The Three Dollar Phoenix - Walt Sautter (best way to read e books .txt) 📗

is a vacuum cleaner. It really plays fine.”
“Do you wanna see the locker room?”
“You’ll like the training equipment.”
Charlie showed all the emotions of a kindergartner showing off his classroom. He paraded Ed through every nook and cranny of the stadium explaining each and every detail of its functioning.
Ed looked at his watch uneasily. It was 5:50 now. He had to be downtown by 6:30. Fortunately, Charlie had just about run out of superlatives and the tour was coming to an end.
Ed and Charlie emerged from the stadium into the parking lot. They walked towards their cars.
“What do you think of this baby?” Ed said as he pointed to his 1972 Chevy convertible.
“There’s my Mercedes. Pretty nice for an aspiring young medicine man, huh,” he added
facetiously.
The car was old in years but not in appearance. it shone in the bright sun as if it were new. There wasn’t a speck of rust on it anywhere.
The chrome had a mirror like luster and the interior was mint from the dash to the carpeting. Ed was particularly proud of it because to him it represented real success. Its brilliant paint and fine running engine were not the features he prized the most. It meant much more. Any M.D. four years out of med school could have a new Mercedes or Porsche but few could ever own a car like this one. This was reserved for someone who went to the ghetto in the poorest city in the country and lived the Hippocratic Oath on a daily basis.
It started about four years ago at Albert Einstein when Ed met Rita. Rita was a year behind him in med school. She was a tall, slim, black haired girl with a dark complexion. As a matter of fact, her great grandmother was Negro, Black that is. That’s one of the things that helped get her into Einstein. Ethnic quotas and all. On her application she listed race as black. After all the state courts down South had just ruled that one twentieth black is considered all black. Her features contained the most desirable of both ethnic origins and resulted in a beautiful composite.
Rita’s mother was one of the original Flower Children from the sixties. She’d been at Woodstock, in Chicago in 68 and in the March on Washington in 70. Her appearance now, according to Rita, gave no clue to her past. Feelings however, are often transmitted to offspring without overtly proselytizing. and so Rita shared her mother’s old sympathies.
Rita’s ambitions likewise influenced Ed and his desire for monetary success was transformed into a lust for healing. Neither could remember whose idea it was first, the idea of opening a store front clinic in Newark. It was Ed though who pounded the pavements to obtain the needed financial backing. That was probably because he finished met school first. The clinic was three years old now and the car was one testament to its success in Ed’s mind it was a gift from his patients, not a fee, a gift of appreciation from people who felt a deep need to say “Thank you” for what he had done for them. Ed looked at that car as a medal for his service to his fellow man, a Nobel Prize of sorts.
As he drove across the parking lot towards the exit, Ed glanced in his rear view mirror. The stark, gray walls of the stadium loomed large in the background. It couldn’t help but remind him of a huge decorated mausoleum.
He pulled onto the highway and headed south towards Newark. As he drove past the lines of stopped, overheating cars attempting to escape the city before nightfall, he thought of the day’s events. He was glad that he had finally kept his promise to Charlie. It was Friday, one of the days that the clinic stayed open late. A long, hard night was ahead and his mind drifted to the schedule that awaited him.
During the next several weeks Ed and Charlie saw each other only a couple of times.
The season was in full swing and Charlie was on the road as much as he was home. Ed was busy too. The start of a new school year required hundreds of kids needing shots or treatment for colds and viruses.
September slid into October. The Giants were doing well, three and one so far. Ed had seen a game or two on TV. Charlie offered him tickets for every game but that would mean an entire day and he really didn’t have the time. From what he read in the paper, Charlie was doing pretty well and it looked like he would be staying.
Ed was glad of that. He liked going out for a drink together or just bullshitting, even if it was only once in a while. It took his mind off things and with Charlie he always had a few laughs.
It was late October or early November when he got the call. He couldn’t remember the exact date but he did remember being at the clinic.
“How’ve you been Old Buddy? Been watchin’ any football lately?” the voice said. it was Charlie. He hadn’t spoken to him in about three weeks.
“Not bad” replied Ed.
“Don’t got much time but I did see you against Miami. Weather’s pretty nice there I bet.”
“Sure is“ replied Charlie.
“Ed, I want you to do me a favor.”
“Sure, said Ed. He wasn’t in the habit of agreeing to anything before he knew the details, but in Charlie’s case it was different
“Do you remember I told you about the guy I knew in Oakland who came out here and was working at the stadium?’
