THE SKULL HAD BEEN smashed in five places. Both cheekbones were broken across the zygomatic arch; there was a fracture of the left parietal bone; the mandible was shattered near the joint; and the nose was broken in two places.
Peter Ross, sitting in the dark room on the seventh floor where the X-rays were read, stared at the plate. With him was Jackson, the plastic surgeon.
“Hell of a mess,” Ross said. “You going to fix him tonight?”
“If we can. He’s still unconscious. But what do you expect? They had to cut him out of the car.”
“Good luck,” Ross said. He pulled the X-ray of the head off the lighted, frosted glass and handed it to Jackson. “You’ll be up all night.”
“I know,” Jackson said. “But we have to do it now. He hasn’t got much of a face at the moment, you know. He looks caved in.”
Ross shook his head. Maniacs, the way they drove. Taking so many chances. Sooner or later, they all got caught. “Was he drinking?”
“He certainly smelled like it.” Jackson collected the X-rays and slipped them into the folder. “Well, I’d better get down to the OR. They’re prepping him now. By the way, I understand you’re leaving.”
“Yes,” Ross said, flicking off the glass light.
“Passed your radiology boards?”
Ross nodded.
“Congratulations. Where are you going?”
“Right now,” Ross said, “I’m going to the annual meeting of the American Society of Radiologists.”
“Oh? Where?”
“Barcelona,” Ross grinned.
“You bastard. How long?”
“The conference lasts a week. But I’m staying a month.”
“Going to the Costa Brava?”
“Yes.”
“Before, or afterward?”
“Well, both, actually.” Ross grinned again. “I need a rest.”
“You won’t get one there,” Jackson said. “It’s full of English and Swedish girls, this time of year.”
“Is it?” Ross said innocently. “I hadn’t heard that.”
“I’ll bet you hadn’t.”
They walked out of the radiology laboratory, toward the elevators. It was late evening; there was no one around.
“I hear,” Jackson said conversationally, “that the girls are on the beach so thick you practically can’t find any sand.”
“Interesting.”
“I hear,” Jackson said, “that they are wildly eager to meet any young man, no matter how ugly.”
“Fascinating.”
“I hear,” Jackson sighed, “that they are all deeply passionate, fabulously attractive, and incredibly sexy.”
“Remarkable,” Ross said.
The elevator came, and they both got on. Jackson punched the button for three; Ross pressed the ground floor.
“Tell me,” Jackson said. “Are you going to do anything worthwhile while you’re in Spain, aside from mistreating sweet young things?”
“Well, yes, actually,” Ross said. “I’m delivering a paper at the conference.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“A paper? On what?”
“Diagnosis of intestinal obstruction in infants.”
“Unbelievable. Where did you ever find time to write a paper? You’ve been with that nurse on the sixth floor—”
“Where there’s a will,” Ross said, “there’s a way.”
“Do tell.”
“My motto is: clean living, hard work, and lots of sleep. I also brush after every—”
“This is where I get out,” Jackson said. The elevator doors opened on the third floor. Ahead was the swinging door which led to the surgical operating rooms. Jackson paused and looked back at Ross.
“You know, I could learn to hate you,” he said.
Ross grinned and took the elevator to the ground floor, walked briskly out to the parking lot, and got into his car. He drove home to his apartment and packed quickly, whistling to himself.
It was the evening of Friday, July 13th.