by Barbara Ebel
Viktoria felt a nervous rumble ripple through her belly as she left. She reminded herself that patient care came first and foremost over monitoring two CRNAs whom she had become increasingly suspicious about. Another factor she needed to consider was that Casey and Jennie were well liked and advantageous anesthesia practitioners to the department. No way would she want to jeopardize the department’s feedback of her services to the locum tenens agency because of her meddling in business that was not exactly her own.
-----
The dark burgundy pickup truck pulled up in front of the second building of the Stay Long Hotel and Fred jumped out. Although he was a bit late, he was thinking clearly and in the mood to tackle the morning’s work. The air was crisp and cool and, so far, there was truth to the day’s forecast prediction of clear and sunny.
Ben leaned against the porch railing and Fred sat on the step, both of them milking down a cup of coffee. “You’re late, you moron,” Ben said.
“At least I don’t show up and then take a break,” Fred said lightheartedly.
“How was your weekend?” David asked.
“Well deserved.” He stood by the bed of the truck and began yanking out equipment. “What’s the plan today?”
“I thought David and I would work on the walls and you could replace that cabinet next to the refrigerator. You’re so much better at carpentry than we are.”
“I would prefer that. Where’s it at?”
“Inside,” he said, placing his empty cup next to the post and yanking up his pants. The two men went in and slid the new cabinet out of its packaging, and then Fred opened the old cabinet. Spaghetti noodles were sprinkled along the bottom from an open box and crumbs from an oatmeal cookie bag dotted the area. He scooted over and peered under the sink.
Fred frowned as he backed out. “Rodents. Doesn’t matter which places we work at, they’re ganna be around. As long as there are human beings and food to deal with.”
“Quit yapping. That’s nothing new.”
“I’ll contact the boss. Not sure if he wants to be more careful at this hotel than his other places. Maybe he wouldn’t want us to spread mice and rat poison around here.”
Fred sat on the floor against the counter and pulled out his cell phone. “Evidence of rodents in building 2,” he texted to their boss. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll scatter Bromethalin pellets.”
Fred went outside to retrieve his tool box and, while he waited for the word from “The Man,” he lit a cigarette. As he enjoyed the chemical in his lungs and the smokiness of the surrounding air, the answer to his question came bouncing back.
“Sure thing. The best time to evict those nasty mammals is when the work is being done.”
Fred smiled. His boss loved that word “evict.” Now he was using it on rodents besides low-income renters. He popped a thumbs up emoji on the screen, put away his phone, and grabbed two rodent killer PACS from the pail in his truck.
He decided to start outside and leave a trail of pellets along the back, side, and front of building 2. As he sucked the cigarette smoke gently into his lungs with one hand, he shook out one packet, and then a second. He crushed the cigarette butt on the ground, and brought another rodent pack inside. Leaning over, Ben busily stirred a new can of paint with a stick, and David looked over from painting the baseboard.
“You ganna get to work?” Ben asked. “How many cigarettes did you consume already outside?”
Fred reached underneath the sink, spread the pellets, and pulled back out. He scratched the scar on his cheek and stood. “Gimme a break, I’m just following orders. I’ll have this new cabinet in next to the refrigerator by the middle of the afternoon while you two are still dicking around over there.”
“The sooner the better for us all,” David said. “We could hang out here later for a while.”
“I’m game,” Fred said, dragging his tools over. “As long as Mason doesn’t come snooping around.”
“He’ll be fine,” David said. “As long as there’s a newspaper at the front desk and the TVs on in the background.”
-----
Going back to the OR, Viktoria went straight away to Room 3 where Casey was beginning to wake up Ashley Turner. “Breaks may be tight today,” she said, sliding between the anesthesia cart and machine. “Let me take over and you go grab your morning coffee.”
“You sure?”
“Don’t let me change my mind.” She placed her hand on the patient’s LMA while she peeled off the eye tape with her other hand. The surgeon nodded and left the room as the RN secured a sterile bandage over the site.
