“Goddamn it, Hodges,” Traynor blurted out. “How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t want to talk tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow!”
“What does he want to talk about?” Sherwood asked.
“Something about a few of his old patients,” Traynor said. “I told him that we’d meet him for lunch tomorrow.”
“What’s going on?” Dr. Cantor asked, joining the fray. He’d sensed blood and had been drawn over to the table like a shark attracted to chum.
“Dr. Hodges isn’t happy with the way we are running the hospital,” Traynor said. “We’re to hear about it tomorrow.”
“No doubt the same old complaint,” Sherwood interjected. “No VIP treatment for his old patients.”
“Some gratitude!” Dr. Cantor said, interrupting Hodges who’d tried to respond. “Here we are donating our time pro bono to keep the hospital afloat and what do we get in return: nothing but criticism.”
“Pro bono my ass,” Hodges sneered. “None of you fool me. Your involvement isn’t charity. Traynor, you’ve come to use the place to support your newly discovered grandiosity. Sherwood, your interest isn’t even that sophisticated. It’s purely financial, since the hospital is the bank’s largest customer. And Cantor, yours is just as simple. All you’re interested in is the Imaging Center, that joint venture I allowed in a moment of insanity. Of all the decisions I made as hospital administrator, that’s the one I regret the most.”
“You thought it was a good deal when you made it,” Dr. Cantor said.
“Only because I thought it was the only way to update the hospital’s CAT scanner,” Hodges said. “But that was before I realized the machine would pay for itself in less than a year which, of course, made me realize you and the other private radiologist were robbing the hospital of money it should have been earning.”
“I’m not interested in opening this old battle,” Dr. Cantor said.
“Nor am I,” Hodges agreed. “But the point is there’s little or no charity involved with you people. Your concern is financial gain, not the good of your patients or the community.”
“You’re no one to talk,” Traynor snapped. “You ran the hospital like a personal fiefdom. Tell us who’s been taking care of that house of yours all these years?”
“What do you mean?” Hodges stammered, his eyes darting back and forth among the men in front of him.
“It’s not a complicated question,” Traynor said, his anger driving him on. He’d stuck Hodges with a knife and now he wanted to push it in to the hilt.
“I don’t know what my house has to do with this,” Hodges managed.
Traynor went up on his toes to survey the room. “Where’s Van Slyke?” he asked. “He’s here somewhere.”
“He’s by the fire,” Sherwood said, pointing. He had to struggle to suppress a contented smile. This issue about Hodges’ house had nettled him for some time. The only reason he’d never brought it up was because Traynor had forbidden it.
Traynor called to Van Slyke, but the man didn’t seem to hear. Traynor called again, this time loud enough for everyone in the bar to hear. Conversation stopped. Except for the music emanating from the jukebox, the room was momentarily silent.
Van Slyke moved slowly across the room, uncomfortable in the spotlight. He was aware most of the people were watching him. But they soon lost interest and conversations recommenced where they had left off.
“Good grief, man,” Traynor said to Van Slyke. “You look like you’re moving through molasses. Sometimes you act eighty years old instead of thirty.”
“Sorry,” Van Slyke said, maintaining his bland facial expression.
“I want to ask you a question,” Traynor continued. “Who has been taking care of Dr. Hodges’ house and property?”
Van Slyke looked from Traynor to Hodges, a wry smile curling on his lips. Hodges looked away.
“Well?” Traynor questioned.
“We have been,” Van Slyke said.
“Be a little more specific,” Traynor said. “Who is ‘we’?”
“The hospital grounds crew,” Van Slyke said. He didn’t take his eyes off Hodges. Nor did his smile change.
“How long has this been going on?” Traynor asked.
“Since way before I arrived,” Van Slyke said.
“It’s going to stop as of today,” Traynor said. “Understand?”