by Lauren Brown
Dr. Livingston,
It’s a pleasure to be writing you. Your name has become quite familiar to me.
It has come to my attention that you might be willing to meet to discuss a future financial matter that will serve to better both of us. I would be honored to embark on this endeavor with you, as I am certain you will honor this business with your robust knowledge and unfailing skill. If you agree, I invite you to my home to discuss further the details of this agreement. Next Thursday at 4:30 p.m. should do.
I look forward to meeting you.
There was no signature. The bottom of the letter was blank and stark. Just an empty space. Even Rick didn’t know the man’s real name. Maybe he wasn’t real. Maybe he was just a blank space, and I was wasting my time. I began to doubt the idea of meeting him at all, but then I was struck with the nagging need of this business. I had become addicted to making more money. I was spending it left and right, paying off my debt, buying Hope nice things, and it felt freeing. I reassured myself that there was promise in that blank space, promise for an abundant lifetime of happiness.
I heard Hope in the kitchen and quickly folded the letter and stuffed it into my robe pocket. I went back inside and found her with a book in hand.
“What’s the book?” I asked while I poured myself a cup of coffee.
“I bought it before the trip. It’s about reproductive specialists.”
“Oh really?” I asked. I took it from her and turned it over in my hand.
“Yeah,” she said grabbing her beach towel, “I know it’s too expensive at the moment, but I was just curious. That’s all.” She kissed me then made her way to the beach. I watched her fight the wind to open her umbrella. She stood, book in hand with a smile painted across her face, and waved at me. I put one hand in my pocket and felt the corners of the folded letter. My anxiousness dissipated as I returned the smile. And not because Hope was smiling at me through her windblown hair, but because I knew right then that my decision to work with the Bear had been made.
I awoke a week later to a soft sun slipping between the sheer blue curtains decorating our bedroom window. I turned from the sun and faced Hope. I could hear her soft breathing, her blonde hair tousled and face aglow. She was beautiful. I took her in briefly and forced out a breath.
I got out of bed, making my way to the bathroom. I went about my daily routine, putting on my khakis and the light blue button-down Hope had pressed the night before. I paused and looked at myself in the mirror. I imagined how the meeting would go, what this man would look like, what he would say, why it was that people referred to him as an animal. I gulped trying to clear my throat of the nervous knot. I mean, I was meeting a drug lord. I splashed my face with cold water to keep myself from worrying. I am a doctor, I am a businessman, I reassured myself. I have superiority and it is ultimately my decision to work with him.
“Bye, love. Don’t forget about dinner tonight at seven. Sarah should be coming in around noon,” Hope groggily called out to me as I straightened my tie and grabbed my briefcase.
“Yes, I won’t forget,” I said as I left our bedroom.
The office was bustling that morning. We were double-booked until lunch because I had asked Beth to cancel the late afternoon patients. She had given me a puzzled look when I first asked, especially since I had just returned from a long weekend vacation but didn’t question me.
The morning was filled with the usual patients and, by 4:30 p.m., I had packed up my briefcase and informed the staff I was going to my meeting with a former colleague.
“If my wife calls, please tell her I had to turn my phone off for the meeting,” I yelled to Beth as I slipped out of the office.
The man lived on Mayflower Road. I had driven down this road countless times visiting Beau and Janie, but never had I imagined them inhabiting the same neighborhood as the largest opiate dealer in all of Johnson City. I had envisioned a drug lord, especially one associated with pain medications, being gruff and mangy, not living in a mansion near a golf and country club.
I spotted 235 on a mailbox and turned onto a long gravel road lined with white dogwood and pine trees. At the end of the driveway sat a large, white, brick house that seemed confined behind the trees yet open to sky and yard. A crisp, clean American flag hung from a guesthouse connected by a breezeway.
I studied the house from my driver’s seat before stepping out. I straightened my jacket and tie, keeping my eyes fixed on the house. As I began to make my way to the black front door, I heard a distant cheerful call from behind me.
“John! So glad you could make it!”
I saw a well-groomed, middle-aged man, beer in hand, riding down the gravel driveway in a green golf cart with tan leather seats. He was far away, yet I could see his grin from where I stood.
He was definitely not what I had been expecting. I waved politely.
He zoomed past me and into the guest garage. He emerged into the breezeway, motioning for me to follow him inside as he wiped the sweat from his brow with a towel. I walked up the porch stairs and briefly looked back at the tree-lined driveway behind me. It seemed eternally long, darkened by the trees.
As we entered the house, he went straight to the refrigerator for a bottled water. His back was to me, and I still hadn’t clearly seen his face.
I looked around at the Southern-styled home. The living room was large and open with a rustic yet delicate feel. There was a gas fireplace with detailed woodwork to my left, navy couches with a massive grizzly bear skin rug to my right. There was a smell of cigars and lemon oil in the air.