“Record is up to date,” Casey said. “I’ll leave. Who knows? Maybe I’ll bump into Jennie on a break, the first time as Mr. and Mrs.”
Ashley’s eyes opened, but she let them drift closed again. “Mrs. Turner,” Viktoria said, “your surgery is all over. You did fine.” With a small cough from Ashley, Viktoria carefully pulled out the LMA, and continued feeding her oxygen. Her vital signs were excellent, so she tidied up the area, and purposefully went to the red sharps’ container hanging from the side of the cart. She considered that the top-level of material inside should be the latest waste from the morning. Since, theoretically, Casey had aspirated a vial of fentanyl into the syringe she had brought up to the lab, the cracked-open, empty glass vial should be evident inside.
But as far as she could decipher, there was no such Fentanyl cracked-open vial on top.
Viktoria swung around, took off Mrs. Turner’s monitors, and they wheeled her over to the recovery room. After the nurse took report, she leaned over her patient. “How are you feeling?”
“Pretty good. I guess I’m all done.”
“Yes ma’am”
Ashley widened her eyes further. “I’m not nauseous and, yet, I don’t hurt too bad. You didn’t give me any narcotics, did you?”
“I don’t believe so. Today that may have been an easy request to fill.” She patted the woman on her shoulder. “Be brave. I wish you lots of luck with your battle against cancer.”
-----
Just before noon, Viktoria slipped into the doctor’s lounge. More doctors were there at one time than she’d seen on any day the previous week, most likely reflecting the heavy OR schedule. There was no lack of patients and cases to talk about; she thrived on the professional discussions, even if she only overheard them.
Under normal circumstances, the lunch selection of sandwich wraps and tuna salad on croissants was perfectly fine, except that it paled in comparison to the feast many people in the room enjoyed on Saturday. She made a plate and sat across from Jay Huff.
Jay nodded hello and held off taking a spoonful of soup. “I don’t think I thanked you again for taking my call on Friday night. Made me more assured of showing up at Jennie and Casey’s wedding not hung over without enough sleep. Of course, I feel bad for what you had to put up with.”
“No problem.” She cut her sandwich wrap in half. “Seems to me you were the doc pulling a lot of call last week anyway.”
“Sometimes it just falls that way for each one of us. Otherwise, some weeks are lighter too.”
“You were on call the day I arrived. And Wednesday too?”
“Yeah, hell. Monday, Wednesday, and supposedly Friday. But this week I only pull one night, tomorrow. Why do you ask?”
With indifference, she shrugged her shoulders. “Always interested in the mechanics of real practices. There is a wide variety to how schedules and shifts are run with each group. You must have a heavy hand in things since you are the President.”
His stocky figure shook when he laughed, and he beamed over at her. “I suppose you could say that. I do plan out our call schedule, but I am fair. Each doctor can send me their requests for particular nights they may want to be on call or off call. I try my best to fulfill their needs. In addition, there’s more to being the go-between between hospital administration and anesthesia services than meets the eye.”
“I bet. I wouldn’t want the respo
nsibility.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. You’re a female. Plus, you want to work a rare forty-hour-week. It must be nice.”
She responded without looking at him. “You’re a compulsive male. God forbid you take time to sniff the flowers.”
Jay smiled, like wearing her comment as a trophy. “Not all flowers smell rosy. Aren’t you aware that there are seven that are foul-smelling?” He pushed out from the table, bused his dirty bowl and paper plate to the trash can, and slipped out the door.
Viktoria ate the last bite of her sandwich, went straight to the refrigerator, and slid out her cake. The lounge had started to thin out, and she went back to her empty table. Unwrapping the plastic wrap, she smiled at the three-layered cake with raspberry filling and buttercream frosting.
“Are you going to eat it all at once?”
She continued smiling as she glanced at Jeffrey Appleton standing beside her.
“Is there any other way?”
He pulled out a chair and sat down with a look of mischief. “The only alternative is for you to share that, but I forbid it.”
