Flashback

'And that's not all, either. There's this kid we operated on last January for a hernia, and… and he's been having these nightmares, and-'

'Okay, okay, ' Frank said, holding his hands up, 'enough of this bullshit. I want you to slow down, calm down, go back, and start at the beginning. Got that?… Good. Now, first of all, Jack, exactly who are we talking about?'

'Well, Frank, it… it's your brother. Your brother Zachary.'

Zack again! For Frank, the minutes that followed were the purest torture. He listened impassively, struggling to maintain his concentration and composure in the face of the grotesque little man and the fireball of hatred that was tearing at his gut. He studied the notes Pearl had brought-Zack's review of the gallbladder cases and the hospital record of Toby Nelms. Then he insisted Pearl go through the entire story again, step by step. Midway through that recounting, he excused himself for a few minutes, citing the need to get some papers signed and in the mail to Boston. Then he strolled placidly through his outer office and down the hall to an empty men's room, where he threw up. Twenty minutes later, he had picked up the cimetidine and some more Maalox at the pharmacy and stood confronting himself in another men's room mirror. As a quaterback, he had learned that plays seldom went exactly as the coaches had diagrammed them in the playbook. A lineman stumbles, and everybody's timing is thrown off, a halfback is thinking about a fight he has had with his girlfriend, and misses a crucial block. The quarterback worth his salt always kept his head, always expected the unexpected. And it was in this area, Frank reminded himself — the instinctive, reflex ability to react and to adjust-that Frankie Iverson had been the very best. This time, as in so many sticky situations on so many playing fields, his edge would lie in keeping a cool head. He had picked through Pearl's story a piece at a time, and realized that things weren't yet nearly as bleak as he had initially perceived. When he returned to his office he was scrubbed, combed, and outwardly calm. Annette Dolan, dressed in a short-sleeved pink sweater with a band of fine beadwork flowing over her breasts, looked even more alluring than usual. Much work to do. Keep tonight open if you can.

Frank scribbled the words on a scrap of paper, signed the note with a smiley face, and set it by her elbow as he passed. She glanced at it and, almost imperceptibly, smiled and nodded. Now there, Frank thought, as he opened the door to his office, was an understanding woman. The office was empty. 'Annette, did Dr. Pearl leave? ' he asked over his shoulder. 'No. Just you, ' she said. At that moment, the toilet in his private bathroom flushed. The notion of Jack Pearl sitting on his john was enough to start the acid percolating again in Frank's gut. He would have to get housekeeping to scrub the whole place down before he so much as stepped foot in there again. Pearl emerged from the room wiping his nose with one hand and tugging at his still-open fly with the other.

'Hope you didn't mind my using your head, Frank, ' he said. 'This whole business has really messed up my insides, and I've got the shits something awful.'

Frank smiled plastically and vowed that after the sale of Serenyl was completed, sending Jack Pearl as far from Sterling as possible would rank in priority only slightly below dealing with Zachary. 'Okay, Jack,

' he said, 'tell me what it is, exactly, that you want.'

Pearl cleared his throat. 'Well, the more I've thought about the properties of the drug I built Serenyl from-the more I realize that it's possible your brother might be right about that kid.'

'That's ridiculous.'

'Why?'

'Jack, you and Mainwaring have done five hundred cases. Five hundred!

Have you encountered even one problem?'

'No, but-'

'But what, Jack?'

'If the kid's problem is due to the drug, then it's some sort of delayed reaction. A flashback-that's what your brother called it. If he's right, maybe some others are having them, but they just haven't connected the episodes with the anesthe ic. If I knew for sure that was going on, I could fix it, Frank. I know every molecule in that drug. I could do it.'

'Jack, please, ' Frank said. 'The whole thing is absolute nonsense. The kid is haviniz niizhtmares from something he saw on TV-probably on that goddarn@]Z'va show. They're always showing babies being delivered and people being operated on and shit like that, for Chrissake. It's a wonder more kids haven't gotten screwed up.'