He turned and walked toward me with an outstretched hand. I could see him then. He was a tall man, about 6’4” with a similar body shape as me. He was also in khakis, although more starched than mine, and a yellow golf shirt lightly speckled in sweat. He had a handsome, calm looking face with a narrow, sun-kissed nose underneath thinning, almond-colored hair. His eyes were darker blue than Hope’s, an azure blue with flickering hints of emerald. His grin was sharp and chilling. He didn’t break eye contact as he slid a water into my hand.
“So, you’re the famous Dr. Livingston,” he declared with awe in his voice, firmly shaking my hand.
“That is correct. Although, famous I’m not so sure,” I replied.
“Well, in my neck of the woods you are quite famous. But let’s talk more in my office.”
He didn’t allow me time to respond. He began up the stairs by the front door and I followed closely behind, like a child afraid of being reprimanded for moving too slowly.
I tagged behind him down a long, outstretched hallway lined with silver-framed, oversized pictures of an attractive brown-haired woman with two boys on a white sandy beach.
I walked into his office and was taken aback by the large grizzly head, mouth agape, mounted on the wall to my left. It seemed to be crying out in agony. I assumed the rug downstairs belonged to the other half of its body.
I looked for a nameplate on his desk but didn’t see one. There were three tall windows behind the desk allowing me to see a large, well-kept backyard that merged with the pristine golf course. The sun was shining in from the windows, illuminating his face. He rested all of his weight into his dark leather chair and finished his water in one gulp before speaking further.
“Rick mentioned you would be interested in the deal I proposed?”
“I need to know more. All Rick said was that you wanted to speak with me about a deal. He didn’t mention what you had in mind.”
“Well, Dr. Livingston. You see, I basically run this town. Do you even know who I am?” He put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair.
“You look familiar.” And he did. I felt like I had seen his face before, but really it was his demeanor, his boastful grin, his control. At the time I couldn’t put a finger on it, but looking back on it later that night, it felt as if I had been looking at my father.
“A familiar face can be deadly.” He chuckled before leaning forward and resting his fo
rearms on his desk. “I am actually Mayor Ringgold’s financial advisor.” I knew he looked familiar. I had seen him on the news several times, but I still couldn’t recall his name. His connection to the mayor made my stomach drop.
I forced a small smile and asked, “Is that so?”
He sensed my uneasiness and tried to reassure me. “No need to worry. He practically works for me.” He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a cigar and lighter. He offered me one but I declined. He took several puffs to light it then resumed. “It’s quite a simple plan. As long as everyone plays by the rules, everything will be fine.”
“What are these rules?”
He didn’t answer my question but continued, “Well you see, Dr. Livingston, I am currently very wealthy, and I want to stay wealthy. ‘Money can’t buy you happiness’ is what they say. Well that’s a bunch of nonsense if you ask me. Look at my life,” he said, throwing up his arms. “Money is happiness, my friend. Without it, the world would be nothing but emptiness, no structure and no motivation. Surely, you can agree. I know you’ve made quite a sum of money in the past year. Fun, isn’t it?”
“It’s nice not having to worry,” I said, though I was finding myself worried in that current moment.
He paused briefly before leaning in, interlacing his fingers, and resting his elbows on his desk. He was suddenly serious and unnerving. There was a sense of power that was so hypnotizing, so soul-sucking, that I innately leaned towards him.
“You may not have realized at the time, but you’ve been working with several of my guys by prescribing them oxycodone for the past year for their incurable pain, and I thank you for that. When you generously prescribe as you do, you’re not only benefiting them but also this town. You’re giving these men and women a job, a way of living, feeding their kids. I mean, Rick’s been doing quite well lately. He’s able to pay for his chemo, though between you and I, I doubt he’ll make it much longer. As a doctor, you live by serving others. But don’t get me wrong now, John, may I call you John?”
I nodded but with hesitation on my face.
“You’re benefiting yourself too,” he continued. “We are basically keeping your pain clinic in business. Without us, you could fall under, especially with the growing rise in pain medication control, holistic approaches, chiropractic healing nonsense. And I know you do well as a doctor, but there is a debt in all of our lives, John, small or big, and as men, we just want to be reputable, worthy, working members of our community not indebted to anything or anyone. Do we not?”
His calling me by my first name, as if we had been lifelong friends, irked me.
“We are appreciative, but at the same time we are growing hungry. My needs are far surpassing what you’re prescribing.”
He was edgy. He stood and walked around the desk, propping his upper thigh on the corner, and stared right at me, as if looking into my soul. My eyes couldn’t help but occasionally dart up to the bear head mounted on his wall. I shuttered looking at its incisors. I forced myself to look back at the man in front of me and questioned how in the world a Southern family man living on Mayflower Road could be living a double life? But then again, the same could have been asked about the semblance of me.
“There’s a rumor that local pharmacies have invested in new computer software that will track narcotic prescriptions, making it virtually impossible for us to get more medications and for you to prescribe them. And, well, if that’s the case, then our world is over and you can expect our economy to fall.” This seemed dramatic. He paused and waited for me to respond.
I readjusted myself in his chair and met his gaze.
