The Last Surgeon

CHAPTER 29

Nick and Jillian spent the first ten minutes of their second visit to the medi-spa fidgeting in the sitting area to the right of the receptionist’s desk.

“I do apologize for the delay,” Daintry said, seeming genuinely concerned. “I’ll ring the doctor and see if he’ll be much longer. I know that he is very eager to meet you both. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

As if on cue, Nick heard the chime of one of the elevators as it arrived at the lobby level. The polished brass doors glided open and out stepped Paresh Singh. The surgeon, slightly built with a thin mustache and wire-rimmed spectacles, was singularly unimposing, except for his eyes, which were piercing and dark, and his smallish hands, expertly manicured and featuring a number of rings that were probably worth more than Nick claimed on last year’s tax return. He was no more than five-foot-seven, and although his jet-black hair was razor cut, and his suit finely tailored, Nick found it a stretch to believe that the man was world renowned and the master of this glass-and-steel palace.

“So,” Singh said, after the formalities of introduction, his accent clipped British with a modest amount of Indian. “I apologize for the delay and hope that Daintry has taken good care of you. She has been with me since the beginning, and I would be absolutely lost without her.”

“She’s been wonderful,” Nick said. “You’re lucky to have her.”

“Dr. Singh,” Daintry said, “as you requested, I’ve had the solarium prepared for Mrs. Collins’s private meeting.”

Nick and Jillian immediately exchanged sideways glances. They had seen the solarium on their tour-plants, sculptures, and waterfalls, but no computer. All Nick could do was shrug. The plus of having the security guard off on rounds had just been trumped by this latest turn. Why had he thought for even a moment that their plan would come off without a hitch? But this hitch was potentially fatal.

Jillian meeting with Singh in some Luddite heaven, devoid of the one thing they needed, was certainly not part of their strategy. If Nick’s SUD score had been hovering around a six, it just shot up close to an eight: Freaking out. The beginning of alienation.

He calmed himself with thoughts of a Buddhist quote from a college philosophy course that had stuck with him throughout the years: There are two mistakes one can make on the road to truth-not going all the way, and not starting. Now, he decided a third mistake needed to be added: Not possessing a backup plan.

Jillian, perhaps sensing his panic, stepped in for the save.

“Well,” she said, clearing her throat, “I hope the solarium is equipped with a computer. I wanted to show you pictures of movie stars and models with the sort of features we would like me to have, and I’ll need Internet access for that.”

“Most understandable,” Paresh Singh answered. “We can just convene in my office.”

Bless you, Mrs. Collins.

“That would be perfect,” Nick said. “I’ll be waiting here with Daintry. Take as long as you need.”

He glanced down at his watch, and, unseen by the others, Jillian checked hers. Precisely ten minutes until showtime.

Jillian air kissed Nick near the cheek and then, spinning around, accompanied Singh toward the elevator.

“I’m so looking forward to getting to know you,” Jillian said as they walked away.

Nick mentally ticked off one minute for Singh and Jillian to settle into his office. He had no doubt she would come up with the names for the surgeon to check out online. He knew she was nervous-probably as nervous as he was-but she was handling matters with incredible cool.

Praying that the security guard stayed away just a little longer, he made several laps around the massive center fountain, on occasion making eye contact with Daintry, smiling warmly whenever he did. Anxious husband. Nick checked his watch again. Five minutes down. He vowed to keep from looking too many times.

The succeeding minutes were an eternity. Finally, it was time. Nick made one last stroll around the fountain, until it was directly between him and Daintry. Then he shouted out and dropped to the floor, groaning in pain.

“Are you all right?” Singh’s receptionist called out, rushing around to him. “What happened?”

“Oh, dammit. It’s my knee. It’s locked. It’s happened before, but not for a while.”

Do it, but don’t overdo it, he was thinking as she knelt beside him.

He kept his left leg bent at a forty-five degree angle and rolled from side to side.

“What can I do?” Daintry asked, genuinely upset.

“There’s loose cartilage floating in my knee,” he said, groaning every few words. “A piece has gotten caught.”

“You didn’t slip or anything?”

Nick nearly smiled, imagining her wondering when she’d have to call their lawyer.

“No, no. I didn’t slip. Dammit, but this hurts.”

“I’ll call nine-one-one.”

“No!” Nick responded. “Like I said, this happens every few months. You can do what needs to be done, Daintry. Believe me, you can. Just take my foot and point the toes upward while you gradually turn the whole leg to the right, pulling it toward you as you keep pressure toward the floor.”

Daintry paled at the notion, and clearly could not visualize the instructions, which Nick was making as complicated as he dared.

“I… don’t feel comfortable with things like this,” she said.

Okay, he decided, it’s time.

“Dr. Singh can do this. It will only take him a minute.” Nick moaned and writhed from side to side for emphasis. “Please hurry and call him. This is killing me… Oh, shit!… I’m sorry I cursed, but this really hurts. Man, I should have had it fixed.”

“I’ll call Dr. Singh.”

Atta girl.

Nick remained moaning on the floor behind the fountain as she raced back to her desk. He managed a glance at his watch. Jillian had to be ready.

“He’ll be right down,” Daintry said before she had even returned to him.

Nick imagined Jillian speeding into the sequence that Reggie had taught her. Three minutes to find the USB port, plug in the key, locate the rootkit application, and double click it. From there, the installation process should only take a minute.

To his left, the elevator chimed and, in seconds, Paresh Singh was kneeling at his side.

“I understand your trick knee has locked,” he said, totally calm. “Are you in much pain?”

Nick groaned the answer and mumbled something that required repeating. The trick now was not to make things too easy.

“It usually pops back pretty easily,” he managed.

“Wouldn’t you rather we called nine-one-one?”

Singh didn’t say the word “liability,” but Nick could tell he was thinking it.

“Please,” he begged. “People help me with this all the time. Just pronate my foot and slowly straighten the leg and the cartilage will pop out of the joint space. I guarantee it will work. If it doesn’t you can call the rescue squad.”

Singh sighed, clearly still weighing his options and the risks. Finally, he stood and took Nick’s foot in both his hands. No sooner had he begun to move the leg than Nick cried out and the knee straightened.

“Bless you, Dr. Singh,” Nick gasped. “Bless you.”

“That was easier than I expected,” Singh said. “Can you stand?”

“There’s only one way to find out. Give me your arm, please. You’re a wizard.”

In moments, Nick was on his feet, testing the knee.

At that instant, the elevator chime sounded. It was everything Nick could do to keep from cheering.

“Not the knee again,” Jillian said, squeezing his hand twice to say the job was done. “Jeff, we’re going to Dr. Gavryck right now. You could have been really hurt.”

“But did you and the doctor finish? He did an incredible job unlocking this knee.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Jillian said. “The rest of our session, I’m afraid, will have to wait. Daintry, I’ll call to reschedule.”

“That would be fine,” the woman said, still pale. “Call me as soon as you have matters straightened out.”

Jillian Collins took her husband by the arm and helped him to the door.

“Don’t count on it, Daintry,” she whispered.