Sidney Sheldon - Nothing lasts forever

Paige ran into Honey in the corridor. Honey was out of breath and looked worried.

“Is everything all right?” Paige asked.

Honey smiled uneasily. “Yes. Fine.” She hurried on.

Honey had been assigned to an attending physician named Charles Isler, who was known around the hospital as a martinet.

On Honey's first day of rounds, he had said, “I've been looking forward to working with you, Dr. Taft. Dr. Wallace has told me about your outstanding record at medical school. I understand you're going to practice internal medicine.”

“Yes.”

“Good. So, we'll have you here for three more years.”

They began their rounds.

The first patient was a young Mexican boy. Dr. Isler ignored the other residents and turned to Honey. “I think you'll find this an interesting case, Dr. Taft. The patient has all the classic signs and symptoms: anorexia, weight loss, metallic taste, fatigue, anemia, hyperirritability, and uncoordination. How would you diagnose it?” He smiled expectantly.

Honey looked at him a moment. “Well, it could be several things, couldn't it?”

Dr. Isler was watching her, puzzled. “It's a clear-cut case of—”

One of the other residents broke in, “Lead poisoning?”

“That's right,” Dr. Isler said.

Honey smiled. “Of course. Lead poisoning.”

Dr. Isler turned to Honey again. “How would you treat it?”

Honey said evasively, “Well, there are several different methods of treatment, aren't there?”

A second resident spoke up. “If the patient has had long-term exposure, he should be treated as a potential case of encephalopathy.”

Dr. Isler nodded. “Right. That's what we're doing. We're correcting the dehydration and electrolyte disturbances, and giving him chelation therapy.”

He looked at Honey. She nodded in agreement.

The next patient was a man in his eighties. His eyes were red and his eyelids were stuck together.

“We'll have your eyes taken care of in a moment,” Dr. Isler assured him. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, not too bad for an old man.”

Dr. Isler pulled aside the blanket to reveal the patient's swollen knee and ankle. There were lesions on the soles of his feet.

Dr. Isler turned to the residents. “The swelling is caused by arthritis.” He looked at Honey. “Combined with the lesions and the conjunctivitis, I'm sure you know what the diagnosis is.”

Honey said slowly, “Well, it could be … you know …”

“It's Reiter's syndrome,” one of the residents spoke up. “The cause is unknown. It's usually accompanied by low-grade fever.”

Dr. Isler nodded. “That's right.” He looked at Honey. “What is the prognosis?”

“The prognosis?”

The other resident replied. “The prognosis is unclear. It can be treated with anti-inflammation drugs.”

“Very good,” Dr. Isler said.

They made the rounds of a dozen more patients, and when they were finished, Honey said to Dr. Isler, “Could I see you for a moment alone, Dr. Isler?”

“Yes. Come into my office.”

When they were seated in his office, Honey said, “I know you're disappointed in me.”

“I must admit that I was a little surprised that you—”

Honey interrupted. “I know, Dr. Isler. I didn't close my eyes last night. To tell you the truth, I was so excited about working with you that I… I just couldn't sleep.”

He looked at her in surprise. “Oh. I see. I knew there had to be a reason for … I mean, your medical school record was so fantastic. What made you decide to become a doctor?”

Honey looked down for a moment, then said softly, “I had a younger brother who was injured in an accident. The doctors did everything they could to try to save him … but I watched him die. It took a long time, and I felt so helpless. I decided then that I was going to spend my life helping other people get well.” Her eyes welled up with tears.

She's so vulnerable, Isler thought. “I'm glad we had this little talk.” Honey looked at him and thought, He believed me.

Across town, in another part of the city, reporters and TV crews were waiting in the street for Lou Dinetto as he left the courtroom, smiling and waving, the greeting of royalty to the peasants. There were two bodyguards at his side, a tall, thin man known as the Shadow, and a heavy set man called Rhino. Lou Dinetto was, as always, dressed elegantly and expensively, in a gray silk suit with a white shirt, blue tie, and alligator shoes. His clothes had to be carefully tailored to make him look trim, because he was short and stout, with bandy legs. He always had a smile and a ready quip for the press, and they enjoyed quoting him. Dinetto had been indicted and tried three times on charges ranging from arson to racketeering to murder, and each time had gone free.

Now as he left the courtroom, one of the reporters yelled out, “Did you know you were going to be acquitted, Mr. Dinetto?”

Dinetto laughed. “Of course I did. I'm an innocent businessman. The government has got nothing better to do than to persecute me. That's one of the reasons our taxes are so high.”

A TV camera was aimed at him. Lou Dinetto stopped to smile into it.

“Mr. Dinetto, can you explain why two witnesses who were scheduled to testify against you in your murder trial failed to appear?”

“Certainly I can explain it,” Dinetto said. “They were honest citizens who decided not to perjure themselves.”

“The government claims that you're the head of the West Coast mob, and that it was you who arranged for—”

“The only thing I arrange for is where people sit at my restaurant. I want everybody to be comfortable.” He grinned at the milling crowd of reporters. “By the way, you're all invited to the restaurant tonight for a free dinner and drinks.”

He was moving toward the curb, where a black stretch limousine was waiting for him.

“Mr. Dinetto …”

“Mr. Dinetto …”

“Mr. Dinetto …”

“I'll see you at my restaurant tonight, boys and girls. You all know where it is.”

And Lou Dinetto was in the car, waving and smiling. Rhino closed the door of the limousine and got into the front seat. The Shadow slipped behind the wheel.

“That was great, boss!” Rhino said. “You sure know how to handle them bums.”

“Where to?” the Shadow asked. “Home. I can use a hot bath and a good steak.” The car started off.

“I don't like that question about the witnesses,” Dinetto said. “You sure they'll never …?” “Not unless they can talk underwater, boss.” Dinetto nodded. “Good.”

The car was speeding along Fillmore Street. Dinetto said, “Did you see the look on the DA's face when the judge dismissed …?”

A small dog appeared out of nowhere, directly in front of the limousine. The Shadow swung the wheel hard to avoid hitting it and jammed on the brakes. The car jumped the curb and crashed into a lamppost. Rhino's head flew forward into the windshield.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Dinetto screamed. “You trying to kill me?”

The Shadow was trembling. “Sorry, boss. A dog ran in front of the car …”

“And you decided his life was more important than mine? You stupid asshole!”

Rhino was moaning. He turned around, and Dinetto saw blood pouring from a large cut in his forehead.

“For Christ's sake!” Dinetto screamed. “Look what you've done!”

“I'm all right,” Rhino mumbled. “The hell you are!” Dinetto turned to the Shadow. “Get him to a hospital.” The Shadow backed the limousine off the curb. “The Embarcadero is only a couple of blocks down. We'll take him to the emergency ward there.”

“Right, boss.”

Dinetto sank back in his seat. “A dog,” he said disgustedly. “Jesus!”