Code Blue

by Debra E Blaine

  “Something like that,” Ellie said. “How she landed so high up in the B. Healthy food chain is beyond me. I think she just ‘stepped in shit,’ as the Italians say. That’s crazy, we should talk to Dr. Chagall again. He’s the medical director for all of B. Healthy, Rufini is just one of their little lackeys with a god complex. I talked to him last time about all the negative criticism without offering solutions—just telling us we’re losers? Dr. Chagall was like—‘that shouldn’t happen.’ And you should definitely ask about him about Rufini using your login.”

  “I didn’t actually see him do that … I don’t know. I do love Steve Chagall, though, he’s a doctor and a mensch. He cares about patients first and revenue second. It should be like that, right? If you just do the right thing, the money will take care of itself? All this focus on profit makes me feel like I need a shower. I’m glad he got the position when Daniel Comet left.”

  “I miss Dr. Comet!” Ellie moaned.

  “Me too,” Tobi said.

  “I can’t blame him for leaving, though. This place has become so pecuniary,” Ellie said.

  “He hasn’t come out and said that’s why he left, but I’m guessing it was a big factor.”

  “So, what did slimy Isssmar say to you today?” Ellie hissed his name when she hit the “s.” “Why did he even come?”

  “Ostensibly to pick up flu tests. I guess they were running low on the south shore, but he made a point of telling me he and Molly are coming by next week to go over the customer satisfaction scores and door-to-door times, and he was acting really weird. He said ‘young cardiac patients are expensive,’ like, what the hell does he care? He’s not paying the hospital bill. It’s all about the money for these people, Ellie. And then they say they will bonus us based on our ‘productivity.’ What does that even mean? What are we producing? For sure they aren’t measuring health. Ismar doesn’t get any of that, but I suppose he’ll go far in the corporate world. Why did he become a doctor, anyway? There are easier ways to get rich.”

  “Much easier ways. Do you know he told the staff in the east site that they shouldn’t pretend they cared about patients, because they only care about their paychecks? They were pissed! That’s probably just how he feels. He seriously should be working for a hedge fund instead.”

  “We’re owned by hedge funds, Ellie. Ugh.”

  “I think our times are longer because we document after we see each patient,” Ellie said. “I can’t leave the charting for the end of the day or the next, like some do. But, yeah, that makes me slower.”

  “I know, I always finish my charts as I go—I can barely remember all the details about a patient who left two hours ago—which could be ten patients ago. And I’m not staying after hours or taking charts home with me, either,” Tobi said. “And I know for sure you aren’t. Not with three little kids who already don’t get enough of your time.”

  “Absolutely not,” Ellie said.

  “But even though they don’t care about human beings,” Tobi said, “there’s always the law suit to consider. Don’t they get that part? This is Long Island, one of the most litigious places in the country. That patient I sent to the ED had his heart rate recorded at 95 in his vitals, but his EKG said 217! Can you imagine if I hadn’t done it, just sent him home with a cough syrup and chalked his tachycardia up to the flu? It would have been ‘quicker.’”

  “Wow. Yeah, and he might have died. What do you think, myocarditis?” Ellie asked.

  “That’s my guess. But can’t you just hear the lawyers if I’d sent him home? ‘Dr. Lister, you saw Barry just three hours before he died. Did you even listen to his heart?’”

  “Yeah,” Ellie said, “then when they had to pay a huge settlement, maybe B. Healthy would be concerned. It’s the only language they understand. Hey, maybe we should rename them ‘B. Wealthy, LLC.’”

  “Very appropriate,” Tobi laughed.

  “Well, I think I’m not going to be available for this meeting,” Ellie said. “I don’t need to hear Rufini tell me again that I should be more motivated. You’re on that day, so I’m going to be spending time with my family. I’ll talk to you later. Happy Thanksgiving!”

  “You too. I don’t know how you do it with three kids, this job, plus your moonlighting, and go to the gym every morning!”

  “I guess I’m just selectively motivated,” Ellie cackled.