“Yes, I’ve heard of this new program, but what I’m prescribing now is within legal limits. My numbers aren’t drawing attention. I could manage writing a few more, obtaining some more samples, but how much more exactly?”
“I have partners in Panama and Rio Grande that want in on this business. The profit we are making from these simple pills is astounding. I’m currently selling all the pills that your patients obtain to a guy in Mexico City for double what a person would pay here in Johnson City. You’d be stupid not to help me on this deal. You’re not the only one either. There are numerous doctors throughout the region that have been working with me on this for some time now. We’re talking hundreds of thousands of dollars here. Maybe even more. These pills, well, they’re the new high of our era, of our world, and we’re the kings!” He threw his arms up and smiled.
“So, how much?”
“I want tenfold what you’re prescribing now.”
“I—”
He stopped me short. “Now, before you protest, I have an offer I think you won’t be able to refuse. My partners in Panama want five hundred pounds by the end of the year, which is about six months away. The demand in South America is triple what it is here, and they are willing to pay us, let’s just say, a lot of money if we can make this happen. And frankly, I’ve got no other choice but to agree to this deal, John. I’m willing to help you. I know you’re in debt, a debt that is looming over you and your life. But more importantly, I know you’re a changed man. Going back to a lifestyle without nice things would be worse than dying. At least, in my opinion, it would be.” He leaned in close so I could smell his cologne and golf sweat.
“I really want to help you, John. I’d be willing to pay off your remaining debt. How much money do you owe?”
This was a personal question but I felt I had to answer, “About one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I took out student loans, Hope isn’t working, and I have malpractice insurance, a mortgage. It’s a lot. I mean, I’ve made an extra sixty thousand dollars in the past year and yeah, I’ve spent some, but really it shouldn’t take me but a couple of more years to pay it off. The thing I can’t afford though,” I sighed, “is a reproductive specialist.”
“Oh, I see,” the Bear said. He pondered for a moment putting his finger to his mouth. “Well that’s where I come in handy. I can pay off the remaining debt and give you a luxurious lifestyle if you would be willing to help me through December. Then, if we work well together, we could go another year. Main thing is to have my guys happy come December.”
“Why should I make a deal with a man I hardly know?”
He smirked. “Whether you want to admit it or not, you’ve been working with me for quite some time.”
“I just… I don’t even know who you are. How do I know I can trust you?”
“Do you think I’d be working with the mayor if I wasn’t a trustworthy man, Dr. Livingston. I think you worry too much. Are all doctors that way? For this amount of money, I can guarantee you that the government will not be investigating this any more than they are their own assholes. Trust me, John.”
He laughed aloud.
“I see.” I grabbed my beer and finished it. “So, what do I have to do exactly?”
“All you have to do is write more prescriptions, sell extra pills. Rick told me you have access to pills. I’m assuming you’re getting them from a drug rep?”
“Yeah. He’s based in Oxford.”
“Well, continue your relationship with that person. Though he is far.” He paused for a moment before furrowing his brow and shaking his head. “I may be getting his information from you soon. But for now just keep doing what you’re doing. Oh, and I’ll need you to write a few prescriptions for fake patients.”
“Fake patients?” I was confused.
“Yes, I can have Rick pick these up from you. I have a guy who can create new identities for anyone I want.” He had moved to behind his desk again.
“Okay, so if you have a guy who can create identities for you, why is that you need me to write prescriptions? Can’t he also make fake scripts?”
“No. The pharmacists in town are real pricks. They look for ways to bust people all the time. We still have to have a valid physician signature on your script paper.”
I watched as he rearranged a stapler on his desk. I thought about his proposal.
“I sup
pose, for the price you’ve offered, that I could…I can make it work.”
“Wonderful.”
“But under one condition.”
His expression suddenly darkened, but then he rolled his head, loosening his neck, and smiled. “Yes?”
“I can’t make any promises that I’ll always be able to help you. I’ll do what I can until December, but if this gets too risky, I won’t be able to continue.”
He held my stare and then reached out to shake my hand. “I completely understand. I’ve been doing this for a while now, much longer than you have in your little office. Just leave the logistics to me. Write the scripts and sell the pills. It’s that easy. Until December?”
“Until December,” I affirmed, giving his hand a firm shake.
He paused to smash the end of his cigar into a crystal dish on his desk. “But remember, Dr. Livingston. This is not light business. It’s serious. Fail to follow through on this offer and we’re screwed.”
“I’ll follow through.”
He let out a small breath. “Good. You a hunter?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You’ve been eyeing that bear head on my wall since you walked in.” He laughed, looking up to the animal.
“I did once. Not really my thing. Is that why they call you the Bear? Cause you killed that grizzly?”
He didn’t look at me but kept his eyes on the mounted bear. “I guess you could say that’s why,” he said. I wanted to question him further, ask his real name, but he spoke before I could, returning his gaze to me. “Now, I’d say my wife will be coming home soon and yours is probably waiting too.”
I took this as a cue to leave and, really, I didn’t mind. I was anxious to get out of his house. I stood as he walked around the front of the desk, patted me on the back like a child, and led me to the front door.