“Doctor Cutter, there’s a man outside, says he wants a word with you.” Kasey stood in the doorway to his office.
This was his clinic day and Alex was between patients, dictating a note. “From your tone of voice, I assume he isn’t a patient.” The clinic did not allow drug salesmen access to the physicians.
Kasey stepped in the office and closed the door. “He’s an FBI agent.”
FBI? Why would the FBI want to talk to me? He glanced at his watch. “He say what it’s about?” Wait. Could it be …?
She was giving him a questioning look. “No, sir.”
“Before you show him in, explain that he gets only five minutes.” Alex quickly finished dictating his note.
Kasey ushered in a fireplug Asian, perhaps 5'9", 170 pounds, making Alex think sumo wrestler. Kasey shut the door as she exited.
“John Suzuki,” the man said, offering his FBI credentials for Alex to view.
Alex returned the wallet. He didn’t offer the agent a seat nor take one himself, for it would prolong the meeting and he had a full clinic. “What can I do for you?”
Suzuki slid the ID back into his suit coat. “You are Doctor Alex Cutter?”
“I am.”
“Did you contact the Medicare fraud tip line several months ago?”
Aw, that’s it. Alex extended a hand toward the visitor chairs in front of his desk. “Here, have a seat.” This would take longer than five minutes.
“Can you spare a moment?” Clarence sauntered into Alex’s office.
“Sure. What’s up?” Alex set the Sony recorder on the chart of the patient for whom he was dictating a note and swept a hand toward the two chairs on the other side of his desk. “Have a seat.”
“That’s all right; this won’t take but a few seconds.” Clarence, like Garrison, wore scrubs regardless of whether or not he had a case scheduled that day. Alex figured Garrison routinely wore them as an excuse for not having to decide what to wear. Clarence, on the other hand, wore them to mimic Garrison.
“How do you like being back at the clinic?” Alex asked. Not that he gave a rat’s ass; it just seemed to be the right thing to say.
“I’m blessed, truly blessed to be given an opportunity to return home. How ’bout you? You like it here?” Wiry black hairs sprouted over the neck of Clarence’s scrub shirt, giving him a feral appearance.
“Love it here.”
Uneasy silence followed. Alex waited to hear what Clarence had to say. A moment later Clarence cleared his throat. “I understand you run a journal club.”
Ah … “Yes. Faculty are invited, so feel free to attend.”
Clarence shifted weight from one to the other foot. “That’s what I wanted to talk about. Why did you choose Wednesday evenings?”
Clarence’s tone carried a challenging vibe that put Alex on guard. “Seemed the best choice, is all. Why?”
“But why Wednesday? Why not Tuesday or Thursday?”
Obviously, Clarence had an issue with Wednesday. What could it be? How could it make a damn bit of difference? Why was he sounding so accusatory?
“Have to think about that a moment. Let’s see … Monday is conference day, so that’s out. Fridays are the start of the weekend, so that’s out.” Alex shrugged. “Wednesdays just seemed to be the best option.”
Clarence leaned forward, eyes boring intensely into Alex. “A righteous person would never choose Wednesday. A righteous person would know the difference between right and wrong. This leads me to conclude you’re a godless person.”
Whoa! His first impulse—to say “fuck off”—was immediately trumped by curiosity. What the hell was he talking about? Calmly, he said, “Excuse me, Clarence, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“No, of course not. I didn’t expect you would, considering where you come from.”
That pissed him off. “And where’s that?”
“The West Coast.” Clarence was standing straight now, white balls of knuckles at his sides.
Alex signaled “time out.” “Hey, take a deep breath and explain what it is you’re talking about. I’m totally lost.”
Glaring, Clarence actually did take a deep breath while shrug-adjusting his white coat. “Folks around here are God-fearing Christians. You understand that much, don’t you?”
“Some are, some aren’t. Not everyone is Christian.”
“That’s not the point. Point is, Wednesday evenings are for Bible study. Everybody knows that. You can’t just go ’round ignoring these things. That’s why I’m telling you to change it to another night. Tuesday’s what I think it should be, but Thursday’s fine with me, too.”
“Fine with you, huh?” Alex mind buzzed with sarcastic replies.
Clarence nodded.
“Tell me something: What happens if I keep things as is?”
“That’s your option, but don’t expect the residents to be there,” he said quickly. “As of this week, I’m requiring the residents to come to my home for Bible study and fellowship.”
Alex struggled to control his anger. Clarence had finally crossed a defensible line. “Sorry Clarence, there’s no way in hell you can force residents to attend. I won’t allow it. This is a neurosurgery residency, not the First Church of Clarence Hill.”
Clarence stabbed a finger at his chest. “We’ll see about this. Doctor Majors made a commitment to me to attend. He’ll be there every week.”
Garrison would probably walk on red-hot coals to get away from Anne for an evening.
“Well, have fun. Just don’t expect any residents to attend.”
Clarence’s face was red with rage. “We’ll see about that.”
“Before you go, let me ask you something.”
Clarence cast a wary glance.
“What would you say if I told you Humpty Dumpty was pushed?”
Clarence side-stepped toward the door. “I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of playing your silly games.” He wheeled around and stormed from the office.
Fuck!
Pulse pounding his temples, Alex dropped into his desk chair to think. Had there been a better way to handle Clarence? Probably. But the bastard pushed so many hot buttons so rapidly it was impossible to not lose his temper.
Learn to exercise more caution, be more circumspect before reacting. Making clinic enemies will only make your job more problematic.
Sounded good, but realistically, he knew that in an organization this complex it would be impossible to avoid getting into polarizing politics. Besides, for whatever reason, there had been no love between them from the moment of their first encounter. The problem with the present situation was, Clarence Hill seemed too closely allied with Garrison, a person Alex couldn’t afford to alienate. On the other hand, he didn’t seriously believe Clarence would try to escalate this particular issue beyond their private discussion. Instead, Clarence would be constantly searching for any and every opportunity to subtly erode Alex’s cachet within the clinic. In Alex’s favor was the fact he was now one of the clinic’s top revenue producers, second only to Martin, a point that assured him a layer of political Kevlar in spite of how distasteful Alex found this dynamic. He would prefer clinic stature to be based on more relevant attributes like ethics, decision-making, and patient outcome. Yet he knew this desire was too Pollyanna, too unrealistic. He found it equally discouraging to know this confrontation likely marked the beginning of an escalating power struggle between Garrison’s and Reynolds’s successors. He hated the thought.