  They hung up, but Tobi couldn’t shake her feeling of unease. She did not want to meet with Ismar and Molly at all, much less by herself, but she couldn’t blame Ellie for bowing out. Still, she’d been living with the corporate nightmare for a several years now, so why was she suddenly feeling paranoid?

  Chapter 10

  “Mannya, I got it.”

  “Spill, Kazimir.”

  “Reuben Sokowsky had no wife or children. Mother and father are both dead, but he had a sister living in New York. Doctor. Name is Tobi Lister.”

  “Doctor, huh? Where does she work? Do we have eyes in her institution?”

  “That I don’t know. But, wouldn’t she have talked years ago?”

  “Well, find out! Maybe he just told her.”

  “But, Mannya, Sokowsky died in 2000.”

  “Nyet, Kazi, I’m thinking Sokowsky was the hacker who was active up until a few weeks ago when this ‘Robain’ guy died. It makes sense, him checking up on us. Who knows what he found out and who he told. Leave nothing to chance.”

  Mannfort hung up and paced his hotel room, figuring his next move. He hated waiting, but Kazi was much more suited to research, and his loyalty to Mannfort was unquestionable. Their history together went way back. Kazi’s father had been a soldier, like so many Soviets, and was killed just when the long nine-year Soviet-Afghan war was finally over. Kazi was only fourteen at the time, but Mannya had been “taking care of” his mother Anya for years while his father was away. Once Kazi’s father was not coming home, Anya expected to make it a permanent arrangement. Mannfort wanted nothing to do with marriage, so he split, but Kazimir wouldn’t go away. He barely remembered his father and had grown used to Mannfort filling that role. Like a bad ruble, he kept turning up. And then he’d just hang around all day. Mannfort wasn’t generally the sentimental sort, but after a while, he’d felt bad for the poor kid and ultimately, he’d taken him under his wing. By the time Kazi was eighteen and had gone off to fight in the Georgian Civil War, Mannfort had become rather attached to him, and they developed a business partnership of sorts when Kazi returned. Kazimir had always been bright, but the war had matured him into a man and he learned a variety of useful skills in the process, so it even made sense for Mannfort to keep him close. They’d been working together for twenty years, at least.

  ***

  In the morning, Mannfort headed back to Marcus’s dive shop to “thank him” for his help, but he stopped just short. There was a well-muscled man standing behind the counter talking to Marcus, with a full head of shoulder-length blondish hair that was turning gray. He looked like he’d been crying, and he kept running his hands over his face and back down the sides of his head. He was shaking his head and looked like his entire world had just collapsed. Marcus hugged him tightly and the man thanked him several times before he walked up the road with his shoulders drooping and his head down, still rubbing his head as if he could erase something in it.

  When the road was clear, Mannfort walked up to the counter. “Who was that?” He noticed Marcus’ eyes were wet too. Were they all a bunch of sissies, then?

  “Just an old friend,” he said. “Did you get your laptop fixed? I tried to call Freddie a few times, but he’s not picking up. Did you find him?”

  “Yeah, I found him.”

  “Okay, good. Well, I’m getting ready for my next dive class. See you around, then.” Marcus picked up a crate full of buoyancy compensators and turned toward the side door, which opened onto the pier. Mannfort pulled out the Makar
ov.

  “Hey, Marcus,” he said.

  Marcus turned back around, his mouth stretched tight, until he saw the gun. Mannfort shot him full in the face, just as his jaw started to drop.

  Marcus fell back and the equipment scattered on the floor. Mannfort shot him again in the heart.

  “That is for being such a prick,” he said with a sneer. Belatedly, he wondered why Marcus had never asked him about finding Robain’s family.

  Mannfort turned reflexively in the direction of the “old friend,” but he was gone. Was he that one friend from Sokowsky’s past who stopped by once in a while?

