Snow Day, the HTML version

John T. McIntyre, M.D., still, after all these years, known as Trapper to most of his friends and staff at San Francisco Memorial Hospital, breezed into the office he hadn't seen for more than a month and stopped when he discovered two familiar figures parked at opposite ends of his big comfortable couch. He smiled to himself in private amusement at seeing those two slumped in reflecting poses, because otherwise they were a study in contrasts.

The crumpled surgical greens and wild black curls belonged to "Gonzo" Gates, Trapper's most promising protege in the Surgical Department. He lived the life of Riley in a battered trailer he called the Titanic that was generally parked in the hospital lot. Opinionated but generous, Gonzo had matched Trapper so well in temperament and talent it was already hard to remember how he had gotten along without him.

The neatly pressed lab coat, and the straight dishwater brown hair belonged to Stanley Riverside II, the youngest Chief of Emergency Services in any hospital in the country. It was frequently assumed that Stanley had gotten that position because his father was the president of the board of directors for the hospital, but the longer Trapper had known the Riversides per et fils , the more he had become convinced that Stanley had gotten as far as he had in spite of his paternal parent rather than because of him. The classic poor little rich kid, Stanley had always had everything he wanted but affection, but his quirks didn't stop him from being a fine doctor.

For these two, who didn't always see eye to eye, to both be crashed in Trapper's office argued that something had happened last night, and Trapper began to wish he had bothered to turn on the news when he'd gotten in, but it was too late to worry about it now.

He made his way over to his desk and settled down, still careful of the surgical scars that had given him an unexpected vacation. He'd been hit by a car, just before Thanksgiving, and Stanley and Gonzo were largely responsible for having put the pieces back together. Now it was the beginning of January, and with one more weekend to rest up before he had to come back to work, Trapper had decided he was tired of Hawaii and had come back to spend a few days in the mountains with an old friend. He'd stopped off at the hospital to see how much paperwork had piled up, and to reassure his colleagues, but he hadn't expected to find them in his office. He looked them over fondly, noting the blue smudges under their eyes, and pulled the first pile of paper to the middle of the desk. Might as well take the chance to catch up on a few things while he was here.

He had gotten through two piles of requisitions when a door banged down the hall, startling both of his somnolent guests into consciousness. They blinked at him, and then erupted from the couch in surprise.

"Trapper!" Gonzo exclaimed, grabbing him by the hand and giving him a quick hug across the shoulders. "What are you doing here? We thought you were still in Hawaii!"

Stanley bounced on his heels, just as excited, but he was blocked by the bulk of the desk from doing much more than taking the other hand and shaking it. "Good morning, John. It's wonderful to have you back."

"Good morning, Stanley, Gonzo. I'm not really back. I just stopped off to see how the place is holding together without me. You two are here awfully early this morning."

"Never left last night," Stanley admitted, flushing a little. "There was a messy accident between a bus and a chemical truck last night, and since I was still in my office catching up on some paperwork..."

"3 DOA's, 17 critical cases, 15 severe, and 12 minor injured," Gonzo put in hastily, knowing that Trapper was still concerned about Stanley overworking after a recent incident. "And all of them contaminated with PCBs."

"Gates was kind enough to help out," Stanley said formally, his face sobering at the reminder, "since Baker is still on vacation and Izbecki called in sick."

"You must've had every doctor in the building down here," Trapper said.

"Just about," Gonzo said. "It was worse than New Year's Eve."

"And it still wasn't enough," Stanley said, sinking into one of the chairs and running a hand unhappily over the stubble on his chin.

Trapper looked and saw that Gonzo was just as upset before he asked the question he didn't want the answer to. "How many did you lose?"

"Four," Gonzo said.

"Five," Stanley corrected. "The pierced lung," he added when Gonzo looked to him.

"Shit." Gonzo sat back down on the couch, leaned on one elbow and jammed a hand into his hair. Stanley slumped down into his chair. Trapper pulled off his glasses and looked at them thoughtfully. Each man held silent, facing yet again the uncomfortable truth of how little sometimes all their efforts would avail.

"I suppose I could have ..." Trapper started, but Gonzo stopped him.

"I don't think it would have made a difference, Trapper. They didn't even get cut out of the bus until nearly ninety minutes after the accident." Gonzo shook his head. "And besides, you're supposed to be convalescing."

