Get your own Free Home Page"Dear Gonzo,
If you're reading this, it's because I'm hurt, or sick, or worse, and someone needed to go through my desk. If I'm not any of those things, I'd appreciate it if you didn't read any further, but I expect you will anyway. I can't really object. If I found a letter with my name on it, I'd read it too.
Anyway, the reason I'm writing this is because I have a favor to ask. If you aren't willing to carry it out, please ask John if he would mind. But I'm hoping that you're reading this because I'm sick, and I'd really rather John didn't know what a fool I've been making of myself unless it's really necessary.
You see, what I need you to do is to oversee the Corcoran Memorial Fund -- and to collect my paychecks and sign them over to the fund each week; but quietly, please. Neither my father nor John is to know about this. The fund is adminstered by an excellent lawyer named Lawrence Hagerty, who works out of the Gabler building downtown. If you need more details, he can give them to you. Please don't be concerned about my needing the money. My grandfather left me funds in trust which more than cover my needs, and I do have other investments, some of which have proven sound.
If I'm dead, of course, there won't be any paychecks, but my will allots monies to the fund, and it will still need oversight. Mr. Hagerty is just an administrator, and if the needs of the hospital change, he isn't the right person to decide how to best use the money.
If I'm dead, there's something else I'd like to ask you to consider; taking over my position as Chief of Emergency Services. I know that administration is not your idea of medicine, but Emergency Services requires a strong background in diagnosis, and a willingness to find ways around bureaucratic roadblocks. My methods have been less confrontational, but I think yours would be effective. Once Jackson finishes his residency, I think he would make a good Chief of Emergency Services, but without experience, I doubt the board would give him the job.
I trust you won't find these things too onerous. I'd ask John, but he has too many responsibilities as it is. Thank you for saving my reputation when Cheri Williams was accidentally dosed with florium. It meant a great deal to me to discover that you believed in my competence. Regardless of your eccentricities, I have always believed in yours.
Stanley H. Riverside, II
P.S. When I added that codicil to my will, the one about giving you all my ties, it wasn't meant as criticism. At least I don't think it was. It was meant to be a joke.
Gonzo put the letter down and looked at the legal documents. The first one was a power of attorney, and the second was a letter, advising the payroll department that Gonzo was authorised to collect Stanley's checks until Stanley said otherwise. There was a card from Hagerty, and several deposit slips made out for the Corcoran fund, which identified the bank and the account number for him. He went back to the power of attorney and read it more carefully, but it was as open-ended as he'd thought the first time. If I wanted to, I could clean out Stanley's bank accounts with this, Gonzo thought. He's trusted me with the whole kit and kaboodle. Stanley, you're an idiot! What if I weren't honest!
Gonzo's head hurt, and the food hadn't really helped as much as he had hoped it would. He looked at the envelope with Trapper's name on it, but it was much thinner. Probably only one or two sheets of paper inside. He flipped it over to see if it was sealed, and it wasn't. Biting his lip, he pulled out the letter inside.
Dear John,
I know that this letter is probably coming to you at a bad time, but I can't think of another way to apologize for making you executor of my will. Knowing Dad, he's trying to fight it, and I know you will be wasting a lot of valuable time in court, but I just couldn't think of anyone better to stand up to him. I never could, anyway, and he's too good at bribing people to trust a lawyer. So fight him, please. And I know that the statue was a dumb idea, but a picture on the wall would probably just get lost, and I'd like to be remembered, somewhere, at least for a little while. Maybe a plaque. You decide, John. I know you'll do the right thing.
Thank you for only yelling at me when I needed to be yelled at. And thank you for telling me when I did things right as well as when I did them wrong. I hope I became the doctor you told me I could be. I tried.
Keep an eye on Jackson. He's going to be one of the best emergency men in the country before he's done, but he still doesn't know how much he doesn't know. Remind him to listen to the patients as hard as he can. And tell him I was hard on him because I knew he could excel.
If you don't want the car, I think it should go to Gates. If he can keep the Titanic functioning, he must know enough about cars to give mine the kind of maintenance she deserves . And if he doesn't want it, then sell it to someone who really wants to keep it up, not just someone who is looking for a status symbol.
I have always been grateful to you for your friendship. I hope I have been worthy of it.
Sincerely,
Stanley
There were two p.s., each written with different inks.
P.S. John, please persuade Mrs. Shoop to accept the money that I put in the codicil that I added to the will this morning. I tried to invest in the gyms, but they haven't made a public offering, so that didn't work, and I can't think of another way to thank her for all that she's done.
