Fatal Cure by Robin Cook. Prologue. Chapter 1

“Wayne, you’re drunk,” Hodges said. “So why don’t you just go home and sleep it off.” Hodges turned back to the bar and tried once more to take a sip of his drink.

“There’s nothing to go home to, thanks to you.”

Hodges slowly turned around again and looked at Robertson. Robertson’s eyes were red, almost as red as his fat cheeks. His blond hair was clipped short in a fifties-style butch.

“Wayne,” Hodges began, “we’re not going over this again. Your wife, rest her soul, was not my patient. You’re drunk. Go home.”

“You were running the freakin’ hospital,” Robertson said.

“That doesn’t mean I was responsible for every case, you lunkhead,” Hodges said. “Besides, it was ten years ago.” He again tried to turn away.

“You bastard!” Robertson snarled. Reaching out, he grabbed Hodges’ shirt at the collar and tried to lift Hodges off the barstool.

Carleton Harris came around the bar with a swiftness that belied his bulk and insinuated himself between the two men. He opened Robertson’s grip on Hodges’ shirt one finger at a time. “Okay, you two,” he said. “Off to your own corners. We don’t allow sparring here at the Iron Horse.”

Hodges straightened his shirt indignantly, snatched up his drink, and walked to the other end of the bar. As he passed behind John MacKenzie he heard the man mutter: “Deadbeat.” Hodges refused to be provoked.

“Carleton, you shouldn’t have interfered,” Dr. Cantor called out to the bartender. “If Robertson had blown old Hodges away half the town would have cheered.”

Dr. Cantor and Dr. Darnell laughed uproariously at Cantor’s comment. Each one encouraged the other until they were slapping their knees and choking on their beers. Carleton ignored them as he stepped around the bar to help Barton Sherwood who’d approached for refills.

“Dr. Cantor’s right,” Sherwood said loud enough for everyone in the bar to hear. “Next time Hodges and Robertson face off, leave them be.”

“Not you too,” Carleton said as he deftly mixed Sherwood’s drinks.

“Let me tell you about Dr. Hodges,” Sherwood said, still loud enough for everyone to hear. “A good neighbor he isn’t. By a historical accident he owns a little tongue of land that happens to separate my two lots. So what does he do? He builds this gigantic fence.”

“Of course I fenced that land,” Hodges called out, unable to hold his tongue. “It was the only way to keep your goddamn horses from dropping their shit all over my property.”

“Then why not sell the strip of land?” Sherwood demanded, turning to face Hodges. “It’s of no use to you.”

“I can’t sell it because it’s in my wife’s name,” Hodges answered.

“Nonsense,” Sherwood said. “The fact that your house and land are in your wife’s name is merely a legacy of an old ruse to protect your assets from any malpractice judgment. You told me so yourself.”

“Then perhaps you should know the truth,” Hodges said. “I was trying to be diplomatic. I won’t sell you the land because I despise you. Is that easier for your pea brain to comprehend?”

Sherwood turned to the room and addressed everyone present. “You’re all witnesses. Dr. Hodges is admitting he’s acting out of spite. No surprise, of course, and hardly a Christian attitude.”

“Oh, shut up,” Hodges retorted. “It’s a bit hypocritical for a bank president to question someone else’s Christian ethics with all the foreclosures on your conscience. You’ve put families out of their homes.”

“That’s different,” Sherwood said. “That’s business. I have my stockholders to consider.”

“Oh, bull,” Hodges said with a wave of dismissal.

A sudden commotion at the door caught Hodges’ attention. He turned in time to see Traynor and the rest of the attendees of the hospital meeting troop into the bar. He could tell that Traynor was not at all pleased to see him. Hodges shrugged and turned back to his drink. But he couldn’t dismiss the fortuitous fact that all three principals were there: Traynor, Sherwood, and Cantor.

Grabbing his whiskey, Hodges slipped off his stool and followed Traynor to Sherwood and Banks’s table. Hodges tapped him on his shoulder.

“How about talking now?” Hodges suggested. “We’re all here.”

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