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

six closely spaced buildings of similar vintage and two newer structures, situated in a park like setting.
The inside of A-3 was completely modernized and furnished with a decorator’s touch. Ed and Angie walked over to the receptionist’s desk. She was a young, blonde girl in a neat white uniform, wearing a bright smile “Good morning” she sang.
“May I help you?”
“We would like to visit Al Druse.”
“He’s in 309 “ Angie added.
The girl typed several symbols into a computer terminal on the desk.
“I’m sorry but Mr. Druse is receiving special therapy today and visitation won’t be allowed” she said in a sympathetic tone.
Ed turned toward Angie with a startled expression on his face.
“Aren’t your visiting hours ten to six on Saturdays and Sundays?” he snapped at the receptionist.
“That’s correct, but this treatment is required on a daily basis” she responded.
“Let me see the physician in charge here, please” he said. She immediately picked up the phone.
“Please ask Dr. House to come to the lobby.”
After a few minutes, a tall, dark haired man, sporting a goatee, dressed in a white lab coat appeared. “Dr. House, these people have come to see Mr. Druse in 309. I told them that he would not be receiving any visitors today because of his scheduled therapy” repeated the receptionist.
“I’m Dr. Ed Bennett and this is Mr. Druse’s wife Angie. We’ve come 120 miles to see Mr. Druse. We were informed that visiting hours are ten to six on weekends and we’re obviously disappointed. Nothing was said about therapy” Ed said as he extended his hand toward House.
“This is unfortunate” said House.
“We always like our patients to receive as many visitors as they can. You know, its good for morale. Maybe we can let you see him since you’ve traveled so far but I don’t believe he’ll be conscious” said House as he glanced down at the clip board he was holding.
“Please wait here for a minute and I’ll go see if that’s possible” he said while he turned and walked away.
In several minutes he appeared at the entrance of a long corridor and motioned to them. He led them towards 309.
“Mrs. Druse has asked me to examine her husband on a consulting basis” said Ed as they walked.
“She’s not aware as to what is exactly the problem and it’s causing her great anxiety” he added.
“As long as she agrees, we’re certainly willing to share with you any information we can about Mr. Druse’s condition” replied House. Angie nodded in agreement as House looked towards her.
“May I have a copy of his records?”
“Surely” said House.
They arrived at. Al’s room.
It was a private, well lit place with a nice view of the mountains. Al was lying quietly, clothed in the usual white hospital pajamas. He was a large man, with dark thinning hair, a sparse mustache and a square jaw. The hollowness his cheeks made his face appear longer than it probably was. It was hard to tell his age exactly. He looked to be somewhere between forty and fifty. Ed thought back to the New Year’s picture he had seen on the mantle at Al’s house. There, Al had a bushy head of black curly hair and heavy dark mustache. His face was full and he looked about thirty or thirty-five at the most. That was only three years ago, 1980.
Angie immediately moved towards him and hugged around his neck. He remained motionless. Ed moved a chair towards the edge of the bed for her to sit on.
“He’ll be out for some time” said House.
“This particular treatment requires a pretty strong sedative.”
He hesitated for a moment.
“I’ll leave you alone for a while” he said as he began to walk out the door.
Ed followed as he left. When they got into the hallway, Ed spoke.
“Excuse me, Dr. House.”
House stopped and turned.
“What is your diagnosis of Mr. Druse’s illness?” he said in a low tone.
“Barbiturates” replied House abruptly.
“You mean drugs?”
“That’s right.”
“May I see the test records?” asked Ed.
“I’ll give you copies of his complete file before you leave as long as Mrs. Druse signs for them” responded House.
“How did Mr. Druse wind up here from St. Anne’s?” said Ed.
“It’s my understanding, that his employer, not wishing to generate any adverse publicity, asked him to transfer to Caramore where we can be a little more discrete” replied House.
“You know drugs anywhere in the sports business can cause big problems and they want to keep everything clean, if they can help it. They don’t want any bad PR” House continued.
“Who authorized his transfer?” asked Ed.
“Mr. Druse, of course. He signed himself out of St. Anne’s and into Caramore the same day he came here”
“That’s odd” thought Ed as he walked back into Al’s room. Angie had no idea of Al’s habit or that he was going to be transferred until after he was moved.
She was still seated next to the bed holding Al’s large hand in both of her hands. He didn’t stir. Ed reached over and felt his pulse. It felt slow and heavy. His arms displayed several bruise like marks where tests and injections must have been administered. It was surprising that in such a high class institution, the nurses weren’t more careful. Those kinds of marks were generally the results of poor technique. There were several similar marks on the backs of the arms and forearms. They looked like bruises that occur in old people when an overzealous helping hand grasps them too hard by the upper arm.
