Robin Cook: Fatal Cure

"Let me tell you about Dr. Hodges," Sherwood said, still loud enough for everyone to hear. "A good neighbor he isn't. By a historical accident he owns a little tongue of land that happens to separate my two lots. So what does he do? He builds this gigantic fence."

"Of course I fenced that land," Hodges called out, unable to hold his tongue. "It was the only way to keep your goddamn horses from dropping their shit all over my property."

"Then why not sell the strip of land?" Sherwood demanded, turning to face Hodges. "It's of no use to you."

"I can't sell it because it's in my wife's name," Hodges answered.

"Nonsense," Sherwood said. "The fact that your house and land are in your wife's name is merely a legacy of an old ruse to protect your assets from any malpractice judgment. You told me so yourself."

"Then perhaps you should know the truth," Hodges said. "I was trying to be diplomatic. I won't sell you the land because I despise you. Is that easier for your pea brain to comprehend?"

Sherwood turned to the room and addressed everyone present. "You're all witnesses. Dr. Hodges is admitting he's acting out of spite. No surprise, of course, and hardly a Christian attitude."

"Oh, shut up," Hodges retorted. "It's a bit hypocritical for a bank president to question someone else's Christian ethics with all the foreclosures on your conscience. You've put families out of their homes."

"That's different," Sherwood said. "That's business. I have my stockholders to consider."

"Oh, bull," Hodges said with a wave of dismissal.

A sudden commotion at the door caught Hodges' attention. He turned in time to see Traynor and the rest of the attendees of the hospital meeting troop into the bar. He could tell that Traynor was not at all pleased to see him. Hodges shrugged and turned back to his drink. But he couldn't dismiss the fortuitous fact that all three principals were there: Traynor, Sherwood, and Cantor.

Grabbing his whiskey, Hodges slipped off his stool and followed Traynor to Sherwood and Banks's table. Hodges tapped him on his shoulder.

"How about talking now?" Hodges suggested. "We're all here."

"Goddamn it, Hodges," Traynor blurted out. "How many times do I have to tell you? I don't want to talk tonight. We'll talk tomorrow!"

"What does he want to talk about?" Sherwood asked.

"Something about a few of his old patients," Traynor said. "I told him that we'd meet him for lunch tomorrow."

"What's going on?" Dr. Cantor asked, joining the fray. He'd sensed blood and had been drawn over to the table like a shark attracted to chum.

"Dr. Hodges isn't happy with the way we are running the hospital," Traynor said. "We're to hear about it tomorrow."

"No doubt the same old complaint," Sherwood interjected. "No VIP treatment for his old patients."

"Some gratitude!" Dr. Cantor said, interrupting Hodges who'd tried to respond. "Here we are donating our time pro bono to keep the hospital afloat and what do we get in return: nothing but criticism."

"Pro bono my ass," Hodges sneered. "None of you fool me. Your involvement isn't charity. Traynor, you've come to use the place to support your newly discovered grandiosity. Sherwood, your interest isn't even that sophisticated. It's purely financial, since the hospital is the bank's largest customer. And Cantor, yours is just as simple. All you're interested in is the Imaging Center, that joint venture I allowed in a moment of insanity. Of all the decisions I made as hospital administrator, that's the one I regret the most."

"You thought it was a good deal when you made it," Dr. Cantor said.

"Only because I thought it was the only way to update the hospital's CAT scanner," Hodges said. "But that was before I realized the machine would pay for itself in less than a year which, of course, made me realize you and the other private radiologist were robbing the hospital of money it should have been earning."

"I'm not interested in opening this old battle," Dr. Cantor said.

"Nor am I," Hodges agreed. "But the point is there's little or no charity involved with you people. Your concern is financial gain, not the good of your patients or the community."

"You're no one to talk," Traynor snapped. "You ran the hospital like a personal fiefdom. Tell us who's been taking care of that house of yours all these years?"

"What do you mean?" Hodges stammered, his eyes darting back and forth among the men in front of him.

"It's not a complicated question," Traynor said, his anger driving him on. He'd stuck Hodges with a knife and now he wanted to push it in to the hilt.

"I don't know what my house has to do with this," Hodges managed.

Traynor went up on his toes to survey the room. "Where's Van Slyke?" he asked. "He's here somewhere."

"He's by the fire," Sherwood said, pointing. He had to struggle to suppress a contented smile. This issue about Hodges' house had nettled him for some time. The only reason he'd never brought it up was because Traynor had forbidden it.

Traynor called to Van Slyke, but the man didn't seem to hear. Traynor called again, this time loud enough for everyone in the bar to hear. Conversation stopped. Except for the music emanating from the jukebox, the room was momentarily silent.

Van Slyke moved slowly across the room, uncomfortable in the spotlight. He was aware most of the people were watching him. But they soon lost interest and conversations recommenced where they had left off.

"Good grief, man," Traynor said to Van Slyke. "You look like you're moving through molasses. Sometimes you act eighty years old instead of thirty."

"Sorry," Van Slyke said, maintaining his bland facial expression.

"I want to ask you a question," Traynor continued. "Who has been taking care of Dr. Hodges' house and property?"

Van Slyke looked from Traynor to Hodges, a wry smile curling on his lips. Hodges looked away.

"Well?" Traynor questioned.

"We have been," Van Slyke said.

"Be a little more specific," Traynor said. "Who is 'we'?"

"The hospital grounds crew," Van Slyke said. He didn't take his eyes off Hodges. Nor did his smile change.

"How long has this been going on?" Traynor asked.

"Since way before I arrived," Van Slyke said.

"It's going to stop as of today," Traynor said. "Understand?"

"Sure," Van Slyke said.

"Thank you, Werner," Traynor said. "Why don't you go over to the bar and have a beer while we finish chatting with Dr. Hodges." Van Slyke returned to his place by the fire.

"You know that old expression," Traynor said, " 'People in glass houses…' "

"Shut up!" Hodges snapped. He started to say something else but stopped himself. Instead he stalked from the room in a fit of frustrated anger, grabbed his coat and hat, and plunged out into the snowy night.

"You old fool," Hodges muttered as he headed south out of town. He was furious at himself for allowing a "perk" to derail momentarily his indignation about patient care. Yet it was true that hospital maintenance had been taking care of his grounds. It had started years ago. The crew had simply shown up one day. Hodges had never asked for the service, but he'd never done anything to stop it, either.

The long walk home in the frosty night helped dampen Hodges' guilt about the yard service. After all, it didn't have anything to do with patient care. As he turned into his unplowed driveway he resolved to offer to pay some reasonable figure for the services rendered. He wasn't about to allow this affair to stifle his protest about more serious matters.

When Hodges reached the midpoint of his long driveway he could see down into the lower meadow. Through the blowing snow he could just make out the fence that he'd erected to keep Sherwood's horses from crossing his property. He'd never sell that strip of land to that bastard. Sherwood had gotten the second piece of land on a foreclosure of a family whose breadwinner had been one of Hodges' patients. In fact, he was one of the patients whose hospital admission summary Hodges had in his pocket.