  Mannfort couldn’t stick around at any rate. He looked up at the sign over the dive shop. Tobi’s, it said. He hadn’t noticed that before. Yeah, this had been Sokowsky’s place all right. He pocketed his pistol and left quickly. Everything was already packed in the Maserati and he’d made it a point to pay up this morning for the next four days to make it look like he hadn’t planned to leave. Then he’d given his key to a teenager to use for a few nights with his girlfriend, with the promise the kid would never tell. It was the penthouse suite, and he wanted them to keep messing the room up as if he were still there. Mannfort had already wiped down everything he might have touched.

  He stopped into Beachside Eats and lingered for a bite, making himself look conspicuous and leisurely. As he was leaving, he saw several police officers on the beach with a group of divers. The man from Marcus’s shop was there and he was no longer crying. He was yelling, pointing, and shaking his hands at the constables. He looked more like he was ranting. Mannfort was not able to hear anything, but he knew it was time to leave. He hopped in the Maserati and drove north on Captain Cook Highway toward Cookstown.

  He found an abandoned piece of the beach and unloaded the car. He traveled light for just these eventualities, knowing he could always buy what he needed. Then he put the Maserati in neutral and sent it into Finch Bay. Terrible waste, he thought. He hiked into town and rented himself another car with another set of ID cards, less flashy this time, just a simple Audi sedan. He never used his real name, and he always traveled prepared. He headed back toward the airport and his jet.

  Chapter 11

  Tobi got up early the next morning. She stuffed the turkey and had just put it in the oven as her iPad pinged.

  Troy DeJacob wants to connect on Messenger.

  New message from Troy DeJacob.

  Tobi stared at the Facebook alert as if it were written in another language. After, what, like nineteen years? The banner disappeared from the screen. Maybe she’d misread that, but she couldn’t bring herself to swipe it back down for confirmation.

  She waivered for a minute, her heart pounding. Then she put down the iPad and decided not to change her morning plans. She had no intention of ruining her day. She put on a scarf, boots, and gloves for a brisk walk in her neighborhood. It was one of her favorite ways to clear her head. She forced the message out of her mind and focused instead on the nature all around her.

  Her little community was lined with trees and shrubbery, and in the spring and summer, flowers bloomed everywhere. There were two little ponds with fountains, and no one got in uninvited or without the guard at the gatehouse checking ID, so she felt perfectly safe strolling around even after dark in the moonlight. She loved to just walk and empty her mind, breathe in the cold crisp air, and gaze at the sky and the trees. It helped her put everything in perspective.

  The icy rain had stopped overnight, and there was a silence in the air. The little fountains were shut down for the season, and without the wind, the half-frozen water in the ponds was silky smooth, translucent, and still, as if it were in a deep, trance-like sleep. The tall trees seemed to reach for the heavens in their slumber, their bare branches contrasting starkly with the opaque, almost-winter sky. Their detachment was haunting. On some level, she felt like the oaks understood humanity much better than humanity understood the oaks.

  The cold air smelled deliciously clean. She took a deep breath in and felt herself expand into the majesty of the Earth. In moments like this, Tobi felt she could catch a fleeting glimpse of holiness, simply by sensing the world as it was and allowing it to just be. Whether it was the fifty-year-old maple, the neighborhood rabbits, or the soil in the now-dormant flower beds, she felt the essence of life all around her, even in its hibernation.

  As she walked, she recited to herself a list of things she felt blessed with, which was a habit she always found to be transformative. The more things she found to be grateful for, the more things she found to be grateful for. She started with the simple things that she usually took for granted, like fresh air to breathe, legs that allowed her to walk despite her arthritis, heat in her home, and the oven working. Then she added her limited ability to experience the immensity of the universe and to feel close to God. And then, of course, her amazing son, her little feline companion, her friends, her home, her synagogue community, and her gainful employment with an opportunity to help others every day.

  She tried not to think about the Facebook message still locked away on her iPad.

  She walked two miles and came back inside, her cheeks red and her nose running, but she felt at peace. The house was starting to smell delicious too.

