“Thanks,” I said with a wave of my hand, not turning back or breaking stride. At least I’ll have somewhere to crash tonight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Herb Waters was playing a video game and racking up points when the security buzzer went off. “Hold your fucking horses,” he yelled. “I’ll be there in a minute!”
He was at 48,000 points, trying to break his personal record of 50,000. One last obstacle to beat, and the game was his. Ignoring the door buzzer, he clutched the joysticks even tighter and madly worked the controls, his face and body contorting from the effort. Bam! He hit the target! 52 K! “Yes!” He cackled. “I’m the king of the fucking world!”
Waters went to the door and greeted Friedman and Phillips with a diabolical grin on his face and with slaps on their backs. Despite being annoyed with Waters for being slow in letting them in, the two hospital administrators were pleased to see their boss in a good mood. Waters could be impossible to work with when he was upset.
It had been four weeks since Friedman and Phillips had last seen Waters. Usually they met with him weekly, except when Waters was out of town on business, but for the past six months, the meetings had been reduced to once a month. This wasn’t a problem, as Friedman and Phillips were adept at running the hospital and its subsidiaries on their own. But Waters liked to keep a dictatorial control on everything.
Harley Friedman and Craig Phillips were the same age, forty-three, but that’s where their similarity ended. Friedman looked like a college professor: balding head with tufts of reddish brown hair around his oversized ears, oversized black glasses with thick lenses, wrinkled shirt, bow tie, sports jacket, and baggy trousers. Of average height, he had rounded shoulders, skinny legs, and a bulging belly. In sharp contrast, Phillips could have graced the cover of GQ Magazine: six-feet tall, thick wavy hair he kept fashionably styled and neatly trimmed, the “pretty” face of a leading man, and the buffed physique of a professional athlete. Obsessed with exercise, Phillips had a well-equipped gym in his Hanover Building office that he used three or four times a day. He wore sweats most of the time, changing to Brooks Brothers suits and crisply starched shirts when he left his office.
Phillips laid papers over the twenty-foot long, mahogany table, while Friedman rattled off the main talking points. As always, he kept it brief and made it quick.
Waters had no patience for timidity and little time to discuss hospital business. Despite his reputation as being a goof-off in college, he was extremely smart and a fast study. He grasped and retained information well, and he had a keen ability to quickly connect the dots and see the big picture. Waters was always quick to assess the financial status of Jackson City Hospital, and although his remarks were few, they were always spot-on.
“Why are revenues down for hospital bed usage?” Waters barked.
Friedman was quick to answer. “We had a number of patients cancel due to Dr. James stalking his office manager in the ICU and the two murders at his—”
“That’s ancient history,” Waters interrupted. “The new contract with Blue Sky has been operational for five weeks. The twenty percent increase in hospital services payments is on-line now. That additional revenue should more than compensate for the eighteen percent drop in bed vacancy for the same period.”
“But the increase in charges takes time to reach our ledgers.”
“Bullshit!” Waters bellowed as he slammed his fist on the table. “Craig, get Harley straight on this.”
Phillips, always the cool head, spoke calmly and confidently. “The twenty percent increase does override the eighteen-point-aught-three percent loss, which works out to a net gain of 143,000 dollars and fifteen cents.”
Waters maintained a stern look but inwardly he was pleased, not only with the $143,000 but also the fifteen cents. Accounting for every last penny was important to Waters.
“Yes, but the money isn’t in the hospital account yet,” Friedman explained. “It takes a couple days for funds to transfer from the insurance carrier to the hospital.”
“We own the goddamned insurance company! It’s fuckin’ ours! Claims should be expedited! And funds should transfer instantaneously!” Waters fumed. Although no one could tell from his demeanor, he loved these parlays. “The public doesn’t judge us on how well our insurance company does; we’re judged on the performance of the hospital.”
Friedman took the jabs Waters meted out. He was resilient, knowing that his ten percent of Jackson Healthcare Systems, Inc.’s profits, like Phillips’, would be over $16 million for the quarter.
At the conclusion of the meeting, Waters announced he would be out of touch for the next three weeks. “Don’t need me,” he barked. Then he dismissed them curtly with, “I have to make an important phone call.”
Waters waited for Phillips and Friedman to leave by the stairs and exit the Penthouse, then went to his luxurious bathroom to shower and shave.
Freshly bathed, Waters stretched out naked on the Penthouse’s king-sized bed and adjusted the pillows so he could sit up and watch television. He turned on the secured video-conferencing program he often used. The seventy-inch screen filled with a live feed of a naked woman lying on a large round bed with two cheetahs. Wind blew sheer drapes, showing glimpses of azure water outside the window. The animals sat rigidly upright, like the sphinxes standing guard at an ancient Egyptian pyramid, poised and attentive to the woman’s fondling.
The woman, like the animals, was exquisitely beautiful. She said not a word as she seductively gestured for him to come to her. She slithered on the satin sheets and licked her full lips to form wet kisses directed toward the camera. Silently observing her graceful movements, Waters became sexually aroused. When she licked her fingers and began caressing herself, he took his penis in his hand. Soon they were on their respective beds, panting, spent, while the big cats, still motionless, purred.
Finally, she sat up and said, “I miss you, darling. You haven’t called in over a week. Are you seeing someone else?”
“Elayna, baby, you’re the only girl in my life right now.”
“Good. I like it that way. Come see me soon. I’ll make it worth your while.”
Waters said. “It’ll be three weeks before I can get away.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
After leaving Harris, Keyes drove me to my office.
My heart sank as we pulled into the parking lot of the surgery center. The side of the building had KILLER DOCTOR spray-painted on it, in three-foot-high letters. At least my building was a few blocks away from the hospital. Along with the trees, that gave it some degree of privacy.
Not only had vandals painted my wall, they’d wrecked my car. There was my Mercedes, covered in red and blue spray paint, with KILLER DOC painted on the windshield. The windows were smashed and the leather seats slashed. The tires and stereo system were gone.
Two teenagers, skateboarding in the parking lot, ducked behind the building just as I got out of Keyes’ Honda. As I unlocked my office door, the two yelled, “Cop killer!” and ran toward the nearby apartments. I looked for a policeman, but Harris had removed them all and I was alone.
A mound of mail greeted me as I entered the office. I went immediately to the waiting room to check my orchids. Now that my practice was dead, my flowers were dying, too. Many of the blooms had fallen off and the soil was bone dry. Most of the water in the small pool I had designed to keep the orchids healthy had evaporated. It was too low to keep the waterfall going, and the motor had burned out.