SHR2
P.P.S. John, I know that you and Miss Brancusi are friends, and I know that you are angry with me about that comment I made about her brother, but I did have a good reason. It's just that I was tired and I wasn't as discreet as I should have been. You know that he has an alcohol problem, already. But he also was the cause of those visits I was getting from those ruffians. I co-signed a loan for him for 500, and he changed the amount to fifty-thousand, without my permission. He's returned the money now, to the lender, but I'm afraid he hasn't learned anything from the experience. He's certain to abuse Miss Brancusi's trust again, but I don't know how to prevent that, except by making sure that at least one other person knows what happened if she needs someone to talk to about him. I hope it isn't too much of an imposition. This letter just keeps getting longer, but I feel like it's not going to make you feel any better when you read it. I'm sorry.
Stan
Oh, Stan, you're right about that. This isn't going to make Trapper feel better -- but maybe I should let him read it anyway. He underestimates you as often as I do. And we shouldn't, should we? It's not like you haven't tried to fit in -- it's just that you're a square peg, and this place is all round holes. Gonzo got to his feet and tucked his own letter and the legal papers back into the envelope. He put Trapper's letter back into it's envelope too, and decided to take Stanley's phone book with him, just in case there was someone else in there who really ought to be notified. The couch in Trapper's office was a lot more comfortable -- and maybe if he could take a nap, his head would stop aching.
"Gonzo? Gonzo, wake up," Trapper was saying from somewhere far away, but Gonzo remembered that there was something important he had to find out from Trapper and made himself open his eyes. He was surprised to see Trapper only an armslength away, bending over the couch with concerned eyes that relaxed a little when they met Gonzo's gaze. "That's better. How do you feel?"
Gonzo sat up and rubbed at his head. "Stiff. And my mouth tastes funny." But his head wasn't as painful as it had been, now, and a lot of the aching weariness of the afternoon had dissipated. He remembered what he needed to ask, suddenly, and looked to see if Trapper's expression would tell him the answer. But Trapper had gotten up to look out into the night lights of the city beyond the window. "How's Stan?"
Trapper turned back to him, and he was smiling. Gonzo breathed a little easier. "He's in recovery. The surgery went fine. Not as fast as it might have gone with your magic fingers, but we weren't working against a deadline on Stan, and Martin did all right."
"No complications?" Gonzo asked, relieved.
Trapper shrugged, and made a face. "Well, nothing I couldn't handle. There were pieces of rib all over the place, so we had to dig them out -- and Martin had to count the sponges three times before he got it right -- but once we got the bullet out and the pericardium sewn up, Stanley's vitals stabilized and stayed right where Pete wanted them."
"That's good," Gonzo said, standing up to stretch. "Did his father show up?"
Trapper made a surprised noise. "Yes -- yes, he did. With a blonde on each arm for solace. I think the orderlies from ER were more interested in how Stanley was doing than Riverside was." Trapper settled into his chair, tiredly. "Half the dayshift was hanging around the corridor outside OR."
Gonzo got up and went over to see if there was any coffee in Trapper's coffeemaker. There was, so he poured a couple of cups. "You should've seen everybody helping get him the stairs from the steam room. I hope he remembers."
"What the hell was he doing down there, anyway?" Trapper asked.
"He was following me," Gonzo said, bringing one of the cups over to Trapper and settling into a chair. "And I was following Carol. She had left one of those notes in my locker. Same writing, same paper. But this time she'd signed it."
"Carol?" Trapper said, his brow wrinkled.
"That volunteer. You know, the blonde? The one with the crush on Ridley? Anyway, she was the one who was making the death threats. But they weren't against Ridley, they were against me. She thought I'd rejected her." Gonzo knew he was getting things out of order, but Trapper didn't look too confused, so he kept going. "Well, when I saw the note, I knew I had to find her, and she had just left -- I saw her leaving the locker room before I went in it -- so I started after her. Jackpot had seen her going out to the parking lot. And when I got to the parking lot I saw Stan, so I ran over to him."
Gonzo tried to remember Stanley's exact words. "He said that the surgery was a strain, and I should be resting. And when I asked him about Carol he said this was no time to be chasing women, but he told me which direction to look, and I saw her and ran after her. And behind me I could hear him saying something about... I can't remember exactly. Something like 'my reality too'. But I was chasing Carol. I could hear Stan behind me, yelling my name, but I didn't look. And Carol got to the annex door and went in, so I followed along. I wouldn't have found her, but she dropped something, and that let me know which direction she'd gone. And I heard Stan call my name a couple of times, but by then I'd caught up to Carol and I was concentrating on her. She'd really lost it, Trap. She had this big old gun, and she was threatening to kill herself with it, and I was trying to talk her out of it. And then a whole bunch of stuff crashed off to one side, and she fired the gun. I thought she hit an overhead pipe -- in fact, I know she did -- but the bullet must have ricocheted and hit Stan." Gonzo took a sip of coffee. "I don't know if he knocked over the stuff deliberately or not. I wasn't really doing a very good job of talking to her, and the distraction gave me a chance to get in there and get the gun away from her. But when I looked around for Stan he wasn't there."
