later, Selma called—at five a.m. California time.
“I’ve located a place in Bangkok, if you can get him there. I gather you found him?” she asked.
“Selma!” Sam said, surprised. “I was expecting Kendra. Quite a bit later, actually.”
“I saw her voice mail light blinking and took the liberty, figuring it was probably you. I was up, anyway. Here’s the info. It’s a first-class establishment. Apparently, the rich in Thailand regularly contend with the same issues Lazlo’s facing. The website looks like a five-star hotel’s, and it’s part of one of Bangkok’s top hospitals.” She gave him the particulars, which he repeated aloud so Remi could memorize them.
They had Analu drop them at the plane after calling the crew and alerting them that they’d need to fly to Bangkok immediately. When they arrived at the airport, the G650 was already humming for the short flight. Sandra greeted them with a gleaming welcome smile. Sam had called the clinic and confirmed that they could accommodate Lazlo. They’d warned him what to expect and explained that he could have a drink on the plane to avoid the risk of convulsions, but not to allow more than one strong cocktail.
Sandra prepared a double Finlandia and tonic at the request of Lazlo, who perked up after he’d swallowed it like a parched man at a desert oasis. Sam and Remi made small talk with him during the flight, and a car from the clinic met them at the airport.
The facility lived up to its web presence. After completing a long application and signing his name to it, Lazlo was led into the depths of the clinic by staff, while the administrator, a handsome Asian woman in a dark blue business suit, explained their procedures to Sam and Remi.
“Believe it or not, the opium withdrawals are the least of his issues. We deal with that problem using drugs that cleanse the opium from the opiate receptors while he’s under deep sedation, so if he’s only been smoking for a few months and not injecting, that will be dealt with in a matter of hours. The alcohol is a different, and potentially more serious, complication. Your friend appears to be a long-term alcoholic and that can be quite dangerous to wind down.”
“He’s been drinking for as long as I’ve known him,” Sam said, “which is at least a decade.”
“Then it will be a rough ride for the next three to four days, and possibly longer. We use nitrous oxide and vitamin regimens to reduce the withdrawal effects, but every patient is different. Additionally, the physical withdrawal process is only the beginning. He’ll need ongoing care for at least thirty days and he should enroll in a program.”
“We’re already making arrangements for him in Mexico City. He’ll be well looked after,” Remi assured the woman.
“Very good, then. Will you be staying in town for the duration?”
“Yes. We’re at the Mandarin Oriental,” Sam said. “I jotted our cell number on the information form.”
The administrator stood and shook their hands. “Try not to worry. We’ll do everything we can to make this as comfortable as possible for him.” She hesitated. “I wouldn’t stop in during the detox period—he’s not allowed visitors until that phase is over.”
Remi nodded. She and Sam had looked up “alcohol withdrawal” at the plane terminals while en route and she could well understand why the patient was off-limits for seventy-two hours or longer.
Four days went by quickly. Every meal was an opportunity to test the various restaurants the concierge had recommended. They took a tour of the city on the second day and spent long hours after that walking the streets of the teeming downtown whenever the sky was clear. When they returned to the clinic, the administrator showed them to Lazlo’s room and then left.
“How did it go?” Sam asked.
“Far worse than expected,” Lazlo said with a troubled but clear stare. “Wouldn’t want to have to go through that again. Rather like being dragged through broken glass after having been roasted on a spit. No, actually, that might be more pleasurable, come to think of it.”
Sam nodded. “The good news is that’s a once-in-a-lifetime event if you’re careful. How are you feeling now?”
“Certainly not a hundred percent but could be worse, all things considered.”
“Have they got you on anything?”