Small Town Doctor

by Robert James Allison

  Doc waved in response, thinking, something is odd here. I wish I could sniff around that hospital myself. But then what could I do there? I can’t even find Jesse Blockman in this little town.

  ~*~

  Frank Mahone didn’t like this assignment. He was used to more exciting work and this was about as boring as you could get. What business of the government was this thing anyway? Who really cared what went on in a private hospital, especially, as long as ten years ago?

  Besides, working around this place gave him the creeps. He didn’t like to see all of these sick and dying people lying around and walking around, if that’s what some of them were doing, many were rolling around in wheel chairs and on gurneys. He was in excellent physical condition for just past age forty and seeing these people made him feel uneasy. Possibly, he thought, it is because in them, I see myself, many years in the future, but no, that’s not it, either. I’m just used to being around strong healthy people who are physically fit and capable of handling any physical challenge.

  Had he thought about it more, he probably would have concluded that he was very lucky to be in the good physical condition he was. Seeing the people in this hospital would have made him feel good about himself rather than uncomfortable with his surroundings. But he didn’t think about it that long. He had a job to do and when he was on a job that was top priority. A job to him was all-consuming. There was no time for daydreaming. Generally, too many lives might depend upon his concentration, not to mention his own. He had risked his life many times for his country and he had the scars to prove it.

  This one is different, he thought. This doesn’t seem like a national security problem. This isn’t a war or a national emergency, for the sake of God and country. This is downright sneaking around into business that was private. Still, it was a job and he would do it to his best ability. Just as he always had and just as efficiently as he could. Why this project should be “black” was beyond his understanding.

  He had worked “black” projects before. Those projects were easy to see why they were “black”. Those “black” projects could be very unhealthy for a lot of people and downright embarrassing to the government if word got out. He understood why some projects had to be “black”. Why no one could know they had ever existed and no one would admit to their existence.

  In fact, there were only four or five people who even knew of this project or that Frank Mahone was on it. What in the world is a “black” agent doing on a “black” project in St. Mary’s Hospital, Boston, Massachusetts? he wondered. Somebody has some real juice to set this one up, he decided.

  Almost 5:00 p.m., he noticed. Time to check out and hit the bar which was the favorite among the hospital staffers. That’s where the real information would come from. A few drinks before supper and the tongues might loosen up. Loosen up for what, he was not sure yet. He was only supposed to sniff around and pick up anything of interest. Whatever that might be in a hospital, he thought with disgust.

  He did have a few clues, however. He had been given the old records from the trial and he had examined them in detail. Not for the same things that others would have though. Frank looked for names and then he matched the names to faces of the people. People he could contact, without them realizing they had been contacted, and interrogate them, without them realizing they had been interrogated. Not exactly his specialty, but it came naturally to him, since he stayed alive on information that he got out of people without them realizing he had gotten it.

  The records had given him several names to work with. The hospital administrator, who had been on the review board, the members of the board, the nurses on duty with Blockman, and the lab technicians who had performed all of the tests. He might not know what he was looking for, but at least he knew where to look. He also knew that Blockman had caused the death of a little girl and that a jury had found him civilly liable and assessed some major penalties. None of that seemed out of the ordinary to him, since he was used to unhappy endings. In his line of work a lot of people died or were permanently disabled. No one ever seemed to live happily ever after.

  He went to his locker after having put away his mops and buckets. Mops and buckets, he thought with disgust, what kind of an assignment is this?

  After he had changed into his street clothes, which included slipping his .40 caliber Glock in its holster, he headed for the bar that every staffer seemed to hit on the way home. The bar was only a block and a half from the hospital and at 5:30 p.m. it looked like a hospital annex. This night he found the place extremely crowded and he grabbed a seat at the end of the bar near the booths that were strung out along one wall.

  Even the hospital administrator is here tonight, he noted. Everyone in the place seemed to be employed at the hospital. From the administrator on down to Frank Mahone, the newest day shift janitorial assistant.

  He noticed on his way in that the administrator was seated with a fairly attractive young woman. Well, she’s under 40, anyway, he thought. That was close enough to be classified young to him, and besides, being seated with the administrator, who was at least 60, made her look even younger.

  ~*~

  “Merry Christmas.” Doc heard from his left and immediately recognized the voice of Mike Maltby. Turning he saw that Mike had a cup of coffee in his hand and Doc said, “Merry Christmas to you, Mike. It’s a lonely and bleak Christmas, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but all mine have been. Mostly my own fault.”

  “Well, Mike I still haven’t seen Jesse.”

  “Me, either.”

  “If there is any hope of me finding him I’ll have to do some walking and talking. Sitting on this bench is useless and besides, it’s too cold to just sit. Maybe some slow easy walking will warm me up and I can talk to some people who haven’t passed this bench.”

  “How about the mother and father of that little girl?” Mike responded. “They might know something. It seems obvious from their silence about Jesse that they are in some manner informed of his plight and are sympathetic.”

  “Sure, Mike. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because you are only a country saw bones and I’m a natural-born schemer.”

  “Yeah.”

