Cutter's Trial

by Allen Wyler

  “Right. But let’s make it a short evening. I’ll be dog tired by then.”

  “Table for four?” asked the maître d’.

  The question struck Alex as inane considering only one other table was occupied in the restaurant. He felt foolish for saying, “Reservations for Cutter.”

  “Yes, right this way.” The young man led them ceremoniously to a table at the back of the restaurant. The place had an industrial feel, with two interior walls of exposed brick, a polished cement floor, and a brass rail at the bar. “Your waiter will be with you in a moment,” he said, pulling out Lisa’s chair.

  Once they were seated and the maître d’ had left, Andrew leaned into the table and lowered his voice. “It seems ludicrous to have made reservations, the place is essentially empty.”

  Alex nodded, glancing around the room again. “Pretty pathetic.”

  “You say a partner owns this?” Diana asked.

  “Hi, I’m Michael, your server for the evening. Would any of you like to start with a cocktail or something else to drink—sweet tea, perhaps?”

  All four ordered wine, and with the waiter out of earshot, Alex said, “Yeah. Bought it for his wife because she’s a good cook and he thought it might be fun to start a restaurant. We never tried the previous restaurant in this building, but from what I hear, it bombed. Charlie claims he picked up the place for a steal. Looks awfully dead for a Friday night, though.”

  “Have any idea how he’s doing with it?” Andrew asked.

  “All I know is it’s rumored he was forced to pull cash from his retirement account to keep it afloat these past couple months. He claims it takes time to get a new place established, but I imagine he’s not doing all that well, especially if tonight is any indication. He’s been lobbying the clinic to hold the quarterly business meetings here as a way to generate business, but we haven’t done that yet. I think Garrison may be on the verge of caving in on that as a way of throwing him a bone. But wow, this looks bad.”

  “Your partner, does he or his wife have any experience in the restaurant business?”

  “Nope.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, that doesn’t sound good.”

  “Doctors,” Alex added shaking his head, “are notorious for bad making investments and getting into businesses they know nothing about. Another clinic partner poured a ton of money into a racehorse. I mean, what are the chances that’s going to pay off? Don’t know a thing about the racehorse business, but I can’t believe it’s a huge moneymaker. Unless, of course, you win the Kentucky Derby.”

  The waiter served their wine and asked if they were ready to order. Both wives ordered seafood salads. Andrew and Alex ordered filets.

  “Why do you suppose you highly educated professionals are so prone to making bad investments?” Andrew asked.

  “Good question. Here’s my theory. Basically physicians are smart people but tend to overestimate their own capabilities. And it’s not just bad investments like this one,” he said with a sweep of his hand. “They get themselves into all sorts of trouble. How many times a year do we hear about a physician who crashes his plane in weather conditions commercial pilots avoid?” Alex thought about Garrison flying to out-clinics every week and was glad to be off that rotation.

  Alex pulled into their driveway and braked the car. Natalie, their German shepherd, was lying on her side on the asphalt drive, belly distended, half-open glazed eyes staring blankly at the headlights. Alex slammed the transmission into park and was out of the car running to her side. Clearly the pooch was in pain and shock. “Open the back door!” he yelled as he scooped her up in his arms.

  “My suggestion is for y’all to head on home,” the veterinarian said. “Nothing you can do here, and we’ll call soon as surgery’s over. This’ll take several hours and you’ll be better off at home.” At this time of night, the only veterinarian hospital open was an emergency clinic several miles from their home. Luckily they knew the location.

  “Is she going to be okay?” Lisa asked, in tears.

  “Can’t guarantee anything, but my assistant’s trying to snake a tube down her throat now. Sometimes we can straighten out the problem by doing only that and don’t have resort to opening the belly. In any case, she’ll have to stay overnight, maybe longer. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Please tell me she’ll be all right.”

  Alex gently took Lisa’s arm. “He can’t guarantee anything, Sweetie. The bowel flipped over on itself and is strangling its blood supply. This is an emergency and they need to hurry.” He nodded at the doctor. “Let us know as soon as you have something. Please. She’s our child.”

  “I understand.”

  Alex walked Lisa to their car, the back door still wide open from when Alex scooped Natalie into his arms to carry her into the clinic.

  One problem with being a physician was sometimes knowing too much. From his internship on general surgery, Alex knew that torsion of the mesentery could be decidedly bad news, because it kinks the blood supply, causing the bowel to infarct. Once the blood flow is reestablished, the toxins from the dead tissue rush into the general circulation and cause toxic shock. He didn’t know the mortality rate for dogs but remembered it to be high for humans if not treated aggressively. But Lisa was a pessimist by nature, so mentioning this to her now would only fuel her emotional turmoil. Besides, there was the chance, although small, that Natalie could survive. In spite of this slight specter of hope, he was already mourning the loss of his beloved shepherd.

  The call came at 3:15 a.m., waking Alex from a fitful sleep. He quickly grabbed the phone and spoke softly. “I understand … I know …”

  Lisa realized what was happening before he could hang up to give her the awful news. She got out of bed and paced the room, hands pressed against both temples, wailing, “Oh Natalie, Mommy’s so sorry!”