"That's right," Stanley said. "And I thought you got Arnold to pay for an all expenses paid trip to Hawaii."

"I did," Trapper said. "But I've got a friend who invited me up for a weekend in the mountains a long time ago, and I was getting tired of pineapples."

"You're not going to try skiing are you?" Gonzo asked, alarmed. "I do good work, but it hasn't been all that long yet."

"No, no skiing," Trapper laughed. Just then the door opened.

"Hey, Trapper," a tall balding man in Forest Service uniform stuck his head in the door.

"Mike!" Trapper exclaimed, rising to his feet and waving him to the spare chair. "I wasn't expecting to see you this early. Gonzo, Stanley, this is Mike Houlihan, Mike this is Gonzo Gates and this is Stanley Riverside the second."

Gonzo shook hands with an interested eye. "You must be the guy who invited Trapper up to his cabin for the weekend. He's been telling us he's going to have a nice quiet weekend, right Trap?"

"Something like that," Trap laughed, and aimed Mike at Stanley.

Stanley had been waiting for his handshake by studying the broad, honest face under the fringe of blond hair. "Houlihan.... weren't you in here with a depressed skull fracture about six years ago?"

"That's right," Mike said, grinning. "I got kicked by a moose. Wait -- I remember you. Aren't you the doctor who kept me from going to sleep by telling me stories about his father?"

"You remember!" Stanley smiled with simple delight, "That's wonderful! Injuries like that so often cause memory loss."

"Thanks to you and Trapper," Houlihan said. "I don't even have headaches from it. How is your father doing, by the way? After all those stories, I feel like I know him."

"He's fine," Stanley said, brightening as usual at the chance to talk about his favorite subject. "He just left for New Zealand yesterday, as a matter of fact."

Gonzo frowned. "Wait a minute, Stan. Wasn't this the weekend you and your dad were going to go down to Palm Springs together?" Trapper remembered Stanley mentioning the trip, too, in one of his letters, and guessed that he knew why Stanley had been doing paperwork late yesterday.

"Well, yes." Stanley said, hesitating only a moment before years of experience helped him over the difficulty. "It was business. You know. Urgent. I'm sure Dad was very disappointed."

Mike Houlihan promptly proved that he really did remember the stories Stanley had told him. He glanced at Trapper for permission and then said. "Look, if your weekend plans have fallen through, why don't you join Trapper and me up at the cabin. It's a beautiful spot. You too, Dr. Gates," he added, seeing Stanley's hesitation and Gonzo's wistfulness. "You can sleep for two days if you want to, or come down and swap lies with me and John, whichever you prefer. But it's quiet, and the stars at night are so bright you'll feel like you can reach out and grab a handful of them."

"We're on duty tomorrow," Stanley protested, but weakly.

"So come up after your shift." Trapper said. "Look, Baker'll be back tomorrow evening and neither one of you is scheduled again until Tuesday. We could all come down together on Monday afternoon and that would save Mike the trip."

"I've got enough food up there to feed an army," Mike added. "And plenty of bed space."

"Just bring up some extra beer," Trapper said.

"Well," Stanley began, "it's nice of you to want me to come. But I just don't have anything appropriate to wear."

"I was about to drag Trapper over to Murphy's with me right now," Mike said. "Why don't you tag along and get what you need."

"I've got everything I need," Gonzo said seeing that Trapper looked pretty happy with the idea of having two gatecrashers join the party. "Go on, Stan. Jackpot and I can hold down the fort for now, and if anyone needs to beep you it's only about three blocks."

"Well..." Stanley hesitated. "I guess it can't do any harm."

They paused in Stanley's office long enough for him to get his overcoat, and then set off. Murphy's was only a few blocks away. A venerable institution, the outfitters had everything imaginable for the outdoorsman, and Trapper and Mike watched in amusement as Stanley drifted over to the racks of nifty camper gadgets. "Look, John! They've got cups that fold!"

"That's right, Stan." Trapper headed over to the clothing, while Mike went back to the climbing equipment. He pulled out long johns and socks for himself, and, after a moment of hesitation, the same, plus a blue chamois shirt and gray wool pants for Stanley. He hoped he had the sizes right. Stanley had lost some weight while Trapper had been in Hawaii. By the time he got back to the front of the store, Stanley had an armful of little packets.

