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Garza struggled not to look surprised. “I hope that made you feel a lot better. Did it?”
“I do feel better, Doctor, because I don’t feel crazy anymore. But I am in a rage. My mother died because you screwed up. Again.”
Garza looked incredibly annoyed now.
“Me? Personally? You’re sure of that?”
“Don’t play games with me. I’m talking about my mother!”
“I’m sure the ME will send me her report. Maybe I’ll even read it.” Then Dr. Garza turned away and walked to a black Mercedes parked at the curb.
He opened the car door and stooped to get in, but then he stopped. He looked back at Yuki. “Hey, why don’t you sue me, bitch? What an original idea. Join the crowd.”
Chapter 53
IT WAS 6:15 ON WEDNESDAY NIGHT, and Claire and I were in our favorite booth at Susie’s. The calypso band was tuning up with the Jimmy Buffett national anthem, and we’d ordered a pitcher of draft while we waited for Yuki and Cindy to show.
Claire and I clinked glasses, then continued unloading the small complaints that are like fleas on a dog—not life-threatening, but annoying as hell.
“You know Bob Watson?” Claire said.
“Your assistant, Bob?”
“Yes. My dear, strong, willing, smart, workaholic assistant, Bob. He’s moving to Boston, and now I have to promote the mayor’s twenty-two-year-old niece.”
“What? She’s a courtesy hire?”
“Shoved right down my larynx. Child’s called Bunny.” Claire moaned. “Bunny can hardly lift her coffee cup, let alone a two-hundred-fifty-pound body.
“Keeps changing the CDs from Shostakovich to hip-hop. ‘Dr. Washburn, we need the right music.’ Sure thing, Bunny. No rush. Mr. Doe here is resting comfortably.”
I laughed, snorting beer up my schnoz just about the time Cindy blew in and plopped into our booth.
“Greetings, girlfriends.”
“Back at you, girl reporter,” said Claire. “Where’s Yuki?”
“I just left her in front of the courthouse. She sends her regrets.”
“She’s still really hurting?”
“Terribly,” Cindy said. “But she’s focused on the trial. She’s even more obsessed than I am.”
Loretta dropped off the menus and a basket of plantain chips as Cindy told us about her past few days in court.
“Dr. Dennis Garza’s name came up again today. A ten-year-old girl lost her mother because of an overdose of her prescribed medication. Garza checked her in through the ER. Jamison Funeral Home checked her out.
“You listen to the stories in court, and you really want to nail someone for this shit,” Cindy continued, blowing the wrapper off a drinking straw. “Don’t ever go to a hospital if you can help it. More people die of accidents in the hospital than die from breast cancer, AIDS, or in car accidents.”
“Come on!”
“Lindsay, medical errors are among the top ten causes of death in America. And I’ve done some research on Garza. Statistically, he’s holding up his end.”
“Do tell,” said Claire.
“Every place Garza worked,” Cindy said. “Cleveland, Raleigh, Albany, and here. The body count climbs when he shows up at a new hospital.”
“What you’re talking about, it’s a national scandal,” Claire said, setting her glass down hard on the table. “Dirty medical practitioners moving around the country, and the hospitals don’t turn them in ’cause they don’t want to get sued.”