“Ha. Good thing.”
“May I make a suggestion about where we should meet later? And would you be game for both of us to bring our dogs?”
She peeled her eyes off the cake and locked on to his amber eyes. “Buddy and I would love to meet your Golden. How old is Mattie?”
“She’s three. She turns into a frolicking sack of motherly love towards dogs younger than her.”
“I can’t wait, but where can you eat around here where they allow dogs?”
“How about I pick you up in my dog-proof Jeep, and bring you up to the lake? You’ll get out of town and enjoy the drive, which isn’t really that long. My favorite, casual restaurant is up there and, yes, they have tables outside. It’s called Ricky’s Grill and Bar.”
“Sounds too fabulous. I do have something to discuss with you.”
“So you said. I’ll try and get out of here on time. Pick you up by five o’clock?”
“Buddy and I will be ready. We’re staying at the Stay Long Hotel.”
“Yes. See you then.” He fixed a cup of coffee and quickly left.
It was time to try the layered, sweet baked treat from Saturday, which did not disappoint, and practically melted on her tongue.
-----
Bending over at the waist, Ben gathered his painting supplies in a pile. He stood straight, hoisted his falling pants, and looked over at Fred who was sitting on the floor wiping smudge marks off the cabinet he’d installed.
“Damn swell job you did over there,” Ben said.
“Thanks. I should say so myself.”
“Don’t compliment him,” David added. “It’ll go to his head.”
“That’s all right. The three of us are skilled craftsmen and deserve credit for what we do. This kind of work is a dying art with the generation behind us. All they do is wiggle their fingers on electronic devices, play games, and watch content on their cell phones. Most of them don’t even know how to interact with other human beings.”
Fred uncrossed his legs and stood. “We did a day’s work by two o’clock. It’s time to call it quits, so I’m packing up the bulk of my stuff. I’ll check that Mason is buried in the office, and bring us back a treat. I’m feeling generous, so I’m sharing today.”
Ben and David exchanged glances. They had started early in the morning, and had done nothing more than eat their packed food for lunch, so they had barely taken a break. Both men raised their eyebrows, and followed Fred’s lead to clean up. Fred went out to his truck, and then sneaked to the front office. When he walked past it, he glanced inside. Mason was leaning on the counter, his head resting in his hands, as he stared at a television program.
When Fred walked back to the cab of his truck, he went straight to the glove compartment. He slipped out three glass vials, as well as other paraphernalia from the console. Walking back inside, he found his buddies on the futon, one of the few pieces of furniture left while they worked, shoved up against the window area.
“I’m so damn generous,” he said, handing them each a vial, a tourniquet, and other supplies for accessing their veins. They each wore short sleeve T-shirts, so it didn’t take long before they each wiped a selected area of their forearm with an alcohol wipe. They helped one another secure an elastic band on their upper arms, and Fred was the first to crack a Fentanyl vial and aspirate the two ccs into a syringe.
“Here,” he said, handing the syringe to Ben. His partner poked the needle into the bulging bluish vein where Fred pointed, aspirated blood, and then pushed the contents straight in. Within minutes, the three men successfully succeeded in helping each other out, and they slumped euphorically back into the furniture.
“What a beautiful way to end a work day,” Fred commented blissfully.
“Not too much, and not too little,” Ben said.
David spun his baseball cap to the side, and tapped Fred’s thigh. “I coulda used double the dose, but who’s counting when you were generous enough to treat me.”
CHAPTER 24
Fred craved more. His head swam around with a great buzz as he glanced at his two buddies next to him, but today he didn’t want to stop with two ccs. Plus, David and Ben had their eyes closed, and he didn’t want to give them any more of his stash. He reached over to the small zippered pouch and fetched another vial, the tourniquet, and a syringe and needle. He wrapped the band tightly on the arm he had not used a little while ago, and up popped a vein right along the radial, lateral forearm. After preparing the new syringe, he stuck himself, and with little difficulty injected more Fentanyl.