"Look, there's a metal match, and a compass, and a signaling mirror, and a folding cup, and one of those space blankets like they use in the ambulances, and a little first aid kit, and a little sewing kit, and a thermometer that hangs from your zipper tab."

"Stan, we're only going to be up there for three days," Trapper said, and regretted it when the enthusiasm went out of his friend's eyes. "But get them anyway. I'll show you how everything works when we get up there, and you'll have them for next summer, when I take you fishing."

Stanley lit up again. "Fishing? Really? My dad has a fishing lodge up in Alberta, but I've never been there."

Trapper wasn't surprised, but he held his tongue. "Look, you'll need a jackknife for the metal match, and some triple-ought steel wool. They're over at the counter."

"A jackknife." Stanley had never had one of those, either, Trapper guessed from the look on his face. But he'd wanted one. After some debate he settled for a Swiss Army knife with slightly fewer gadgets than the biggest one, and the salesman settled into the happy task of talking him into buying a parka with a dozen pockets, a woolen ski mask, special long woolen mittens and gaiters to go over the clutter boots that Trapper insisted he should try on. They got a nylon stuff bag for the clothing, and at the last minute, Stanley added a pair of snowshoes to the pile. "Just in case," he said with a sheepish grin, to Trapper's look.

"Just in case," Trapper agreed, laughing, now that he saw that Stanley knew he was buying toys just for the sake of having toys. "Mike can teach you how to use them, can't you, Mike?"

"Of course I can," Houlihan said, piling ropes and hardware onto the counter to pay for them. "And I'll teach you too, you old ski bum. Everyone ought to know how to use snowshoes."

"Snowshoes?" Gonzo exclaimed with delayed disbelief once they were safe in Trapper's office and Stanley had shown off his new equipment to the staff in ER. "And that parka looks heavy enough to be something from an Admiral Peary expedition."

"It'll be heavier before Stan's through with it," Trapper said, explaining about the gadgets Stanley had chosen. "And the pockets that don't have gadgets will probably have chocolate bars and gorp."

"Gorp? Where did Stanley ever learn about Good Old Raisins and Peanuts?"

"Well he was in ROTC, at least for a while, until his father raised an objection to it. But I think it was the sales guy at Murphy's who gave him the recipe."

Gonzo shook his head, laughing. "You never can tell what Stanley will do next, can you?"

"On the contrary, I think I can predict what he'll do tomorrow pretty accurately. He'll bring the extra clothing I told him to bring, set everything up, and then back out of the trip -- unless you make sure he doesn't."

"Why would he back out? You've got him looking forward to it."

"Yes, but it isn't the sort of thing Stanley Sr. would expect him to do. And Stanley Jr. is used to working away his disappointments, not relaxing."

"True," Gonzo conceded.

"So, since I'm going on ahead tonight, I'm depending on you to make sure that Stanley gets there."

"I get it. No Stanley, no Gonzo. Don't worry, Trap. I'll get him up there if I have to tie him in behind the beer. Where is the cabin, anyway?"

"Just south of Mendocino Pass."

"Oh, I've been there. Do you mean the Ranger station? The one a couple of miles below tree line?"

"That's the one."

"No problem." Gonzo grinned confidently. "We'll be there with bells on."

And they would, Trapper was sure, given Gonzo's notorious charm. There were very few people on staff who could resist it, and Stanley wasn't one of them. He watched Gonzo leave and flipped open his calendar to the last page. "Remember - June - Take Stanley fishing," he wrote so he wouldn't forget. He knew Stan would remember.

Friday morning dawned foggy and chilly, and Gonzo ducked back into the Titanic for a sweater before starting across the lot to the hospital entrance. Halfway there, he saw Stanley pulling into his parking space, so he waited.

Stanley, parked, picked up a bundle from the seat next to him, bit his lip, put it down, picked it up again, put it down again... Gonzo came to the rescue by tapping on the passenger window. Stanley jumped, but smiled when he saw who it was and hit the automatic window control to lower the glass. "Oh, good morning, Gates."

"Hi Stanley. Is that your stuff for the cabin?"

