Free No Cure for Murder by Lawrence Gold Page B

I’m not complaining. It’s an occupational hazard. I don’t want to appear snobbish...I’m not, but can you do anything to protect my privacy?”
    “Of course. I’ll deal with it. Meanwhile, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back with the moist heat pad. Slip into this.” Mary handed Gabby the hospital gown.
    Gabby pulled out a simple cotton lace-trimmed gown. “Is it all right if I wear this?”
    “Sure, but I can hear the sighs of disappointment already.”
    “They’ll survive.”
    After changing, Gabby lay in bed trying to find a comfortable position when she heard a knock on the door.
    “Come in.”
    Tommy Wells entered pushing his lab cart. “I’m Thomas Wells.” Smiling with a Dracula accent, he said, “I come for your blood.”
    Gabby winced. She hated to have her blood drawn. They always had difficulty finding a vein and it often left a large black and blue mark.
    Seeing her discomfort, Tommy smiled. “Not to worry. I’m the best.”
    While he tied the rubber tourniquet around her upper arm, Tommy looked up into her eyes.
    God, she’s gorgeous, he thought.
    Gabby had seen that look thousands of times. She smiled politely, closed her eyes, then felt a tiny pinprick and it was over.
    “Thanks, Thomas. That wasn’t bad at all.”
    He held the site for several minutes. Way too long.
    Thomas drew her blood twice each day, each time asking more personal questions until she stopped him. “Please, Thomas. You seem like a sweet man, but I’m only interested in getting well.”
    Tommy reddened, and then stomped away.
    When Tommy returned the next morning, he said nothing. He placed the tourniquet around her arm. Suddenly she felt the agonizing pain as he probed for a vein.
    “Get out of here!” She clutched her burning arm. Tears ran down her cheeks, as her arm began swelling, and turning black and blue.
    When Jacob saw the arm and heard her story, he found Tommy sitting in the coffee room. “Keep your damn hands off my patients...what’s the matter with you?”
    “If you don’t like it, Weizman, take it up with my boss.”
    “You can be sure I will.”
    When he left, Tommy mumbled under his breath, “Fucking kike.”
    “What did you say?” said Jacob as Tommy walked away.
    Tommy turned. “Don’t mess with me, old man. You’ll regret it.”

 
     
     
     
    Chapter Fifteen
     
    Jack Byrnes listened as the Quality Assurance Committee (QA) discussed the complaints against Jacob Weizman. “I don’t like this one bit.”
    The clock showed 12:20 p.m. The committee members finished lunch and began their meeting. The east-facing windows showed pedestrians walking to and from Brier Hospital in the bright midday sun.
    “I don’t like it either,” said Warren Davidson, the chief of medicine, “but we can’t ignore the complaints lodged by the nurses and some physicians.”
    Ernie Banks was a family practitioner in his early 70s. “These complaints reek of ageism. I’ve had to deal with it myself, and if you don’t mind, I hate it.”
    “Age discrimination in the People’s Republic of Berkeley,” said Warren, “impossible.”
    “Berkeley’s progressive, but I can’t say the same for Brier Hospital,” said Arnie Roth, the chairman of QA. “All this is beside the point. The complaints are here and we must deal with them.”
    Arnie grabbed a manila folder. “This is the most recent complaint. It’s from Marion Krupp...”
    “Christ,” Jack interjected. “Marion Krupp is a bitter, angry woman...you’re going to listen to her gripes?”
    “This is just an example. I have several others, all with the same theme: Jacob’s reluctance to prescribe medication and his passion to get people out of the hospital as quickly as possible.”
    Jack smiled. “That should make him the poster-boy for the HMO.”
    “Please, Jack,” said Arnie. “We’re here to deal with practice issues only.” He paused a moment, then continued, “I asked Jacob to join us to discuss these