give you depends upon the host institution contributing expenses. Some
of the private foundations are also insisting upon it now. All of my
funding came from N.C.I. A no-overhead rule essentially nulli~ all of
my projects. I tried to argue, yelled, screamed, showed them figures
and facts-what we were trying to do with our research; this was
pediatric cancer for God’s sake. No use. So I flew to Washington and
talked with government Visigoths, trying to get them to suspend the
rules.
That, too, was futile. Our kinder and gentler bunch, eh? None of them
functions at a human level. So what were my options, Alex? Stay on as
an overeducated technician and give up fifteen years of work?”
“Fifteen years,” I said. “Must have been hard.”
“It wasn’t easy, but it turned out to be afantastic decision. Here, at
Mercy, I sit on the board as a voting member. There are plenty of
idiots here, too, but I can ignore them. As a bonus, my second
child-Amelia is enrolled at the medical school in Miami and lives with
me. My condominium overlooks the ocean and on the rare occasion I
visit Little Havana, it makes me feel like a little boy. It was like
surgery, Alex. The process was painful but the results were worth
it.”
“They were stupid to lose you.”
“Of course they were. Fifteen years and not even a gold watch ” He
laughed. “These are not people who hold physicians in awe. All that
matters to them is money.”
“Jones and Plumb?”
And that pair of dogs trailing after them Novak and whatever. They may
be accountants but they remind me of Fidel’s thugs.
Take my advice, Alex: Don’t get too involved there. Why don’t you come
out to Miami and put your skills to use where they’ll be appreciated?
We’ll write a grant together. The AIDS thing is paramount now-so much
sadness. Two thirds of our hemophiliacs have received infected
blood.
You could be useful here, Alex.”
“Thanks for the invitation, Raoul.”
“It’s a sincere one. I remember the good we did together.”
“So do I.”
“Think about it, Alex.”
“Okay.”
“But of course you won’t.”
Both of us laughed.
I said, “Could I ask you one more thing?”
Also personal?”
“No. What do you know about the Ferris Dixon Institute for Chemical
Research?”
“Never heard of it. Why?”
“It funded a doctor at Western Peds. With overhead.”
“Really. And which guy is this?”
A toxicologist named Laurence Ashmore. He’s done some epidemiologic
work on childhood cancer.”
Ashmore. . . never heard of him either. What kind of epidemiology
does he do?”
“Pesticides and malignancy rates. Mostly theoretical stuff, playing
with numbers.”
He snorted. “How much did this institute give him?”
“Nearly a million dollars.”
Silence.
“What?”
“It’s true,” I said.
“With overhead?”
“High, huh?”
Absurd. What’s the name of this institute?”
“Ferris Dixon. They only funded one other study, much smaller.
An economist named Zimberg.”
“With overhead. . . Hmm, I’ll have to check into that. Thank you for
the tip, Alex. And think about my offer. The sun shines here too.”
I didn’t hear from Milo and had doubts if he’d make our eight o’clock
meeting. When he hadn’t shown up by twenty after, I figured whatever
had held him up at Parker Center had gotten in the way. But at 8:~~
the bell rang, and when I opened the door it was him.
Someone was standing behind him.
Presley Huenengarth. His face floated over Milo’s shoulder like a
malignant moon. His mouth was as small as a baby’s.
Milo saw the look in my eyes, gave an it’s-okay wink, put his hand on
my shoulder, and walked in. Huenengarth hesitated for a moment before
following. His hands were at his sides. No gun. No bulge in his
jacket; no sign of coercIon.
The two of them could have been a cop team.
Milo said, “Be right with you,” and went into the kitchen.
Huenengarth stood there. His hands were thick and mottled and his eyes
were everywhere. The door was still open. When I closed it, he didn’t
move.
I walked into the living room. Though I couldn’t hear him, I knew he