Sara Paretsky - Sisters on the Case

Several weeks later I arrived early one morning and dashed into the tiny coffee shop off the lobby for a breakfast milkshake. Angie was having coffee with Dr. Magda Gerstein, our resident psychiatrist. Next to Angie, Dr. Gerstein looked like a toad-plump and plain, her dark hair streaked with gray, her face sallow and scarred. Her only attractive feature was a pair of intelligent dark eyes that terrified me. I kept wondering what neuroses those eyes found as they probed my soul.

When Angie saw me, she called, ‘‘Full moon last night, so emergency was crazy. Five came in after a brawl in a Coconut Grove bar. I’ve been running my legs off this morning. Rosa, are you guys still stitching up the Grove crew?’’

Coconut Grove bars were the hangouts of Beautiful People, so Angie, of course, would handle those patients.

Rosa Marquez, our head surgical nurse, collapsed into a chair at their table, still wearing green scrubs. A cloud of dark hair fell to her shoulders as she pulled off her surgical cap. ‘‘We just rebuilt the jawbone of a young man who is lucky to be alive. Café con leche, ’’ she called to the waitress approaching the table. ‘‘I can’t stay but a minute, but I have to have a breather.’’

Not sure of my welcome in such august company, I headed to a stool at the counter. ‘‘ ¡Buenos días! ’’ I greeted Carlos, who was wiping up a coffee spill.

The first Cuban immigrants were reaching Miami in those days, all claiming to have been wealthy professionals, executives, and the cream of Havana society. Some actually were.

According to Angie, who loved to pass on informationabout our co-workers, Carlos used to own one of the finest restaurants in Havana; Luis-the meds nurse up on five-had been Cuba’s premier cardiologist; and Rosa came from one of Havana’s richest families but had run away at eighteen to join Castro’s army. After Rosa got raped by her commanding officer, so Angie claimed, she gave up the revolution and came to join her family in Miami.

I was learning to take Angie’s stories with a tablespoon of salt. No way plain little Dr. Gerstein had been the plaything of German SS officers in a Jewish concentration camp, and when I asked our administrator about serving on Jack Kennedy’s boat during World War II, he laughed. ‘‘Who told you that? I get seasick looking at a boat and got turned down by the army because of flat feet.’’

‘‘But Angie said-’’

His face softened into an indulgent smile. ‘‘Oh, Angie. She’s smart like a fox, but like a child in some ways. She loves drama and wants everybody-herself included-to be larger than life. Ignore her stories and learn from her heart. Angie’s got a gigantic heart.’’

I didn’t need my friends larger than life. It was enough for me that Carlos made the best milkshake in Miami.

He also had taken it on himself to teach me Spanish so I could welcome our Hispanic patients. So far he had taught me six sentences I could rattle off with the staccato accents and speed of a native Cuban: ‘‘Good day. I am the hospital hostess. Welcome to the hospital. Do you need anything special?’’ If the patient responded with anything except ‘‘No,’’ I fell back on the other two: ‘‘One moment. I am going to call an interpreter.’’

‘‘Quiero un bestido de chocolate,’’ I said carefully.

‘‘I didn’t know you spoke Spanish,’’ Angie called.

‘‘A little,’’ I boasted.

Carlos laughed. The two women working with him tittered. Rosa’s dimples flashed as she hid a smile behind her cup.

‘‘What? What did I say wrong?’’

He gave me the severe look of a parent to a child. ‘‘You just ordered a chocolate dress. Dress is’’-he wrote vestido on a paper napkin and, being Cuban, read it-‘‘ bestido . Milkshake is’’-he wrote and said- ‘‘batido.’’ He made me order correctly before he fixed the milkshake.

Dr. McQuirter came to the counter and stood near me. ‘‘Hello, Celia.’’ His voice was like melted chocolate, and he looked so good my knees wobbled. No wonder new mothers swooned over him. In the past month three infant boys had gone home with the name Randall. I did a quick calculation and decided our age difference wasn’t too great.

‘‘Bring your chocolate dress over here and join us.’’ Angie’s invitation was more of a command.

When I obeyed, Dr. McQuirter ambled along beside me and pulled up a chair between me and Rosa. Angie frowned.

Two minutes later the overhead pager came to life. ‘‘Miss Winters, emergency room. Dr. Gerstein, emergency room. Stat.’’

Dr. Gerstein muttered an oath in German. Angie pushed back her chair. ‘‘What now?’’

Carver, the head orderly, hurried in and approached our table. ‘‘Emergency’s got one of those fellows back there, nearly tearing the place apart.’’

‘‘Oh, lordy.’’ Angie looked at the rest of us. ‘‘You’d better come, too, Celia. We might need you.’’

The emergency room was off-limits in my job description, I wasn’t on duty yet, and I still had half a milkshake left. We both knew she was simply hauling me away from Dr. McQuirter. I opened my mouth to protest, but Angie grabbed my elbow and dragged me with her.

Rosa called to Dr. Gerstein, ‘‘See you tonight.’’

Dr. Gerstein might be short and squat, but she moved fast. She was already out the door. Soon Angie and Carver were right behind her with me bringing up a reluctant rear.

‘‘Magda and Rosa work at the Overtown free clinic two evenings a week,’’ Angie explained to Carver as we hurried down the hall. ‘‘Poor folks, battered wives, prostitutes-’’

Dr. Gerstein interrupted impatiently. ‘‘You are sure, Carver, it is one of them ?’’

‘‘Yes, ma’am. He was left in the emergency room sometime during the night, wearing sweats. As crazy as things were, nobody noticed when he came in. After the place calmed down, they saw him sleeping in the corner, but presumed he was a relative of one of the patients, so they let him sleep. He woke up a little while ago and started yelling that he had been-’’ He looked over his shoulder at me and stopped talking.

‘‘Fixed?’’ I asked bluntly. Angie gave me a chiding look. ‘‘I am an adult,’’ I reminded her. ‘‘I read newspapers and watch the eleven o’clock news.’’

Dr. Gerstein, still in the lead, continued quizzing Carver. ‘‘Both testicles were removed and he does not remember a thing from the time he entered a bar until he woke up here?’’

‘‘Doesn’t remember a thing,’’ Carver agreed. ‘‘Just like the others.’’

I put on speed and came abreast of Angie. ‘‘How many is that?’’

‘‘Three in three weeks. The other two were left at Jackson. I guess it was our turn. Poor guys.’’

We turned the corner by our equal-opportunity chapel, which had icons for the religions of all our patients. I caught the eye of my favorite-a Madonna with dark hair, dimples, and kind plaster eyes-and murmured, ‘‘God knows the first one deserved it.’’

‘‘How do you know?’’ Angie’s eyes flashed I share all my gossip with you .

I wished I could take back my words. Still, fair is fair. ‘‘His girlfriend-or one of them-had a baby here a few weeks ago. Dr. McQuirter delivered it for free.’’ I paused to let that virtue sink in, but the look in Angie’s eye pushed me on. ‘‘I recognized the man’s name, Anthony Miguel Williams, because he named the poor baby Zhivago Miguel and wanted Williams on the birth certificate, even though he refused to marry the baby’s mama. She cried about that the whole time she was here. You remember,’’ I called up to Dr. Gerstein. ‘‘I paged you because she was threatening to kill herself.’’