“The one who’s on the grounds crew?” replied Ed.
“That’s right. His name is Al Druse. Did you ever meet him?” asked Charlie.
“No, but I remember you telling me about him when I came to the practice at the stadium last August.”
“Well” said Charlie, “I didn’t see him around yesterday one of the other grounds guys came around to collect a few bucks from everybody for a gift for him. They said he was sick but nobody knew what was wrong with him. I called his wife to find out how he was and she didn’t know what was wrong either.”
“Didn’t he go to the doctor?” asked Ed.
“Sure he did, and his doctor sent him to the hospital and they’re not sure what’s wrong. Ed, would you go down to the hospital with me and take a look at him? I don’t mean go down and try to take over the case, but just go to visit and tell me what you think.”
“What does Al’s wife say?” asked Ed.
“She just wants to know what’s the matter with him. I told her that I thought you knew your stuff and might be able to help. You did graduate from Einstein?”
There was a pause.
“I’ll pick you up tonight, about six, O.K.?”
There was another silence,
“Alright, I think I can make it. Pick me up at the clinic” said Ed.
Charlie arrived at six o’clock sharp. He pulled up and tapped his horn. Ed peered out through the window. It was difficult to see clearly. The street light in front of the of the building had been broken since June and a cold drizzle coated the pane making everything even less visible. Ed recognized the outline of the car and its burly driver behind the wheel.
“Guess you remembered how to get here alright” said Ed as he entered the car.
“It wasn’t that long ago” replied Charlie. He had been to the clinic in early September and received a tour in similar detail to the one Ed had experienced at the stadium in August.
“You’ll have to help me find the hospital, St. Anne’s in Jersey City. The car twisted and turned through the city streets under Charlie’s control and Ed’s direction.
“How did you get involved in this anyway?” asked Ed.
“Well, I was pretty friendly with Al out in California. I’d even been to his house once or twice for dinner. When I went to Oakland, he was one of the first guys I met from the east. As a matter of fact, he grew up in a town about five miles from my hometown. We even used to hang around there once in while, when I was in high school. I knew a lot of the guys he did and so we had something in common, plus he and his wife were good people.
When I called Angie, that’s his wife, she was pretty upset and so I felt the least I could do is try to help out. That’s when I volunteered you.”
The hospital was a large, brick building, situated on a crowded street at the heart of the city. It appeared to be one of many buildings in that area whose date with the wrecking ball was long past due. It sported a small modern addition which was probably the reason for its over extended life span.
Ed and Charlie parked the car and walked towards the front door. Inside, the ten foot ceiling made it look more like a train station than a hospital. In the center of the lobby, amidst the array of worn sofas and chairs, sat the receptionist’s desk. Behind it sat a heavy, middle aged, black woman equipped with a stack of five by seven file cards. Several visitors sat in small groups at the corners of the room.
“Al Druse, room 309 “ Charlie said.
The woman silently shuffled through the stack for several seconds.
“No such name here” she announced.
“Are you sure?” questioned Charlie.
“Al Druse, room 309” he repeated. Again the woman searched the cards, finally holding the file open between Drose and Dew.
"If Druse was here, he'd be right here” she said as she pointed to the vacant space in the pile.
"You don't see a card there, do you?” she added.
Charlie looked at Ed with a disbelieving expression.
"I talked to Angie just yesterday and she said he was here. This is St. Anne's in Jersey City isn't it? Is there another St. Anne's in this town?”
"No, this is it” Ed replied.
"Is there a phone around here?” Charlie asked the receptionist.
She gestured toward the far side of the lobby. He reached into his pocket as he moved in that direction.
"I'll be right back.”
Ed sat down to await his return. He hadn't even gotten comfortable before he saw Charlie coming towards him.
"I called Angie. No answer.”
Ed walked back to desk. "
Was a patient named Al Druse here during the past week?"
The woman looked up at him with a thoughtful stare.
"I think I remember that name, but I'm not sure" she said in a slow drawling voice.
"We got over two hundred people here and you only remember the ones that stay for a long time or get lots of visitors. He couldn't have been one of those or I'd remember for sure but that name sounds a little familiar."
Ed motioned to Charlie. "Let's go. I'll call the business office tomorrow and we'll find out exactly what 's going on here” he said.
Ed was on the phone to St. Anne's the next morning before he left for work. Despite his persistence, he obtained little information. Al Druse had been a patient there for three days. He was moved to a private hospital in upstate New York on Tuesday. The reason for his move or any details of his illness we’re not able. Ed did find out the