  Alex tried to hold and comfort her, but she shoved him away. “I shouldn’t have given her the extra food,” she cried. “It’s all my fault. She was such a finicky eater lately. I was so happy when she wanted more. It’s my fault!”

  Alex tried again to put his arms around her to comfort her, but she screamed at him and shoved him away, huge tears cascading down her cheeks. He felt so helpless. This, he knew, would devastate her.

  47

  “You hear the news?” Betsy Lou asked from the door to his office. He had just finished dictating a note on a patient follow-up visit.

  He hated that question because he had no idea what she was referring to. “What news?”

  With a conspiratorial grin, she entered the office and half-closed the door. “Dave Ray just got fired. Just now. I saw him escorted out the clinic. We’re in the process of getting the locks changed.” She gave an emphatic nod. “I saw him leave. It’s a big deal, all the nurses are talking about it.” Her expression segued to satisfaction at playing the role of clinic newscaster.

  For a shocked moment, Alex processed the news. Could it be true? Then again, what earthly reason would there be for Betsy Lou to lie about this? None. He believed her. “What happened? What’d he do?”

  “No one knows, and I can’t get a word out of Linda, no matter how hard I try. It has to be something very sensitive or she’d tell me. I know she knows. She knows everything that goes on around here.”

  Alex would learn soon enough, having just been appointed to the clinic Board of Governors. “I’m sure we’ll all find out in due time. But at the moment, I need to catch up on my dictation.” What he really wanted to do was to corner Martin. Martin would tell him.

  “Okay, catch you for afternoon rounds.”

  Out the corner of his eye, Alex saw Martin flash past his door on the way to his office. Alex was up out of his chair and across the secretarial alcove in a blink. “Can I talk to you?” he asked, closing Martin’s office door behind him.

  “Yep, but I’m already way backed up. That last case took me longer than I reckoned it would. Why, what’s up?”

  “Caught wind s
omething happened to Dave Ray. Any truth to that?”

  Martin’s shoulders slumped as his face grew sad and serious. He nodded. “This is for your ears only. And the only reason I’m telling you a thing is ’cause I know you can keep your mouth shut. Yeah, he’s gone. Got caught with his hand in the till. We reckon it’s something close to a hundred thousand, give or take. Won’t be sure until we finish the audit. Might not be a hundred percent sure even after that.”

  “Aw man …” The news hit hard enough that Alex had to sit. He and Dave were friends, playing tennis whenever their busy schedules allowed. Small snippets of past conversations came to Alex’s mind, Dave saying, “Those of us in administration do everything possible so the docs do what y’all do best, which is take care of patients. It frees you guys from doing what we do best, which is run the clinic.” In this new context, the words took on a very different meaning. He never would have suspected Dave of embezzlement.

  “Will the clinic press charges?” he asked, wondering what would happen to Dave if criminal charges were filed.

  “No. And that’s the primary reason we ain’t saying nothing to nobody. Reckon it’s in our best interest to keep it quiet.”

  “Why?” Seemed strange to him.

  Martin shook his head. “Hell, damn lawyers would probably end up costing us more than fifty grand if we file on his sorry ass. Besides, the clinic certainly doesn’t want the negative publicity that’s bound to come with it. On top of all that, our lawyer advised us we flat-out might not have us enough proof—I’m talking concrete proof—to win in court.” Martin frowned. “Damn shame’s all I have to say.”

  With conflicting emotions, Alex considered Martin’s words. Having his money stolen—which is exactly what it boiled down to—incensed him. Yet, Martin made sense—best to minimize their losses. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you catch him?”

  The corners of Martin’s mouth curled up. “Wasn’t me. Jeff caught it,” he said, referring to their head bookkeeper, “and slipped word to Garrison. Once we knew what we were looking for, we started digging. Stupid bastard didn’t have a clue we were on to him, just kept on keeping on embezzling.”

  Jeff Strout impressed Alex as the kind of detail-oriented person who would make it his life mission to be damn sure every ledger entry contained two digits to the right of each decimal point. Alex checked his watch and saw he was behind schedule again. “Thanks for the info. I won’t say a word about this, not even to Lisa. Better make rounds now.”

  “Need a word with you, Boss,” Steve Stein said to Alex as soon as he walked out of the stairwell on Seven Madison. Steve wore green scrubs under his white lab coat and sky-blue booties over his Nikes, a surgical mask dangled from his neck.

  Alex checked his watch. “Sure.” He was falling further behind, just like a bad dream. Only moments ago he had run into a referring physician and felt obligated to chat him up a few minutes.

  Steve surveyed the hall. “Feel better if we take it down the hall.” They walked to a small wheelchair alcove. “I’ve got a problem and need advice on how best to handle it.” He fiddled with the bell of the stethoscope draped around his neck.

  “Sure, advice is cheap. What’s up?”