Trapper had listened to the whole story carefully, but his forehead hadn't smoothed out. "Why didn't you tell somebody when you found the note? We had policemen all over this place," he growled impatiently.
Gonzo jammed a hand into his hair. "I don't know. I wish I had -- but I didn't think of it. How was I supposed to know that Stan was going to chase after me?"
Trapper snorted. "As green around the gills as you still looked after that surgery? Of course he chased after you! If I had thought you were going to try anything that strenuous I would have block-tackled you myself!"
"Look, I'm sorry, all right? It's my fault, okay?" Gonzo knew he was yelling, but Trapper had started it, and it had been a lousy day. "I should have done something different but I didn't, and I don't know how to go back and fix it!" The weariness was back, and he leaned forward and put his head in his arms on the desk, and gave up trying not to cry. Screw Trapper if he didn't understand.
But when he managed to look up, Trapper's eyes weren't angry any more, and he had put a box of kleenex where it would be handy. "Sorry, Gonzo. I just wanted to kick something, and you were handy. You'd think after nearly losing you this morning I'd have more sense."
"You'd think after nearly getting myself killed I wouldn't have the energy left to make a fool out of myself," Gonzo countered, drying his face and blowing his nose. "I'm so tired. And I'm not looking forward to having to deal with Stanley's father."
"Why would you have to?" Trapper asked, surprised.
Gonzo dug the envelopes out of his back pocket and scaled Trapper's across the desk. "You may or may not want to read that. It's an 'if I'm dead' letter. Mine's an 'if I'm hurt' letter -- Stanley wants me to handle his financial stuff for him till he's better."
Trapper put on his glasses, and studied the envelope in his hands as if it might go off, and then looked over the top of his glasses at Gonzo. "How are you supposed to do that?"
Gonzo dug through the papers for the scary one. "It's a power of attorney," he said, as he handed it over. "Unlimited."
Trapper whistled. "Old man Riverside's not going to be happy about that," he said.
"No kidding. And the letter says if he gets hurt so bad he can't come back to work, he wants me to be Chief of Emergency Services." Gonzo took back the document and tucked it into the envelope. "Can you imagine me as a department head?"
Trapper's expression turned thoughtful. "Well, it would be fun watching Arnold Slocum's reaction," he admitted. "But no, not really. Not as a permanent position, anyway. You've still got too much energy to be willing to sit for two or three hours a day fighting with paperwork."
Gonzo laughed, a little shakily, but his emotions seemed to be coming back into balance. "The budget meetings would be a lot louder," he said.
Trapper smiled and nodded, but his attention had gone back to the envelope in his hands. "I take it you read this?"
"Yeah." Gonzo said. "Yeah, I did. I was hoping it would explain why mine said what it did, but it didn't."
Trapper didn't seem to mind, "Do you think I should read it?"
Gonzo nodded, and waited while Trapper opened the letter and read. He tugged on his beard when he finished and put the letter away into his drawer. "I wonder what he says in his will."
"It sounds to me like he leaves most of his money to the hospital," Gonzo said. He went over to the couch and found the address book that had fallen down among the cushions. "Here, look at this. It's all doctors and charities. I thought Stan did a lot of social stuff, but I can hardly think of anyone who might be interested in knowing that he's hurt who doesn't work here -- can you?"
Trapper scowled. "What about the people at his country club? The ones he golfs with?"
"When was the last time Stan took a day off to go golfing?" Gonzo asked. "He's been in here every Sunday afternoon since the weather got warm."
"I don't know," Trapper's exasperation was starting to get the better of him again, but fortunately, there was a tap on the door and Ernie Shoop leaned in.
"Oh, there you are, Gonzo. Stanley's asking for you."
"He's conscious?" Gonzo said, surprised.
She made a sort-of gesture with one hand. "Not exactly. But when his father left he got very agitated. He's calling for you, too, Trapper."
"His father's left already?" Trapper asked, levering himself to his feet.
"He talked to Stan for a couple of minutes and then told him that he had to go to some kind of meeting." Ernie's voice was rich with disgust. "His car probably left scorch marks in the parking lot."
Gonzo and Trapper exchanged glances and reached an unspoken agreement to reserve their anger for someone who deserved it. "All right, Ernie," Trapper said. "We're coming."
