Spider’s Cage by Jim Nisbet

asked.
    â€œFirst man to touch me in three days and get away with it,” said the nurse, folding her big arms across her chest, and looking over the doctor’s shoulder. He held three x-rays up to the light, one by one, and shook his head over each. He looked at the last x-ray the longest, turning it in the light until it was upside down.
    â€œMmmmmm,” he said.
    â€œHmph,” said the nurse.
    â€œAm I draftable?” Windrow asked, hopefully.
    â€œContraindicated,” muttered the doctor.
    â€œTsk,” said the nurse. She shook her head.
    â€œMiraculous,” said the doctor, lowering the last film. He handed the x-rays to the nurse. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
    Windrow looked at him through his slits. Every muscle in his body was sore. He’d been run over by a Cadillac limousine and a house.
    â€œAs far as the police could tell, your car rolled over at least three times, and they’re going to have to melt down a beach to replace all the windows you broke. Your car was completely destroyed, there’s nothing left of it. A wrecker had to park on the sidewalk and winch it out of the dining room through the hole in the wall. Surviving the impact, you should have been incinerated, you had a full tank of gasoline. Yet, all the gasoline did was run out on the orchids and a 17th century Persian rug. When you were thrown clear of the wreckage you should have been killed outright when the marble-topped dining room table cut you in half. Yet, the table was destroyed when the banana tree fell over it, a millisecond before you got there. Nice table, too; sat twelve with elbow room. Instead you landed in the arms of six dryads on a sixteenth century tapestry that hung a foot off the wall, destroying it too. But, it saved your life. A few feet to the left, you’d have hit a suit of armor holding a broad sword and battle axe. On the other side, an eight foot glass cabinet full of Dresden China.” He gestured emptily. “After you tore the tapestry off the wall, you and it fell onto a sofa that wasn’t supposed to have been there. The workmen who found you had moved it there while they were sanding down the floors in the living room.”
    He shook his head in disbelief. “It’s incredible,” he said. “In all my years as a sawbones, I’ve never seen anyone go through so much and come out so fit. The worst injury you sustained is that bruise on the left side of your face.”
    Windrow raised the eyebrow over the uninjured eye. Sal would laugh to hear that. He’d have to tell her about it when he caught up with her.
    The doctor nudged Windrow’s shoulder with a friendly fist. “You’ll be in good enough shape to start paying off the stuff you destroyed by Monday. It comes to about $775,000.” He shook his head. “Incredible. Just like on TV.” He looked Windrow straight in his slits with the wide eyes of the true believer. This had the effect of making the worried look a tired one. “You’re a very lucky man, Mr. Windrow. Luckiest guy I heard of since Seamus Moriarty won two thousand dollars on the goddam Pittsburgh—”
    â€œDon’t count your apples, apple.”
    Windrow closed his slits and groaned. “Morphine,” he said. “Taxi.”
    â€œYou tell him, chief.”
    â€œShut up, stupid.”
    Windrow didn’t want to recognize the voices of Max Bdeniowitz and Petrel Gleason. He pulled the bedclothes over his head. He could hear a siren, far away.
    â€œGood day inspector. He’s awake this morning, but he should rest,” the doctor suggested, helpfully.
    â€œWe all should rest,” Bdeniowitz growled, “but I want to wrap this case before lunch.”
    â€œAnd the only way to have a tough bird like this for lunch,” Gleason added, “is to grill him slow. Real slow.”
    Windrow moved the covers and opened one eye. Gleason, standing behind