Mikey Angelo didn't see Howard Baker again for nearly three days. A few times he inquired to the nurse on the floor––and even the young doctor, whom he'd seen a grand total of six times since regaining consciousness, each rounding out to about five minutes apiece.

  "I believe he's still in recovery."

  In itself, that seemed strange, given the dodgy details with which he'd been supplied.

  "Well there's a welcome sight to behold. Look whose up and around."

  At long last, the mysterious figure in question wheeled himself into the room with a beleaguered orderly in tow. The man looked a bit frail. Perhaps underpowered, but no worse for wear. And back in good spirits.

  "I could say the same thing about you, Mr. Houdini." Mikey pulled himself into an awkward sitting position. Old Howard looked a mixture between delighted and impressed. "I thought you said something about minor surgery."

  Howard Baker smiled a half smile that doubled as a non-committal shrug. "You know doctors," he said, standing out of his chair, and left it astonishingly at that. "Now let's talk about you, my friend. It must feel damn good to sit up straight again."

  That it did. Howard Baker wasn't the only one on the mend. After eleven days stiff as a pubescent pecker, Mikey had gotten the ok for a partial removal of his upper body supports. This allowed him to move his arms a little. The pull-up bar came in soon after. And many long hours of painstaking practice. It took a full bucket to lap up all the sweat.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  "Listen, Howard, now that you're back here, I wanted to say I'm sorry. For being such a prick before."

  Howard Baker waved him off. "It's forgotten. You had perfectly good reason."

  "Suppose I wasn't the best company for you either."

  The man burst out laughing: "Believe it or not, I've had worse."

  Mikey felt both embarassed and relieved.

  "Well, I'm glad to see you're out of recovery."

  Baker's easy smile became noticeably strained. "Who told you that's where I was?"

  Mikey was unprepared. "Who didn't? Nurses. Even that smarmy doctor mentioned you were––"

  "The only recovery I saw was the day after surgery." He interupted, sounding almost defensive. "The truth is I've been home the last three days, catching up on some paperwork."

  The timid orderly finally broke in: "Excuse me, Howard. But if you'll no longer be needing me...."

  "Oh sure, Terry, you go ahead. Thanks for everything." The young man reversed out of the room. "And good luck with that scholarship. Be sure to let me know if you need a reference, ok?"

  Howard Baker moved carefully to the bureau, where he began seriptiously unpacking fresh clothes from a shoulder bag.

  Mikey watched him silently, holding out as long as he could.

  "Howard, call me an idiot, but if you went home, what the hell are you doing back here?"

  Halting and out of breath, the older man plunked down on the edge of his bed and looked contemplative. "I'm afraid I have a small confession to make," he said, leaving poor Mikey on pins and needles. "You see, Michael, I'm not really here for back trouble. At least not altogether." Mikey stared back at him blankly. "As a man who holds a certain prominence in the public consciousness, I trust you can appreciate the value of privacy."

  Part intrigued, part annoyed, Mikey rolled his eyes impatiently. "Sure."

  "It's my heart," he blurted, as though the disappointingly pedestrian revelation unravelled the conspiracy. "I'm being treated for brugada syndrome."

  "What is that, like arrhythmia?" Mikey asked, typically tactless.

  "A rare form of it, yes," he said, unaffected; then took another short pause. "For which, there is no cure." There was more. "Now, Michael, I know I've been a bit...well, skittish in terms of details surrounding my business, but that small real estate enterprise I mentioned...it's slated to go public less than seventy-two hours from now. If news of my, um, condition, were to go with it, a lot of good people could end up losing a lot of money."

  Mikey perked up again. "You dirty dog." He teased gleefully. "You've been holding out on me all this time, haven't you?"

  Howard Baker smiled broadly, delighted to bask in the young man's good graces. And for the very first time, Mikey offered his own rivalling grin to could give it a real run for its money.