After releasing the tourniquet, Fred held pressure on the site. Damn, he thought. Such bliss. He propped his feet up on the flimsy coffee table and sunk back. But instead of closing his eyes, a scary thought came to him. Earlier, when he ate his sandwich, he had grabbed a couple of gabapentin from his drug stash and chucked them down with canned soda. He didn’t use the drug to relieve any kind of nerve pain, but for its calming and sedative effects. In some ways, he often thought it helped his creativity and tolerance while working.
In his cloudy drug state, he’d forgotten about that. He wished he had not injected a second vial of Fentanyl. Since he couldn’t do anything about it, he closed his eyes.
A dream came quickly, so real that Fred believed it to be a certifiable, genuine occurrence. He was sailing on Lake Erie, enduring ten to twenty-foot waves and gusty winds, both of which prevented him from heading towards the shoreline. Farther and farther he sailed from the coastline until he was overcome by the peak of the storm.
Ben’s skinny arm rested on the end of the couch and, in his slumber, it slipped off and startled him awake. He didn’t know how long he had slept and not a peep or a snore came from Fred or David. Leaning forward, he rubbed his eyes, and looked beside him.
With a small gesture, David’s hand moved on his trouser, a peaceful serenity written all over his face. Next to him, Fred’s face remained expressionless, and his nose and mouth were still as stone like he wasn’t even taking in air. David sat taller. His buddy’s chest was damn still too.
Ben’s eyes swept over the table and another cracked vial, not there before, was in front of Fred’s paraphernalia. He shook his buddy, but to no avail. His lips slightly parted, but other than that he didn’t stir.
With a swat, Ben hit David on his leg. “Fred’s out like a dead dog,” he said.
David leaned forward, turned, and took a stab at jostling Fred as well. “Damn, he sure is. Not even sure if he’s breathing.” His eyes grew big as he glanced at Ben. “He’s going to get us all in trouble.”
“Hey, let’s get out of here. We don’t want any part of this.”
“Let’s take our used vials and only leave his stuff,” David said.
The two men took the cracked glass, checked around for any remnants of their things and hastened out the door.
“I have an idea,” Ben said. “Meet me acr
oss the street at the breakfast place.”
They were both feeling groggy, and drove with extra caution down the road. Inside, they scurried into a booth and ordered from the “All Day Breakfasts” selection on the menu. Each of them downed a cup of coffee to work off the haze in their heads, and contemplated their dilemma.
“I’m ready,” Ben said. “I’m making a call. He pulled out his cell phone, looked up a number, and dialed.
A voice on the other end chirped, “Stay Long Hotel. How can I help you?”
“Mason, hey, this is Ben. I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Just depends.”
“Yeah, well, David and I are eating breakfast food across the street. Fred lingered on the job after we left, but he still hasn’t shown up, and he was supposed to join us. He’s not answering his phone. Can you go tell him to get over here, that we’re waiting on him?”
Mason frowned and adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “All right. Consider it done.”
“Appreciate it.” Ben hung up and stared at David. “This way, if Mason gets him medical care, or the cops go there, or anything, then we’re not incriminated. All that drug stuff in front of him was what he did after we left him today. I don’t know a damn thing and I’ve never touched that illegal stuff.”
“I’m clueless too and have no idea where the hell he got it from,” David added.
The waitress walked over, topped off their coffee cups, and both men picked at their food.
-----
Mason walked around the counter and out of the office. There were no new vehicles pulling in with customers to register, so he felt fine leaving the front desk. Plus, Monday was their slowest check-in and out day. He strolled over to building 2 where the last workers’ truck was parked.
To be polite, Mason knocked on the door. Fred, whom he remembered was the skinny one with a facial scar, didn’t answer, so he turned the handle. As he entered, he scanned the fine work being accomplished, but his heart jumped when he looked to the right. Fred appeared to be out cold and suspicious materials for injectable drugs lay on the table.
