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“I need a medical record for a Richard Rosenberg. He came to the emergency department earlier for shortness of breath.”
“First, I don’t handle release of information. That lady is home watchingThe Walking Deadat this very moment. Second, what are you to him?”
“Patient advocate. But that’s really neither here, nor there.”
“No, it really is hereandthere, because I can’t just release a record to anyone. There are forms, things that need signing and verifying.”
He glances to the left of him and shakes his head, before returning his attention back to me. “I don’t have time for all that.”
“Then, this conversation is over. Agnes will be happy to help you first thing in the morning. After she’s had her coffee, of course.”
With a snort, he tips his head, the cockiness of his reactions intensifying my frustration. “I’ll cut to the chase. I’m aware that you’re in a bit of trouble with the city. A few grand, by my estimate.”
Winter ice stabs my chest as I stare back at him, momentarily paralyzed. “H …. Wh …. What makes you say that?”
A wicked grin stretches across his face and answers for him. “What if I told you I could help you?”
“I’m not taking money to hand over a medical record. That’ll cost me my job.”
“So will jail time for failure to pay.”
“I’m sure they’ll … garnish wages before then.”
“Perhaps you’re right. Which would leave you one step above poverty, correct?” His exaggerated gestures as he talks strike an irritating chord that makes me want to slam the damn door right in his face. “I mean, forty grand over a few years is about half a mortgage payment. Without the equity.”
“What exactly are you offering, and what are you asking for in return?”
“Richard Rosenberg’s medical record. In return? I’ll make that court order and fine disappear.”
Right. Who the hell is this guy?
“Yeah? And how do you propose doing that?”
“I got some friends in high places, love. Friends who know how to make things disappear. Who do you think told me they saw Richie boy come in on the monitors, hmm?”
Security? Why? Was the man a criminal, or something?
“Who are you? A cop?”
“Something like that. Not so stiff and uptight, though.” Bending forward, he rests his elbows on the top of the door’s lower half. “I eliminate scum for a living.”
“And what guarantee do I have? I’m not handing over a man’s medical record to some total stranger based on a promise.”
“I’ll come back in two hours with a letter signed by the court, dropping the fees you owe. Name’s Calvin, by the way. Now we’re not strangers, Ivy.”
“How do you know me?”
“Two hours. If you’re not convinced, no deal has to be made.”
A loud beep rips me from the memory, and a woman’s voice announces Code Blue over the speakers. My gaze snaps up to my grandmother, who’s still going on aboutGigi, but within seconds, a group of physicians, nurses, a crowd of medical staff carrying equipment into the room shuffle toward the other woman’s bed.
One of the nurses peeks over, her eyes stern and focused. “I’m afraid you’re going to need to step out of the room, ma’am. Now, please.”
Gathering up my bag, I bend forward to give my grandmother a peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you in a couple days, Mamie. Take care.”
As I pass the woman lying in the next bed, surrounded by staff who frantically buzz around her still body, I’m reminded of how quickly death strikes without warning.
How little time we have to right our wrongs before the clock finally runs out.