  Her oldest friend, Sally, called as Tobi walked into the house. Sally had moved to Michigan ten years ago, but they stayed close and always called each other on holidays.

  “Hey, you!” Sally greeted her. “How’s it going?”

  “Hey. I’m trying to muster the courage to walk back in the kitchen. It was such a crazy night last night. I’ve been out for a walk, which helped a lot, but I’ve still got so much to do!”

  “You poor dear. I forget how late you work. You need a job with better hours.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Tobi said. “And better bosses.”

  “Are you still having trouble with that Ismar guy? He sounds like such a menace.”

  “He is. He should have gotten an MBA instead of an MD. He’s been totally indoctrinated into the corporate flim flam. All he cares about is volume and ‘customer satisfaction.’ No allusion to quality of care, that’s not even in the equation.”

  “I wouldn’t want him treating me or my family then,” Sally said.

  “No, you wouldn’t. He’s not even a good doctor. Do you know the other problem with these stupid surveys, Sally? I mean outside of the fact that we get downgraded if we don’t do what the patient expects, regardless of whether it’s appropriate. Everyone sends flipping surveys. If you talk to the Microsoft guy on the phone, if you question a bill at Verizon, or if you service your car at the dealership, they all send surveys. Pretty soon the gas stations and supermarkets will be jumping on the train. Who has time for them? I called Citibank the other day to activate a new credit card, and the recording asked if I’d be willing to stay on the line to take a brief survey. NO, I would NOT be willing. You know who’s willing? People with a beef, that’s who! Geez, you could spend your entire life doing surveys.”

  “You’re right,” Sally said. “I only take those things if I’m ticked off about something, or if someone was extraordinarily great.”

  “Exactly! And we get so many repeat patients, they’re not going to fill out another survey after every visit. They obviously like us or they wouldn’t keep coming back.” Tobi huffed. “Okay, I’m done ranting.”

  “But you’re right,” Sally agreed. “It just adds stress to your already stressful job. Is Ben coming for Thanksgiving?”

  “Yup, and as long as he’s here, I’ll be a happy human. I miss him so much.”

  “He’s not that far away, you know. Do you get into the city much?” Sally asked.

  “I would go more often, but I know he’s so busy. And I’m sure he prefers to spend his free time with Rachel, not his mother.”

  “He should make some time for his mother, though.”

  “He do
es. He’s coming out tomorrow. So … I think I just got a message from Troy ….”

  “What? When? What do you mean ‘you think’?”

  “About an hour ago. I saw the banner notification, but I haven’t opened it. I don’t think I want to go there.”

  “Have you heard from him since he left? That was years and years ago, when your brother died.”

  “Not a whisper.”

  “So, are you going to answer him?”

  “I don’t know. Haven’t even decided if I’m going to read his message.”

  “I don’t blame you, he completely broke your heart. But curiosity might get the better of you, so call me if you need anything.”

  They hung up and Tobi picked up her tablet. The Messenger icon showed one unread message. She had truly hoped she’d imagined it. Screw it, she thought. She took a deep breath and braced herself. Better to just get it over with. She tapped it.

  My dearest Tobi,

  I hope you are well. For so long I wished to God I could tell you what happened, but I could not. I can now, and I think—I hope—you will understand why I left. My cell is 503-555-9393. Please answer me. Call me, text me, or just send me your number. I have so much to explain. I am so sorry.

  Still yours forever, Troy

  She stood in a daze, staring at the words. What could he possibly need to explain now, nineteen years later? The world seemed to shift, and she was back in time hearing his voice on the phone, saying, I’m sorry, my love. I cannot see you anymore. I cannot even tell you why, so please do not ask me. This is good-bye. She remembered the pain that had vibrated through her entire body so even her hands would hurt, and everything she ate tasted like sand. She’d lost thirteen pounds in three weeks. And for months after, over and over again, she felt the knife stabbing her in the heart, and then twisting, tearing a black hole in the very fabric of her universe and threatening to suck her into the eternal darkness beyond.