Free F Paul Wilson - Novel 02 by Implant (v2.1) Page B

           "Doesn't
it make sense to standardize medical care and costs across the country?"
                His gaze was hard as steel.
"Don't you think we've got enough guidelines already?"
                She thought of old Mrs. Thompson at Lynnbrook Hospital . "Well . . . "
                "What this bill will do is
enforce cookbook medicine. The real thrust of all this legislation isn't
quality assurance, it's cost control. They'll save a few bucks but the human
costs will be huge."
                 "It
doesn't have to be that way. We," Duncan glanced at the carafe and held up
a hand. "Coffee's ready." He lifted the cone from the carafe and
placed it in the small chrome sink next to the microwave. Then he filled two
thick white diner-style mugs with the fresh, steaming coffee. He handed one to
Gin.
                 "Now
this is coffee. Taste." Gin sniffed, the aroma was fabulous, then sipped.
Usually she drank her coffee black with a little sugar. This didn't need sugar.
The flavor was so deep, so rich . . .
                 "It's
. . . " She struggled for words. "It's like I've never had real coffee
before. This is amazing."
                Duncan beamed. "It's worth the trouble, isn't
it? An anodyne for weltschmerz. I'll grind you up some beans to take home. But
use them soon. And if you use a regular drip machine, never, never, leave the
pot on a heater. Always decant the coffee immediately into a carafe. Even the
best coffee gets bitter when it's overheated."
                 "Thanks.
I'll remember that." Gin had had no idea Duncan was such a coffee connoisseur. The rituals,
the rules . . . it was like a religion. But the result was awfully good.
                 They
sipped in silence for a moment. Gin wandered along the glass wall and admired
the koi pool, the rock garden, and the dwarf shrubs that lined it. She
continued on, passing his desk. The top right drawer was open. Inside was a
glass injection vial filled with a clear amber fluid.
                 Something
else too. Something metallic, almost like a large trocar . . .
                 Suddenly Duncan was beside her, sliding the drawer closed. "You
were saying?"
                "Where was I? Well, the point
I was trying to make is that if I can get on a committee member's staff, I can
see to it that he gets some straight dope on how these guidelines will affect
patient care. And if I can influence him even a little, won't it be worth
it?"
                Duncan stared at her, slowly shaking his head.
"For some time now I've been worrying that you had no direction. I was
afraid you were just going to drift, make a career of moonlighting and locum
tenens work. Now I almost wish that were the case." Had he actually been
thinking about her?
                "Maybe I'll simply devote myself
to lexiphania."
                Duncan appeared taken aback. Had she stumped him?
                 Lexiphania,
the tendency to use obscure and unusual words. The irony would be rich. How
wonderful to catch him with a word that described himself.
                 Duncan laughed. "Where'd you find that
one?"
                "Wasn't easy, believe
me."
                "All right. I plead guilty to
compulsive grandiloquism, to singlehandedly trying to correct for the entire
language's drift into banality." Damn. He did know it.
                 She
said, "I don't think it's working."
                 "More's
the pity." He gazed at her, smiling. "Lexiphania . . . that’s
wonderful. How can I stay angry at you? But seriously, Gin, you've been trained
for a higher sort of work than being legislative aide to some pretentious pinhead
pol. I hate to see you wasting your talents."
                 For
a moment she was struck by how much he sounded like Peter. He'd said almost
exactly the same thing when