There were half a dozen people hanging around in the hall outside of ICU, including Brancusi and Arnold Slocum, who was still wearing his heavy coat, but they cleared a path for Gonzo and Trapper. Jackpot was inside, next to the bed, telling Stanley extravagant lies about the staff of ER calling him "Iron Stan" behind his back.
"Really?" Stanley asked, his eyes closing and opening again as he fought unconsciousness. "I thought...it...was...Serpent..."
"Not for a long time," Trapper cut in, moving up beside Jackpot. "Hi, Stan. Ernie said you wanted me. How do you feel?"
"Horrible," Stanley said, "Why does getting hurt always have to hurt so much?"
"I think it just works that way to make doctors frustrated," Gonzo said, taking the other side of the bed and Stanley's free hand.
Stanley's eyes flew open and he gave Gonzo an incredulous smile. "You're all right!"
"Of course I'm all right," Gonzo said. "You took care of me, remember?"
"'S all mixed up with dreaming," Stanley said. "I'm not sure which parts are real yet. Didn' Carol try to kill you?"
"That's right, Stan: With the propane in the Titanic. But somebody pulled me out."
"'Spector Hewitt. He yelled for help and I went to see. You were blue, Gonzo. It was scary." Stanley couldn't keep his eyes open, but he held Gonzo's hand a little tighter.
"I was cyanotic?" Gonzo shouldn't have been surprised, but he was.
"Yes." Stanley said. "Even with the oxygen. Took a long time to get you back. Ten minutes."
"Well now you can see he's all right," Trapper said. "So you should try to get some rest, Stan."
Stanley looked over to Trapper. "I want to know...what's missing... first," he said.
Trapper shook his head, but he was smiling. "Nothing's missing, Stan. We took out the bullet, and did some repair work on your ribs and your lungs, and a little bit of work on the pericardium, but all in all it was one of the easiest operations I've done in the past six months. You'll be on your feet again in no time."
"Really?" Stanley said, surprised, but letting his eyes close. "If that's easy I don' want t' try hard." He pulled open his eyes again, though, and tugged on Trapper's hand. "John?"
"Yeah, Stan," Trapper leaned closer, so that Stanley could speak in a soft voice -- he seemed to want to say something private.
"Can I have Demerol, or something? They asked before, but Dad was here... He's mad at me for being hurt already. But it hurts so much... I don't think I can rest."
Trapper could imagine Stanley trying to pretend away the pain while his father was in the room, but he couldn't bring himself to blame Stanley for it. "I'll take care of it, Stan," he promised. He got his hand free and went over to the ICU drug cabinet to chose an analgesic.
It didn't take very long to get Stanley settled once the painkiller took effect. His breathing settled into a sleeping rhythm that made Gonzo want to yawn, and his grip eased. They worked their way free and left quietly, shooing the waiting staff ahead of them down to the waiting area. Everyone wanted to know what had happened, including the policeman who had been assigned to wait until Stanley could make a statement, so Gonzo ended up describing the turn of events again. When he finished, Trapper got into a technical discussion of the operation with those who were interested as those who weren't drifted off to their interrupted evenings.
Gonzo found himself sitting near Arnold Slocum. The administrator seemed distraught -- in fact, far more upset than most of the other people waiting.
"Hey," Gonzo said, reassuringly, "he'll be all right, Arnold."
Arnold frowned all the more. "Oh, Gates," he acknowleged, a little surprised by the attention. "I'm sorry. I haven't asked how you're feeling. After that narrow escape this morning, this must have come as quite a shock." It had to Arnold, that was for sure, Gonzo thought. The poor guy looked like he'd been through an earthquake.
"Well, the excitement should be over now," Gonzo said. "With Carol under observation in the psychiatric wing, we shouldn't have to worry about death threats for a while."
"I hope so," Arnold said. "The board is going to be furious about all this as it is. It would look terrible to have one of the staff be killed here at the hospital. And by another staff member! We can't afford to have psychiatric evaluations of every person on staff. But how else can we prevent another incident? Oh, why didn't young Stanley have the good sense to stay out of the line of fire?"
He meant it as a rhetorical question, Gonzo knew, but he bristled anyway. "Stanley was out of the line of fire, Arnold. He got hit by a ricochet. Not that it matters. Stanley wasn't trying to hurt the hospital's reputation, or get himself hurt. For that matter, all Carol wanted to do was kill herself."
"And you," Arnold pointed out.
Gonzo had to concede that one. "Well, yeah. She did try to kill me." He tugged on his hair with one hand. "But you still shouldn't go blaming Stan for something that wasn't his fault. Hasn't he got enough trouble?"
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