“I’m sorry,” Brian said. “That certainly wasn’t our intention.”
“Here’s what I recommend. When you are up to it, come out here to headquarters and meet with me and then spend some quality time participating in some of our activities. Because of the pandemic, there wasn’t a new class of cadets this spring. Instead we’ve ramped up refresher and recertification activities for the entire ESU force, particularly in the TAC House and SCUBA unit. Does that sound appealing to you?”
“Very appealing,” he agreed. “I’d love it and the sooner the better as far as I am concerned.”
“Well, I’ll leave that up to you and your family. I’m sure you need some time to adjust and mourn your wife.”
“On the contrary,” Brian said. “I need to keep busy. I would like nothing better than to get back into fighting shape and run recertification drills. It would actually help me cope.”
“Okay, then,” Michael said. “Without a new class of cadets, currently my calendar is flexible although all that will soon change. Next month there will be a new, small class despite the pandemic.”
“Would as soon as tomorrow afternoon be possible for me to stop by and see you, say around three?” Brian asked. “I’d even like to participate in any drills if possible.” The idea of experiencing simulated assaults in the TAC House had enormous appeal, as did any type of special weapons exercise. He had not practiced once with any firearm since December, not even with his omnipresent P365 Sig Sauer automatic, which he could currently feel pressing against the small of his back.
“I’m sure I can find the time. I’ll also spread the word with the instructor team. It’s good timing. I know there is going to be a sizable group in the TAC House tomorrow, including some officers from the A team. You can at least observe initially. I’m sure everyone will be delighted to see you.”
“Likewise,” Brian said. When he had been an ESU member back before his retirement, he’d often spend his days off at the ESU Academy at Floyd Bennett Field helping the instructors with the cadets and even participating, as it helped to hone his skills and maintain his recertification requirements.
“And if you change your mind tomorrow after the funeral I’ll understand,” Michael said. “Just let me know, and I can let the others know.”
“Of course.”
After appropriate goodbyes, Brian disconnected the call and stared ahead for a moment with unseeing eyes. The idea of intense physical activity gave him a modicum of relief from the emotional devastation of Emma’s passing as well as his ongoing concern about Juliette’s adjustment to losing her mother. Unfortunately, it didn’t last, since the memory of needing to call Roger Dalton intervened.
With his phone still in his hand, he placed the call. As it went through, he again wondered if it was going to have something to do with Patrick McCarthy and Megan Doyle needing a full printout of the hospital bill. From what Megan had said, he expected the hospital to attempt to drag its feet.
“I thought you should know that the value of the suit brought against you by Premier Collections might soon be raised by $26,399.46,” Roger stated as soon as he came on the call. “Unless, of course, something miraculous happens.”
With some difficulty Brian held himself in check. He was offended by Roger’s derisive attitude, and had he been there in his office, he might have been hard put not to intimidate the skinny bastard in some physical way. In Brian’s mind he’d been fully exposed as the irritating front man for the profit-crazy Charles Kelley.
“Did you hear me?” Roger demanded when Brian didn’t respond.
“I did, but I was waiting for you to tell me what this additional twenty-six-some-odd-thousand represents?”
“It’s the latest ED charges for Emma Murphy,” Roger said. “As if you couldn’t guess.”
“Is this for yesterday?” he asked with surprise, even disbelief, at the speed involved in the billing.
“Yes, it is for yesterday,” Roger said. “Since you are already significantly delinquent, the hospital doesn’t have high hopes for payment. What people like you don’t understand is that our considerable expenses mount second by second, day by day, and we don’t have the luxury of avoiding paying them as soon as they are due.”
“Go ahead and submit the bill to Peerless,” Brian ordered as he was about to discontinue the call. He was growing to seriously dislike the man. It was as if the bureaucrat was deriving sadistic pleasure out of pushing the knife MMH Inwood had sticking in him a little bit deeper.
“I already submitted it,” Roger spat. “You and your health insurance deserve each other. They got back to me within the hour to inform me that once again they would not be covering.”
“Wait just a second!” Brian exploded. “How could that possibly be? This was an emergency of the highest order. My wife didn’t walk in on this occasion. She was carried in while being given CPR!”
“Peerless was given all the records including statements from the paramedics who responded to your 911 call,” Roger said. “Why they have refused the claim, I have no idea, but you better look into it quickly and get their decision reversed or the amount of money involved in your lawsuit by Premier Collections will be amended upward.”
“I will certainly find out.” Brian felt a renewed burst of anger toward Peerless and Heather Williams’s schemes, a resentment that was now equal to his hate of Charles Kelley and Roger Dalton. At the same time, the amount of money involved for a few hours in the emergency room seemed beyond the pale and equally as infuriating. Although he knew complaining about prices to Dalton was an exercise in futility, he couldn’t help himself. “I’ll certainly talk with Peerless, but how the hell could a couple of hours in your ED cost more than twenty-six thousand dollars? That’s highway robbery, especially considering the outcome.”
“I resent that,” Roger snapped. “As I’ve said, over and over, running a trauma 1 ED twenty-four-seven is hugely expensive. Your wife used the facility and the high-tech equipment. She also required an entire team of highly trained people and equipment to carry on the CPR and do an emergency neurological assessment. Furthermore...”
Unable to listen to another word, Brian cut Roger off by disconnecting the call. He felt like a volcano ready to explode. Getting up from his desk, he quickly went down into the basement, where he and Emma had set up a small workout room with a stationary bike, a rack of free weights, and a flat-screen TV. Needing an outlet for his anger and frustration, he picked up two forty-five-pound hand weights and did a series of curls until he couldn’t do any more. With a loud clank, he dropped them back into the rack.
Feeling a bit less out of control, he reclimbed the stairs and returned to the office. After sitting down and taking a deep breath, he placed a call to Ebony Wilson, which, as he anticipated, took some time to connect. The process required him to suffer again through several long, agonizing bouts of Muzak.
“Hello, this is Ebony Wilson, claims adjustment supervisor,” she said with her honeyed voice when she finally came on the line. “And with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
After Brian identified himself, he asked if she remembered him, resulting in a short laugh: “Of course I remember you! How could I not? You became the talk of the company the way you waltzed in here despite all the security our CEO demands. I have to say, you were extremely lucky you weren’t arrested or even seriously hurt.”