  Steve lowered his voice. “It’s the Rev,” he said, using the residents’ nickname for Clarence Hill. “He’s constantly on my case, pressuring me to have Nancy and I go to church with him. I keep telling him no, that I’m Jewish, but he keeps insisting, claims we’re going to hell if we don’t accept Jesus in our hearts as the one true God. It’s really gotten old, and he’s becoming more insistent. He claims his mission is to keep me from graduating unless I—rather we, Nancy and I—become Christian. What can I do to get him off my back?” Steve’s eyes pleaded as much as his voice.

  Alex’s temples began pounding. He suspected his blood pressure of spiking too. He sucked a long, deep, calming breath. “Hang tough, Steve. I’ll take care of it. Next time he mentions it I want to know immediately. Write down every damn detail: time, place, and exactly what he said. And if there’s a witness, I want to know about that too. This is unacceptable.”

  Steve appeared relieved. “Thank you.”

  Rounds could wait, this couldn’t. Alex took off for the stairs.

  Alex found Hill in the surgeon’s lounge conversing with two anesthesiologists. Alex interrupted Clarence without hesitation. “I need to talk with you out in the hall.”

  The moment they were out of earshot, Alex said, “You’re to stop badgering residents, especially the Jewish ones, about going to church with you. This is a neurosurgical residency, not a Christian boot camp. I will not tolerate faculty forcing their particular religion on the residents. Understand what I’m telling you?”

  Clarence smiled. A smug, self-satisfied smile, his facial muscles expressing more than words. “In all due respect, Alex, being a good Christian carries responsibilities. One very important one is to bring our savior Jesus Christ to those who don’t have him in their hearts. Jews are particularly important because they reject Jesus as the son of our one true God. Unless they seek salvation, they’re doomed. I can’t stand by and see good people like Steve and Nancy Stein destine themselves to eternal hell. Same goes for you, by the way. Consider this my invitation for you and Miss Lisa to join us this Sunday. I’ll have my secretary send you the time and address.”

  Speechless, Alex realized his mouth was hanging open, and closed it.

  “You don’t seemed convinced,” Clarence added. “Too bad. I suppose the best we can do is agree to disagree on this issue. Now, are we done here? I have patients waiting.”

  Alex wanted to slap that smug, self-serving expression senseless. “This isn’t a debate. It’s not even open for discussion. I’m giving you an ultimatum. I find out you proselytized a resident, I’ll pull your coverage so fucking fast you won’t know what happened. I’m serious as hell about this, Clarence.”

  Well, at least that changed his expression.

  “You can’t do that. I won’t allow it.”

  “I just did. And I can. I’m vice-chair of the residency, so I control resident coverage. End. Of. Story.”

  “You haven’t heard the end of this, believe me.”

  “Yes, I have. This discussion is over.” Alex headed for the stairs to let Garrison know what just happened before Clarence had the opportunity.

  “You need to understand something, Alex. That is Clarence’s prerogative. He’s very spiritual and believes strongly in spreading the word of God.” Garrison stood in his typical, slightly hunched posture, playing with the tie of the surgical mask that was still around his neck in spite of not having a case at the time.

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass how spiritual he is. A neurosurgical residency is not the place to force religious views on people. Certainly not by a faculty member. The power we have over residents makes them vulnerable to coercion. They’re in no position to object.”

  “He’s not forcing anything on anybody.”

  “The hell he isn’t. Let me come at this from a different angle. Do you believe a boss should be allowed to demand sexual favors from an employee?”

  Garrison waved the question away. “No, of course not. That’s ridiculous.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well … because that’s just not right.”

  “So explain the difference between that and what Clarence is doing.”

  Exasperation flashed across Garrison’s face. “Those are two different things. They’re not even comparable. What Clarence is doing is a matter of beliefs and good intentions. He’s trying to save a person’s soul.”

  “Bullshit. The common denominator between the two situations is that the person holding power is using that power to manipulate the underling. And I find it all the more reprehensible that Clarence is saying his beliefs are right and Steve’s are wrong.”

  “They’re not the same. Clarence is defending his religion. This is something he believes he must do to be a good Christian.”
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br />   “Bullshit again. He’s forcing the residents to accept his particular belief. But that’s beside the point. The point is he doesn’t have the right to force residents—especially a Jewish one—to practice any religion. To do so is an infringement on personal rights.”

  Garrison shook his head. “You’re mixing things up. All I can tell you is he’s doing what he feels is the right thing. You can never fault a person for trying to do the right thing. I’m just sorry to see the clinic’s future leaders at loggerheads. Both you boys are fixing to be here long after I’m gone. I desperately want the two of you to get along. For the good of all of us.”

  Alex couldn’t believe it. What bond inspired such blind support? Did Garrison actually believe what he just said? Dave Ray had been right. Garrison, and probably the Board of Governors, saw Clarence as Garrison’s successor—similar to Reynolds viewing Alex as his eventual replacement. The thought of another decade or so of squaring off against that smug little religious shit didn’t seem worth the money he’d make. He continued to stare at Garrison, hoping for a sign of capitulation.

  Garrison glanced away. “I’m backed up. Now, if you’ll excuse me …”

  Alex had just stopped by the office to finish up some chart work before heading home when his beeper rang. He checked the message and saw it was a page from the exchange. He dialed.