  ~*~

  Doc waited until well after supper to visit the Carlson apartment. The apartment was on the second floor and since he still had a clumsy walking cast on, it was going to be difficult enough to reach and he wanted the best chance possible to catch someone at home.

  The stairs look steeper now than the night I ran up them and fell backwards, he thought. Still, he clumped up them one at a time, holding firmly to the bannister this time. He wasn’t about to fall down these stairs again.

  After several long minutes he reached the top of the stairs and walked two doors down the hall to reach the Carlson apartment. He noted the apartment number was 2B, guess I was too busy the last time I was here or I was in too much pain to notice the number, but I remember it being the second door on the left.

  He knocked firmly on the apartment door three times quickly. In seconds he was rewarded by a rattling of the chain on the inside of the door.

  Mr. Carlson stood in the door opening, but only opened the door half way. “Yes. May I help you?” Carlson asked.

  “I’m Bill Collins, Mr. Carlson. You may not remember me.”

  “I remember you. What can I do for you?” Dick Carlson responded, rather coldly, to Doc’s manner of thinking.

  “I was wondering if you could tell me where Jesse…I mean Dirty Dan is,” he said, catching his mistake.

  “Who?” Dick questioned with a puzzled look on his face.

  “You know, the man that was here the night your daughter was hurt. He helped her.”

  “No one around here by that name and the man who helped my daughter is gone, as far as I know. Left the same night and I haven’t seen him since,” Dick said, still coldly.

  “You sure of that?”

  “Well, if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t say so, would I!” he
responded harshly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m trying to eat supper.”

  Doc was about to turn and leave and then decided to try one more approach. “Mr. Carlson. Why did you tell everyone at the hospital that I was the one who treated your daughter? You know very well that I didn’t.”

  “Seemed like the thing to say since Jes….” Carlson stopped and his mouth slammed shut faster than a brand-new mousetrap.

  Carlson started to shut the door, but Doc leaned in slightly and said, “Since Jesse Blockman is a hunted man? And he did you a favor and you couldn’t repay him by betraying him,” he continued, as he pressed toward the door.

  “Come on, Mr. Carlson. I’m a friend of Jesse Blockman’s, too! I want to help and I can’t do that if he won’t talk to me. Now where is he?” His voice was rising by the second now.

  A voice from behind Carlson said, “It’s okay, Mr. Carlson. Let him in. I’ll talk to him.”

  Jesse! Doc thought, he is in the apartment. Then the door swung completely open and Dick Carlson said with defeat in his voice, “Okay, Doctor Collins, you can come in. Jesse says it’s okay.”

  He stepped into the apartment and looked to his left to see a clean-shaven, short-haired, and cleaned up, Jesse Blockman standing just inside and behind the door. It took him a minute to convince himself that it was in fact Jesse Blockman. Right, right color of hair and right build. The voice matched. Yes, he thought, it has to be Jesse. Couldn’t be anyone else, but boy what a change. He looks years younger.

  I’m not sure I would have recognized him on the street had I seen him, he mused. Then again, maybe I did see him and didn’t recognize him. From a distance he would look completely different than Dirty Dan.

  “Jesse! Why I didn’t even recogn….”

  “Doctor Collins. Please!” Carlson said firmly, as he closed the door to the apartment quickly and continued, “no one knows he is here except my family and the other two men who helped that night and we would like to keep it that way.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “Have a seat at the table and we can talk,” Carlson said, motioning him to a chair at the dinner table tucked into a corner of the living room and adjacent to the small kitchen.

  “Thanks. I could use a sit down. This leg hurts some when I stand too much and I’m afraid those stairs about did me in for the second time.”

  He took the chair indicated by Dick Carlson and Jesse sat opposite him while the others including Amanda each picked another chair around the table.

  “Jesse. I’ve been looking all over town for you,” he now said and continued, “why are you holed up in here? You can’t hide in here forever you know.”

  Jesse responded, “I know, but I can’t go out on the streets, either. The word may be out and the investigators may be around soon, if not already.”

  “The word around town is that I did some miracle treatment of this little girl,” Doc said indicating Amanda, who to his delight, looked as fit as could be. “You know that isn’t true, Jesse and I’m ashamed to be taking credit for something I had nothing to do with.”

  “Can’t be helped and you know why. These good folks know why too now and they have given me shelter. For the first time in years I feel like a human being and if feeling like a human being means staying in this apartment for the rest of my life, then so be it.”

  “You can’t do that, Jesse. That isn’t fair to these folks and you know it. You have to meet your problems, just like you did the night Amanda needed you.”

  “And how about the night that the little girl in Boston need me?” he responded bitterly. “I didn’t do so good that night, now did I?”

  “You can’t change the past, Jesse. Don’t throw away your future crying about something you can’t change.”

  “What future!” Jesse spat out. “I can’t have a future. I have to remain a man with no name and no face or the vultures will descend on me again. Rightfully so, I might add.”

  “Jesse. It’s bad enough you have to live with what happened over 10 years ago, but you don’t have to keep running yourself down and punishing yourself. That little girl’s family is doing a good enough job of that,” Doc said flatly.