"Mmm. Yes. Turtlenecks and sweaters, John said. And pajamas and a robe. And a shaving kit, of course."

"Sounds like you thought of everything," Gonzo said, taking hold of the bundle cheerfully. "I'll stash it in the jeep. That'll save you the trouble of carrying it in just to carry it out again."

"That's not necessary," Stanley protested faintly, but Gonzo ignored him and put the bag into the jeep anyway. The best way around Stanley, as far as Gonzo was concerned, was to go ahead and do what you had planned doing regardless. He came back to join Stanley for the walk inside.

"I'm really looking forward to this, aren't you, Stan? A chance to get out of town, and enjoy some peace and quiet doesn't show up every week."

"The radio said something about snow at the higher elevations," Stanley offered uncertainly.

"That's great!" Gonzo said with relentless enthusiasm. "It will give you a chance to try out those new webs you found at Murphy's."

As they reached the front desk, Nurse Cato, supervisor of the night shift nurses, was briefing the incoming shift. She looked up from her clipboard at Stanley. "Are you back already, Dr. Riverside? I thought you were going to go home and get some sleep."

"That was hours ago," Stanley said, gathering his dignity hastily. "Good morning Miss Brancusi, Mrs. Shoop. Is there anything that needs my attention, Miss Cato?"

"No, Doctor. It's been quiet since you left."

"Thank you. I'll be in my office, then."

Gonzo waited until the door had closed on Stanley's pride before asking Cato. "What time did he go home?"

"Oh it was about two, I think, when I chased him out. But I think he had had a nap on the couch in the doctor's lounge earlier in the evening."

"Why was here? Did Izbecki call in sick again?"

"No. Izbecki came in drunk again. Dr. Riverside took him home, and came back to make sure that Peterson and Wilder would have a backup if they needed one. Fortunately, Dr. Baker came in too a little after midnight."

"Did I hear someone take my name in vain?"

"Hey, Tim," Gonzo said, turning to see Tim Baker, night supervisor for Emergency Services, hobbling up to the desk. The cane and the bandaged foot were new additions, and Gonzo inquired of them with a raised eyebrow.

"Kicked a suitcase in the dark last night," Baker explained. "Broke my big toe. And when I came in here for an x-ray, I found the place had fallen apart without me so I stayed. Is Dr. Riverside here?" he asked Cato.

"In his office."

"I'll check in with him and then go home and get some sleep. Come on, Gonzo, you can escort me, and fill me in on all the gossip."

"I'll do better than that," Gonzo said, collaring a wheelchair and presenting it for Baker to sit in. He waited until they had started before he asked. "What's going on with Izbecki?"

"He's been beating himself up over losing a patient. It's all right. Stanley sicced Dr. Sandler on him last night, and I'll be keeping an eye on him, so don't noise it all over the place. We all hit rough patches."

"It's not going to keep Stanley from coming with me tonight is it?"

Baker snorted. "Naw. I've got eight residents who are trying to pile up extra hours so that they can take some time at Valentine's Day -- and I'd made sure I was going to have Collins and Madwezi on call before I left, since I thought Stanley was going on that big trip with Riverside Senior this weekend. What happened to that anyway?"

"Riverside Senior went to New Zealand."

"Typical. I just can't like that man. Thanks for the ride, Gonz. I'll be sure to come in a little early tonight to help you pry Stanley out of his office."

"Thanks, Tim."

Mike picked up the heavy cast iron lid and gave the chili in the big old Dutch oven another quick stir before bringing up the spoon for a quick taste. "Almost warm enough." He tossed the spoon into the sink and put the lid back on. "We should be able to eat in fifteen minutes or so."

"How many times have you reheated that stuff?" Trapper asked, laughing, because he had watched Mike bring the pot in frozen solid from the back porch an hour earlier.

"Only a few. There's still plenty in the pot."

"When you make it in five gallon batches, I expect it lasts a while," Trapper agreed, his eyes twinkling.

Mike laughed back. "I get into the habit in the summertime when I never know when a smoke chaser is going to wander in, looking for a meal. Those boys can go through five gallons of chili real quick after fighting a spot fire for two days."

"I expect so."

"Besides, it's just as good, better even, the next day. Your friends both like chili, don't they?"