'Frank, we can check. A hundred or so calls, and we can see if anyone's having-'

'No!'

'But-'

'Jack, I've tried to be patient with you, but now I've just about had it … Frank snapped a pencil in two for emphasis. 'Mainwaring's going to finish presenting Serenyl to his partners, and he's going to come back here, and he's going to give us each… half a million dollars, and we're going to give him the drug. That's how we planned it, and that's what we're going to do.'

'But-'

'No fucking buts, Jack. If you don't want to believe me when I tell you that kid is just a coincidence, that's your problem. But I'll be damned if you're going to make it mine. Now listen, and listen good, if you say one word about all this to Mainwaring or anyone else, one fucking word, the Akron authorities will be here to scoop up what's left of you quicker than you can blink. I got them off your back, and I can get them back on. Clear?'

Pearl wiped his nose with the handleerchief he had used on the coffee spill and lit a cigarette. Frank Iverson had him between a rock and a hard place. It was a spot he knew well. 'C–Clear, ' he said. 'It had better be.' Frank shook a finger at him as he spoke. 'Because I'm telling you, Jack, I want that drug sold, and I want that money in the bank. Don't fuck with me on this one.'

'I won't,' Pearl said. 'But 'But what?'

'Frank, what harm would it do to make a few calls? If there's a problem with Serenyl, I can fix it. I know I ca-' Frank sprung around the desk, grabbed the anesthesiologist tightly by the shirt, and pulled him up onto his tiptoes. 'Dammit, Jack, I said no!'

He shook the little man like a terrier breaking a rat, and then slammed him back into his seat. Pearl cowered before the onslaught. 'Okay, okay,

' he whined, shielding his face. Why did his life always come down to scenes like this? ny? 'That's better, ' Frank said. He patted Pearl on the shoulder. 'That's much better…' He returned to his desk chair.

'Hey, buddy, don't look so glum. Like I said, the kid is just a coincidence. That Serenyl of yours is just as perfect as you told me it was.'

'What about your brother?'

'You let me worry about my brother. Just stay away from him. If he tries to confront you again, tell him to speak to me or… or to call your lawyer.

Here… here's a name to give him. But unless you want a long-term vacation in Akron after your long-term stay in an ICU, that's all you give him, right?… Well, right?… That's perfect, Jack. Just like that little anesthe ic of yours-absolutely perfect.'

'Okay, Frank, ' Pearl said, stubbing out his cigarette and shuffling to the door, 'you win.'

The door opened and closed, and Pearl was gone. You win… That's right, Frank thought excitedly. I do. He had handled the distasteful little pervert brilliantly. After tough go-rounds with Leigh, the Judge, and the two board members, it felt splendid to be back in control again.

All he had to do now was keep Zack at bay and off balance for another week. And whatever it took to accomplish that, he would do. Meanwhile, some well-placed pressure on a couple of weak trustees, and the future of Ultramed-and of Frank Iverson-at the hospital would be secure. After that, he would be in a position to deal in a more definitive way with both his goddamn vindictive brother and Pearl… Frank, Frank, he's our man. If he can't do it the intercom crackled on. 'Mr. Iverson, it's Annette again. There's a Mr. Curt Largent on three. He says he's a neighbor of yours.'

Major Curtis Largent, US ARMY, Ret. was the way the aging war hero had painted his mailbox. Confined to a wheelchair by an errant piece of shrapnel during a battle for some village or church in Italy, Largent was the unofficial security guard of Frank's neighborhood, surveying the area for hours at a time from his upstairs porch and noting down in a book all suspicious comings and going, as well as virtually every license number of every car he did not know. Twice over the years his vigilance actually had thwarted crime-in one case the theft of a bicycle, and in the other, the illegal dumping of some landfill off the end of the turnaround. 'Hello, Major, it's Frank Iverson.' The last words of the cheer were still reverberating in this thoughts. 'What can I do for you?'