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“There is a problem?”
“There’s a nut on the phone who insists on speaking to a doctor.”
Dr. Martinez’s eyebrows rose in question.
“He won’t give up, Doctor. He calls every two minutes.”
He nodded his understanding, swung his feet off the bed, and sort of hopped to the floor.
He retraced his steps to the nurses’ station and picked up the telephone.
“Dr. Martinez,” he said.
There was no reply. He looked at Nurse Dubinsky and shrugged helplessly.
“No one on the line.”
“Hang up. He’ll call back,” Nurse Dubinsky said with certainty.
Dr. Martinez hung up the phone. The two of them stared at it for two long minutes. It did not ring.
“Well,” Dr. Martinez said, and shrugged again.
That figures, Nurse Dubinsky thought, after I wake this poor young man up, then this bastard decides to hell with it, he’ll wait ’til morning.
“I’m sorry, Doctor.”
“It is not a problem,” Dr. Martinez said, and started back down the corridor.
He had taken a half-dozen steps when the telephone rang.
He picked it up.
“Seven-C, Dr. Martinez.”
“You’re a hard man to get on the goddamn phone, Doctor.”
“How may I help you?”
“I have a message for Dr. Amelia A. Payne.”
“She’s not here,” Dr. Martinez said.
“The nurse told me that. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
“What is the message?”
“You got a pencil and paper?”
“Yes,” Dr. Martinez said, although in fact he did not.
“Okay. Now, get this right. You ready?”
“Ready.”
“To Dr. Amelia A. Payne. Your patient, Miss Cynthia Longwood . . . Am I going too fast for you?”
“No. Go ahead,” Dr. Martinez said.
