looked down her nose at me. The man’s gaze followed. The queue behind
him swayed and rumbled like a giant serpent.
“You can’t have that,” said the clerk.
I smiled, pointed at my badge, and said, “Just want to borrow it for a
minute.”
The clerk rolled her eyes and said, “Just for a minute, that’s all.”
I moved to the far end of the counter and flipped the book open to the
first page, running my eyes and my index finger down the numbers column
on the right side of each page, prepared to scan hundreds of extensions
until I found 25 oh. But I hit the jackpot after only a couple of
dozen.
ASHMORE,L.W (Tox.) 1506
I replaced the book and thanked the clerk. She glared again, snatched
it, and placed it out of reach.
“Half a minute,” I said. “Do I get a refund?”
Then I saw the faces of the people waiting in line and regretted being
a wise-ass.
I went up to see Cassie, but there was a DO NOT DISNRB sign on her door
and the nurse on duty told me both she and Cindy were sleeping.
On my way out of the hospital, my thoughts were intruded upon by
someone calling my name. Looking up, I saw a tall, mustachioed man
approaching from the main entrance. late thirties, white coat, rimless
glasses, Ivy League clothes. The mustache was an extravagant waxed
black handlebar. The rest of him seemed arranged around it.
He waved.
I reached into the past and drew out a name.
Dan Kornblatt. Cardiologist. Former UC San Francisco chief
resident.
His first year at the hospital had been my last. Our relationship had
been limited to case conferences and casual chats about the Bay
Area-I’d done a fellowship at langley Porter and Kornblatt delighted in
pushing the proposition that no civilization existed south of Carmel.
I remembered him as long on brains and short on tact with peers and
parents, but tender with his young patients. Four other doctors were
walking with him, two women, two men, all young. The five of them
moved rapidly, accompanied by swinging arms physical fitness or a
strong sense of purpose. As they got closer I saw that Kornblatt’s
hair had grayed at the temples and his hawk face had taken on a few
seams.
Alex Delaware. My, my.”
“Hi, Dan.”
“To what do we owe the honor?”
“Here on a consult.”
“Really? Gone private?”
A few years ago.”
“Where?”
“The West Side.”
“But of course. Been back up to the real city lately?”
“Not lately.”
“Me neither. Not since two Christmases ago. Miss that Tadich Grill,
all that real-city culture.”
He made introductions all around. Two of the other doctors were
residents, one was a Cardiology fellow and one of the women-a short,
dark, Mideastern woman was an attending physician.
Obligatory smiles and handshakes all around. Four names that passed
right through me.
Kornblatt said, Alex, here, was one of our star psychologists.
Back when we had them.” To me: “Speaking of which, I thought you guys
were ierbotee’ around here. Has something changed in that regard?”
I shook my head. “It’s just an isolated consult.”
Ah. So where you heading? Out?”
I nodded.
“If you’re not crunched for time, why don’t you come with us?
Emergency staff meeting. Are you still on stab Yeah, you must be if
you’re doing a consult.” His brows creased. “How’d you manage to
avoid the Psychiatry bloodbath?”
“Through a technicality. My affiliation was in Pediatrics, not
Psychiatry.”
“Pediatrics-that’s interesting. Good loophole.” To the others: “You
see, there’s always a loophole.”
Four knowing looks. None of them was over thirty.
Kornblatt said, “So, you wanna hang with us? The meeting’s an
important one-that is, if you’re still feeling sufficiently affiliated
to care what goes on around here.”
“Sure,” I said, and fell in alongside him. “What’s the topic?”
“The decline and fall of the Western Peds Empire. As evidenced by the
murder of Larry Ashmore. Actually, it’s a memorial for him.”
He frowned. “You heard about what happened, didn’t you?”
I nodded. “Terrible.”
“Symptomatic, Alex.”
“Of what?”
“What’s happened to this place. Look at the way the whole thing’s been