Not much was said during the next hour. Al continued to remain almost motionless and Angie stayed there by his side hoping for a sign of awakening. House had brought the copies that he had promised and Ed sat perusing them. They indicated routine test procedures, those that would be expected for an individual complaining of nausea and fatigue. No unusual results appeared, except of course, the positive tests for barbiturate levels. All the records pertained to tests done at Caramore. Ed had asked for all test records including those conducted at St. Anne’s. House said he had requested copies from Dr. Alpert but Alpert had told him of the break in and that he no longer had the records. When Ed asked why copies weren’t obtained directly from the hospital, House told him that the hospital said they weren’t available. They gave no specific reason as to why, they just weren’t.
Without those tests how did anyone know that Al was addicted unless, of course, a referring physician from St. Anne’s had made such diagnosis. If that was the case who was the physician? His name should be on the admission form along with his diagnosis. It wasn’t. Alpert said that he didn’t even get a chance to look at the test results before they were stolen. Certainly, he couldn’t have been the referring doctor. When Ed confronted House with that question, he merely said that the cause for treatment was indicated on the admission form. How it was arrived at, or by whom, he didn’t know. He told Ed and if he wanted more information he would have to call the admitting physician and with that House turned and walked away.
Ed looked up from the papers. It appeared that Angie realized her vigil was in vain. Reluctantly, she put his hand by his side and rose from the chair. Together she and Ed walked towards the parking lot in silence. It was a long ride home, long and quiet. The air of optimism that had existed on the way up was gone. In its place there was the knowledge that something was seriously wrong. They had ridden for at least a half hour before either spoke more than a few words.
Ed finally broke the heavy silence.
“Angie, did Al take medicine regularly for anything?” he asked the question warily.
He wanted to be sure not to evoke a reflexive denial so he didn’t mention drugs point blank.
“No.” she replied.
“Al, he never even took aspirin. He always said the drug companies were a conspiracy to poison the country. You know, get everybody hooked so they could sell even more. To Al, heroin and vitamin pills were the same thing, drugs. We were constantly fighting about him taking the pills for his ulcer. It’s a strange way of thinking, but that’s Al. I bet they have to hold him down now to give him his medicine at the hospital.”
“Was he acting any different lately. I mean mentally?” asked Ed.
“Well, only tired out” answered Angie.
“How about groggy, like he was drunk?”
“Sometimes he’d drink a little too much wine, like at my cousin’s wedding last month, but that’s all, just once in a while” she replied.
“No, I mean did he ever act groggy when he wasn’t drinking?”
“No, only when he drank wine.”
Ed dropped Angie off and drove towards home.
“Some day off!” he thought.
He was tired from the drive, frustrated at not being able to talk to Al and more confused than ever about what was happening. Maybe he had gotten involved in something that was none of his business and he should butt out. What had started as a simple gesture of friendship to help out Charlie’s friend, had become an enigmatic whirlpool. It was sucking him deeper and deeper into circumstances he somehow felt would be better left unexplored, but an inner force kept pushing him towards the eye of the turbulence. His curiosity was no longer under his own control. The whole thing had grown into an overwhelming preoccupation which dominated most of his thinking. He really couldn’t extricate himself now, even if he wanted to.
When he arrived at home, he called to check out the day’s happenings at the clinic.
“This is Dr. Ed Bennett, no one is in the office now” the voice began. It was the answering machine He hung up immediately.
“She must have left early” he thought. He looked at his watch, 6:30 already.
“I guess it isn’t early after all.”
He redialed to get the messages left on the recorder.
“Hi Ed. I left about 5:30 today. We had the usual good time today.”
With that greeting, Rita went on to enumerate the events of the day in a chronology of patients with minor medical problems and interspersed phone messages. It was all strictly routine kind of stuff. He’d see all the details tomorrow.
“Charlie Rhode called you. He said he wanted to talk to you personally. Left no message except that he would call back” said the recording.
“Charlie’s on the road this week. I wonder why he called from Dallas. It must be important” thought Ed.
It couldn’t be a social call. When Charlie plays a game he gets so pumped that he doesn’t think about anything but football, certainly not trivial bull shit.
Ed put down the phone after the last message had been delivered. He went over and sat on the bed next to his briefcase and withdrew the photocopies that had been given to him by House. He started to read the test results for the third time. Again everything appeared as it did before. Nothing seemed usual.
Ed recalled his conversation with House about the missing test results from St. Anne’s and the apparent inconsistency of admitting Al as