"Gonzo does, and I know Stanley goes to Mexican restaurants pretty often. I wanted to thank you for inviting him up, by the way. With his father in New Zealand, he would have probably stayed in ER all weekend. He'll get a real kick out of this place. You saw him in Murphy's."

"Aw, I figured it was better for your blood pressure. I could tell you were worried about him. And I remember some of the crap he told me about his father. Has his old man ever given him a break?"

"Only broken promises. I have to admit, though, watching the two Stanleys has made a real difference in how I get on with my own kids."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Whenever I have a conflict I ask myself, what would Stanley Riverside Senior do? And then I make damn sure I do something else. But Stan's a good doctor and a good friend. Emergency work's not very glamorous, or profitable, but I've had a hell of a lot of patients who would never have made it as far as the operating table if Stan hadn't kept them alive long enough to get there. And he's a sharp diagnostician. He's the one who spotted the lung problem I was having after the accident, you know, even though it was Gonzo who did the work. The only real problem I have with him these days is getting him to take a break."

"Well, we'll make sure that Stan has a good time this weekend. I can even introduce him to Mehitabel. From a safe distance that is."

"Who's Mehitabel?"

"The moose who kicked me. She's in the herd up on Big Snow..." Mike paused. "Did you hear that?"

Trapper listened. "Gunfire."

"Poachers. Rats. I'm going to have to go out there, John." Mike shoved the pot onto the back of the stove. "Do you want to wait here, or are you up to a short snowmobile ride?"

"If I can try to surf, I can ride a snowmobile. It'll be hours yet before Stan and Gonzo get here. Are you sure I won't be in the way?"

"I doubt it. The poachers will probably be long gone. I'm just going up to make casts of their tracks before the snow covers them up. Last time we caught these guys, the judge claimed we didn't have enough physical evidence and let them slide, so we're trying to get as much as we can."

"You know who the poachers are? Can't you stop them?"

"Not without a little cooperation from the legal system." Mike pulled on his coat and hat. "Come on. This time of day and weather like this, the deer will have been down by Carson's meadow." He paused long enough to call the District office of the Forest Service on the radio, and report where they were going, and then led Trapper out to the shed. Trapper followed, happy and excited. The snow was coming down in gentle swirls, and the light was fading, but the snowmobiles were equipped with brilliant headlamps, and Mike seemed pretty confident as he filled the gearbox with plaster of Paris and arcane jars and cans. In a very few minutes, they were on their way, with Trapper riding rear guard while Houlihan led the way.

"Look, Gates, I'm waiting to get some results back from the lab," Stanley said, not looking up from his clipboard. "Why don't you just go on up there without me. Enjoy yourself."

"Because Trapper will be seriously disappointed if you stiff him, Stan. He told me that he was really glad you'd be able to come up. Besides, Houlihan invited you -- I was just the afterthought." Gonzo took the clipboard and dropped it into Baker's hands and put the package of long underwear into Stanley's. "Here. Why don't you change into the new clothes you got from Murphy's? The heater on the jeep isn't as reliable as it could be. I'll finish tossing my gear into the back and then I'll meet you at the door. We can get started before it gets really dark."

"But..."

"Go on, Stanley," Baker said. "We've got things covered here."

"Izbecki?"

"Here, and sober."

"Well, then, I suppose it's all right." Stanley conceded fretfully, and began to pull off his lab coat. Baker and Gonzo left the office hastily.

"All right. That gives me a five minute window before he changes his mind again. Jackpot!" he called to the young man putting on his winter coat and ready to leave. "Did you get the beer?"

"It's in the jeep. And the pretzels, too."

"And here are the sandwiches and drinks you asked for," Gloria Brancusi said, handing him a paper bag.