  “Okay, so what do you suggest I do?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I wanted to find you first and make sure you were still around. Now that I know you are I can study on what to do.”

  “Doc, you’re a good man, but you can’t help me. No matter how hard you study on this you can’t help me. No one can help me. No one can give me back my medical license. Not after what I did. No one can give me a second chance to write down the right notation on a medical chart that is over 10 years old.”

  “Maybe I can’t help you, Jesse, maybe you can’t help yourself, but how about God? God could help you couldn’t He?”

  “Sure, God could help, but why should He? What am I to God?”

  “Have faith, Jesse, that’s all I can say for right now, but I can tell you that I firmly believe God has heard your cries for help. God will help you, Jesse, but you have to help yourself by having faith. Now, you do that and I will do what I can, which admittedly, may be nothing, but if it be God’s will I can do a lot,” he finished.

  Jesse replied, “I’m a Christian, but I’ve drifted from the faith these past few years.”

  “Jesse. It recently occurred to me while talking to a friend that doctors do nothing except make judgment calls their whole careers. Some calls are good and some are bad, but we live with them. Good or bad. You have to live with yours, too or drop out. I don’t believe you are a dropout. The doctor I saw the night Amanda was hurt and dying wasn’t the type to drop out when the going gets rough. I know how rough it has been for you, but you have to hang in there and have faith. Life is a rough road, Jesse, but the scenery along the way usually makes it worth the trip.”

  “Okay. I’ll do my best, but I’m not sure how long it will last. Don’t forget. There are others in this world who make judgment calls besides doctors. They call them juries and their calls last for a lifetime, too. They made the call on me and though I have faith, I also have reason. The call was a good one and I can’t see a God who is good having much sympathy on me. I don’t pray for myself anymore.”

  “Maybe so, but God hears the prayers of those who pray for others sometimes more readily than those who only pray for themselves. You prayed for this town didn’t you, Jesse? You prayed that God would send them a doctor, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I did. But how did you guess?”

  “I didn’t guess, I knew. I knew it when I came here and before I came here. Don’t ask me how I knew, but I did. I can also tell you that your prayer will be answered, but I can’t tell you how or when. Not that I wouldn’t if I could, but I don’t know. I only know that it will be answered.”

  “You’re a strange one. You came here last October to find me, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t tell you that, Jesse. I know the answer to that one, but I can’t tell you. Now, I’d best be going. You think about what I said. You can’t hide from yourself and hiding from the world only makes it worse. You have to put up with the bumps if you want to get to the best scenery.” Doc stood up and clumped over to the door, which Dick Carlson quickly jumped up to open for him.

  “Thank you, Mr. Carlson and good night,” he said, as he clumped out the door and down the hall to the stairs.

  Chapter Three

  “Seen you on the third floor today, didn’t I?” A voice beside Frank said pleasantly.

  He turned to see a man of about 35 sitting to his left and smiling around the top of a beer.

  “Yeah, I was up there cleaning the floor today. I get to a floor about each day of the week. Today was third,” he responded lightly. Ordinarily he would not want to have been bothered by a stranger in a bar or anywhere else, but this was business. Anyone from the hospital who talked was a potential lead.

  “I was there most of the day myself. Doing some
electrical repair on the lights over the west wing nurse’s station. Bad ballasts as it turned out. Took pretty near all day to get them changed. Those babies can be a real pain, especially when they are right over a counter like those were,” the man said conversationally.

  “Too deep for me,” Frank said and continued, “I can barely figure out how much soap to put in the scrub water. Never made it through high school and barely got out of grade school.” He lied. He always got more out of people when they thought they were smarter.

  “Well, there really ain’t that much to it,” the man said.

  “I have a hard time figuring out lots of things,” Frank now said. “Like for instance what does a good-looking young woman like that see in an old coot like him?” As he finished he gestured toward the administrator and the nurse.

  “I don’t know that for sure, but they are quite an item around the hospital. Have been for a lot of years now. I started here twelve years ago and they been hot for at least the last ten,” the man responded.

  “Just the last ten?” Frank said sarcastically and smiled.

  “Well, before that I remember them around each other a little, but it didn’t never take until about two years after I started.”

  On this job anything that happened about ten years ago interested him. He didn’t care if a toilet stopped up ten years ago, he wanted to know about it. Something happened around the time of the death of that little girl and he was here to find out what it was, or wasn’t. The fact that he didn’t think his kind of talent was needed for this type of investigation didn’t matter at this point. He had his orders and he always followed orders.

  Frank now said very nonchalantly, “Well, maybe it took them a couple of years to get things together.”

  “Could be, but it happened awful sudden if you ask me. They got real close, real fast. Nothing like the first two years I was around here,” the man said, a little thickly now and Frank figured this wasn’t his first beer.

  “What’s her name?”

  “O’Toole, Margaret O’Toole,” the man responded as he motioned the bartender over for another beer.

  Bingo! Frank thought. Margaret O’Toole was the nurse on duty the night that little girl died. She was a key witness at Blockman’s trial. She administered the lethal dose of medication. All according to the directions of Doctor Blockman. Directions that a young nurse was not expected, nor wise, to question.