John Locke - Bad Doctor

“That apology belongs to Willow, not me.”

“Then I don’t understand. You’ve uncovered some information. I’ve got my pen and notebook ready. What’s the holdup?”

“Five thousand dollars.”

“ What?”

“You want me to take the case, you have to pay.”

“Five thousand dollars? For five minutes work?”

“How much do you get for five minutes of work, Dr. Box?”

“Four thousand, max. And you can’t tell me you get this much from other clients. You pulled that number out of your ass, because you think I’m wealthy, and you don’t approve of my lifestyle.”

“The five thousand isn’t for the bombshell. It’s for the work you’re going to want after I tell you what I’ve learned. And that could take days to uncover.”

“How much for just the bombshell?”

“Well, if we’re going ala carte, let’s say five hundred.”

“That’s more like it. You want my billing address?”

“Your credit card will suffice.”

“I’m in a cab.”

“You don’t want the cab driver to hear. Makes sense. Have him pull over, then climb out and give it to me.”

“I’m in Manhattan, Dani.”

“So?”

“You can’t just pull over in Manhattan. It’ll take forever to get back in traffic.”

“Why do you want to live like that?”

“Again, why do you care how I want to live?”

“We have some wonderful hospitals here in Nashville that could use a skilled surgeon, Dr. Box. Provided you can keep your hands off the candy stripers.”

“They’re called volunteers these days.”

“Whatever. Give me your billing address. But don’t even think about stiffing me.”

I give her my billing address and assure her I won’t stiff her.

“What’s the bombshell?” I say.

“I’ll tell you in an hour.”

“Why not now?”

“I need to be certain. You’re paying me to be accurate.”

“Give me the short version.”

“I want to check her hospital records first.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t access her medical records.”

“I said I wouldn’t get them for you.”

Bruce Luce is all smiles when I walk in his office.

“What?” I say.

“You received rave reviews from the new nurses.”

“I did?”

“No one was more surprised to hear it than me.”

“I think Rose has a calming effect on me,” I say.

“She’d have just the opposite effect on me,” he says.

“Can I keep her?”

“Under lock and key if necessary.”

“Why so enthusiastic?”

“She strong-armed Mr. Devereaux to write a check for twenty million, even though Lilly’s still in a coma.”

“Medically induced,” I say.

“Right.”

“Were you aware Rose plans to leave in nine months?”

Bruce frowns. “No way!”

“She told me her stay here is temporary.”

“She can’t leave,” he says. “If I have to, I’ll offer more money.”

“Excellent.”

“Speaking of money,” Bruce says, “I agreed to make changes to accommodate the hiring of Rose and Melba, and help soften the sting from the sweetheart schedule they negotiated.”

“How does that affect me?”

“We’re expanding your role.”

“In what way?”

He picks up a manila folder on his desk and hands it to me. As I open it he says, “You’re going to add one serious case a month, in addition to the more difficult ones you’ve received in the past.”

“You think?”

“If you intend for the board to continue paying Rose and Melba.”

I glance at the patient file.

“Who’s this?”

“The first of your cases.”

“Why this one?”

“I’m told it’s difficult enough to warrant your attention, though it should be a snap for someone with your skills.”

“Nothing’s a snap when it comes to children.”

“Don’t start with me,” he says. “I’ve been told four members of our staff have the expertise to perform this brain stem thing.”

“ Brain stem thing?”

“This is a surgical resection of a brain stem cavernoma.”

He waves his hand. “Whatever it is, I’m told you can handle it.”

“Not that you’d know the difference,” I say, “But the brain is located above the neck.”

“What’s your point?”

“I’ve worked heart, lungs, and internal organs for seven years.”

“You did these brain resections for three years before switching to heart.”

“It’s not like riding a bicycle, Bruce.”

“Well, you’ll have a few days to bone up on the procedure.”

“Will Rose and Melba work these cases with me?”

“They’ve been assigned to you. Doesn’t matter what the case is.”

“Can Rose help me deal with the parents?”

“This is a single mom. And anyway, I’m told you did a fine job with Austin and Dublin.”

“Who?”

“Lilly’s parents. Mr. and Mrs. Devereaux.”

“Rose won them over, not me.”

“You’re sure about that? Because she gave you all the credit.”

I laugh. “Does that sound right to you?”

He frowns. “No.”

“Ask Nurse Sally who deserves the credit.”

“No need,” he says. “I believe you.”

I point to the file in my lap. “This one, Addie Gray.”

“What about her?”

“Former burn patient, years of reconstructive facial surgery. She’s spent most of her life in hospitals.”

“So?”

“Her mother’s done the rounds. She’ll expect detailed consultations.”

“We’ve been doing this for your patients for years. But we’re done covering for you. From now on you’re going to consult, review, recommend, explain, and be actively involved with the parents both pre- and post-op.”

“For these types of patients,” I say.

“For all types. Get used to it.”

“I only did well with Lilly’s parents because of Rose.”

“You’ve got it bad for her,” he says.

“Doesn’t matter. She’s not interested in a relationship.”

“You’ve already learned that?” He pauses. “I’m thinking it’s a bad idea. I’ll get Melba to hold your hand when meeting the parents.”

“That’s fine,” I say. “Except that…”

“Except what?”

“I’m already starting to forget how to perform those brain stem things you were talking about. It would be a shame if I lost my first patient because I was afraid of upsetting Addie’s mom.”

He frowns. “I’ll assign Rose this time and we’ll take it case by case after that.”

“Thanks Bruce. You won’t be sorry.”

“I better not be.”

Five minutes later I’m standing in my office, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a view few would pay to see, unless they enjoy hospital rooftops and parking garages. Everything is as gray and dingy as my life.

Rose enters the room with a shapely young woman of twenty, who’s wearing an ink-colored dress and matching jacket. She’s that beautiful shade of half-Latin, half-Anglo, with long brown hair and perfectly-manicured fingernails. She has the look of a college graduate, dressed up for a job interview, and seems familiar, like a young Jennifer Lopez, without the big caboose. Though not quite in Rose’s league, this is a gorgeous woman. If Rose were seeking a girlfriend to counterpoint her creamy white skin and raven black hair, this young lady would fill the bill.

“Dr. Gideon Box, this is Miranda Rodriguez.”

“This is awkward,” Miranda says.

“Why?”

“You don’t recognize me.”

I stare at her. I don’t come into contact with that many beautiful women, and when I do, I see them at their stylistic worst, for good reason. Their children are near death. Their features wracked by loss of sleep, worry, and fear. Understandably, hair and makeup is the last thing on their minds. Rose has the most appealing face and body I’ve ever seen. But Miranda is definitely top five.