"Thanks. If we have to stop for supper we'll never get out of here." Gonzo took the bag, blew her a kiss and headed for the Titanic at a trot. It was still drizzling, and from the light he guessed that the sun would be setting soon. Once in the trailer, he dug through the drawers for a pair of heavy corduroys and a thick turtleneck, grateful for the shower he had already grabbed in the surgeons lounge. He hadn't had time to pack at lunchtime, the way he had planned to, not with two emergency surgeries thrown on top of the three he had scheduled. It hadn't gotten as bad as the meatball surgery he remembered from 'Nam -- not even as bad as Wednesday night, for that matter -- but it had still made for an awfully hectic day. He hoped that Stanley wouldn't waffle again. It wasn't entirely fair of Trap to expect him to take on that responsibility too. But then again, Trapper wasn't above maneuvering Stanley into a position to help Gonzo now and then, so he wasn't going to grumble. Not with a chance to get out of town like this one! He started stuffing extra clothes into his duffel bag, wincing when he saw that the laces on his combat boots had broken. Put 'em in the bag, buy laces on the way up. He jammed his feet back into his sneakers and tugged on a sweater and his duffel coat. Hat. Gloves. Was he forgetting anything? Oh yes, the sandwiches. He banged out the trailer door and gave it a quick check to be sure it was locked before glancing at his watch. Six minutes flat. Not bad. Stanley was waiting by the jeep, holding the bag from Murphy's in one hand, and the snowshoes awkwardly under the other arm. He looked stiff and uncertain in his new clothes, like a kid being sent away to a distant relation. He made the effort to pick up his chin when Gonzo reached him though, and made a little bow. "How do I look?"

"Like you're ready for anything," Gonzo answered. He opened the back and stashed his gear on top of the case of beer. Stanley did the same, settling the snowshoes in carefully. "How do the new threads feel?"

"Very comfortable," Stanley admitted. "And warm."

"The more layers the better," Gonzo averred, climbing in and leaning over to unlock the passenger door. He passed the bag of sandwiches to Stanley when he got in. "Dinner. Or at least something to tide us over for a while. Do you want to go up on I-5 or 101?"

"What difference does it make?"

"Well, on 101 we avoid Oakland, and the traffic. It means a few extra miles up at the end of the trip, because we'll have to swing over to I-5 and come south again to get to the right road, but timewise I'd guess it's probably six of one, half a dozen of the other."

"It doesn't matter to me," Stanley said, absently, investigating the bag. The warm smell of meatballs wafted up to his nose. "How are you going to manage to eat?"

"With the traffic on the bridges? We'll be sitting still long enough for a three course meal."

Trapper pulled his snowmobile up next to Houlihan's and cut off the motor. The headlights showed the trampled snow, and a great smear of red. "This must be the place."

"Yep. They're messy bastards." Mike got off the snowmobile and started forward, then stopped, and checked something on the ground. "Uh-oh. John, keep your eyes open. This is cougar sign."

"Cougar?" Trapper checked the trees quickly. "I thought we heard shots."

"We did. The tracks are all mixed up, but I see deer, human and cat. The deer ran off that way. The cougar went after them, and the human... I think we'd better follow this. Grab the flashlight out of the kit, will you?"

A hundred yards along, they found the poacher. He'd gotten the worst end of his meeting with the cougar, but he was alive. Trapper looked at the great lacerations and found himself taking charge. "We need to get him down to a hospital as soon as possible. Can you call up a chopper?"

"At night? In snow? With a ceiling this low? Dream on. Can you keep him from bleeding to death?"

"I'll try."

"Good. I'll go back and get a stretcher and the Jimmy. Then we can get him down to the fire road. You'll be all right here?"

"Leave the flashlight."

"Got it."

Darkness had really settled in by the time they got clear of the city traffic, and the white lines defined the road in front of the jeep as they flashed by. Gonzo had been able to eat not one, but two sandwiches sitting in traffic jams, and he rotated his shoulders gratefully, mentally stretching out to the welcome space to maneuver. They were definitely on the way now.

Stanley, who was wearing more layers than were strictly necessary, blinked sleepily at the windshield wipers as they made their hypnotic trip back and forth across the glass. He'd stuffed himself on sandwiches too, and now a yawn escaped him. "Why don't you catch a few Z's," Gonzo suggested, pleased that the minor subterfuge of warmth and food had worked it's magic on Stan. "That way you'll be fresher if I need to you switch over."

"All right." Stanley closed his eyes. He knew he was being managed, but he didn't have the energy to resent it, and besides, there was something pleasant about suspecting that John had "leaned" on Gates for the sake of having the company of Stanley Riverside II for a weekend. John wanted him, and that was a good thought to take with him into the soft cotton wool of sleep.