“Jesus, that one looked close,” Cole said, referring to a missile explosion lighting up the Baghdad night sky on CNN. They sat on a couch in the surgeon’s lounge, watching Wolf Blitzer report live from Baghdad as they enjoyed a cup of coffee before they started the first of two cases. Cole was now routinely assigned to Alex’s cases. To Alex, Cole and Chuck Stevens were as intimate as family. Residents came and went, but the core group remained intact, each day learning more about each other’s lives, tastes, insecurities, and desires.
“Wonder if he gets hazardous duty pay for being there,” said Alex.
“Uh-oh, here comes your friend.” Cole nudged him.
Alex glanced up just as the TV segued from Blitzer to General Schwarzkopf. Gene Roux, the morbidly obese hematologist, stood at the counter stirring a packet of sugar into a steaming Styrofoam cup. Just one more routine in Alex’s life—watching Roux wash down the morning maple bars with sugary, creamy coffee. He watched this little drama with a mixture of morbid fascination and disgust. The guy was killing himself. Surely he must know that.
“There he goes. Maple bar number one,” muttered Cole.
Roux’s sausage-link fingers made the maple bar seem small and delicate, about the right size for the three bites Roux required to devour it. A lick of his fingers, followed by a second bar, then one more cup of coffee for the road. Done, Roux rinsed off his fingers and left the room.
“Watching this makes me sick,” Alex said.
“Yeah, but if you ever need a hematologist, he’s your man.”
“Assuming he’s still alive. I can’t imagine what his coronaries must look like. To say nothing of his blood sugar.”
“Doctor Cole, patient’s ready,” a nurse said from the doorway.
Cole slapped his thighs to stand. “We should be ready for you in ten, but feel free to mosey down earlier to select your music. Have a few new CDs for you. You heard the Les McCann and Eddie Harris at Montreaux disc? ‘Compared To What’ is my favorite on it.”
“Know the song, just not that version. It’s pretty good?”
Cole was tying his mask in place. “Just wait.”
“Doctor Cutter?”
Alex stopped working to peer around the overhead table. Ellen stood just inside the swinging doors, mask held over her mouth and nose.
“Yep?”
“Doctor Reynolds asked if you could drop by his office when you finish this case. Said he wants a few words. Let me know if you want us to hold on your second case.”
He shook his head. “No, go ahead and flip the room. Second one’s going to take a while, and I want to get done at a reasonable hour today. Whatever it is Reynolds wants to talk about can’t take that long. Thanks.”
“What’s up, Jim?” Alex entered Reynolds’s office. Claude wasn’t at her desk but had left Reynolds’s door ajar, probably out taking a cigarette break now that the university was cracking down on in-office smoking.
Reynolds set down his pen. “Couple things.” He pointed to one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”
Alex sat.
“Two things for discussion, both important. Y’all got a second case waiting?”
Uh-oh. Sounded serious. “I do.”
“All right then, I’ll make it short. But before I begin, I just want to say how pleased we all are with your practice. Figured you’d be a success, but never imagined it’d be this successful. I was bragging on you the other day to some friends at the Senior Society,” he said, referring to an exclusive neurosurgical organization of program directors and their seconds-in-command. “We should get you into that organization, by the way.”
“Thanks.” Alex realized how much his priorities had shifted since moving here. Two years ago he would’ve jumped at the chance to advance his academic career, but that was no longer the case. What’s happening to me?
Reynolds began polishing his glasses on his white coat. “I received orders to report to Bethesda on account of this Desert Storm business. Don’t know how long it’s going take, but the way they’re talking, it won’t be all that long. While I’m gone you’re in total charge of the department, which makes me even more thankful for bringing you on. I got the utmost faith in your judgment, but if something comes up and you reckon you need to talk to me, call. Soon’s I get there I’ll let Claude know how to reach me. Damn! Never reckoned on getting called up, especially at my age, but all’s I’ll be doing is shuffling some papers behind a desk.”
Alex waited, but when Reynolds didn’t say anything else, he spoke up. “You mentioned two things. What’s the other?”
“That’s it. Residency and department. You got ’em both starting tomorrow morning.” He seemed to reconsider. “On second thought, we might oughta make that starting at six tonight. Have a problem with this?”
“No problems, but if we’re done with this issue, I have something to run by you. Brett Johnson. Heard any rumblings about him from the residents?”
Reynolds haphazardly replaced his glasses and started tapping his steepled fingers together. “Rumblings. Huh. Damn good word for it. Yes, I have. Why d’you ask?”
“He’s been late for cases. When I question him, I get the feeling he’s lying. I’ve had a few complaints from the residents about him—not answering pages some nights, forcing them to cover for him. Things to that effect.”
This last statement raised Reynolds’s eyebrows. “Know this for fact, or is this only just grumblings?”
“Nothing for fact. He’s on my service now, so if he is lying to me, I plan to find out soon enough.”
Reynolds sucked a tooth. “What you think we oughta do about it?”
Alex hated what he was about to say. “There’s no room in the program for liars. If I catch him in a blatant one, he needs to be out of here. I can’t believe it would be a one-time event.”
Reynolds nodded. “Agreed. Whatever you do, I want to be damn sure we got us ironclad documentation of wrongdoing. I want it in our files. Can’t have him coming back at us with some wild-ass wrongful termination suit. In other words, you catch him in a lie that’s cause for termination, you better have enough evidence to prove it in a court of law. Understand?”
“Yes sir.”
“You get that evidence, you fire his ass. It’ll stress the rotation some, but the boys will understand.”
Alex checked his beeper. “They’re ready for my second case. We good here?”
Reynolds nodded, his attention already back to the paperwork in front of him. “We are.”
“… and protect us from harm. Amen.”
Alex stopped halfway through the door to one of the small private rooms in the surgery waiting area reserved for families. Clarence Hill stood in the center of room, the family of Alex’s patient clustered around him. Taken aback, Alex asked, “What are you doing here?”
Clarence stood with arms outstretched in a pose resembling Christ on the cross. “Leading my brothers and sisters in a prayer for God’s benevolent healing. These folk are members of my flock. How’s Brother Roland doing?”
My flock? Alex realized the thing he resented most was Clarence’s smug self-assuredness. In spite of Alex’s ability to control the residents, Clarence knew he could proselytize whenever and wherever he wished. And at the moment, he appeared to savor his ability to rub Alex’s nose in it. The patient comes first, Alex reminded himself. Forget it. Let this pass. It’s a stressful time for them. He could think of nothing to do but smile. “Roland’s fine. I was able to remove a hundred percent of the tumor. He’s in the recovery room and should be waking up soon. Once he does, I’ll move him to the intensive care unit for overnight observation. I expect he’ll be back to his room tomorrow morning.”
Clarence smiled at his flock and lifted his hands like a priest at the altar. “Praise be to God!” The family echoed his words. Alex turned and left. What goes around comes around, Clarence. Count on it.