Authors: BL Miller
"I need some help here! This woman's been hit by a car!" she yelled as soon as the inner doors slid open. The charge nurse and the night intern raced over to begin triage. "We've got multiple injuries, check the board and see who's on call for the OR." the blond doctor said. A clerk immediately left to page the surgeon and to call for assistance while the nurse began taking the unconscious woman's blood pressure. Standing back out of the way, Veronica watched on in horror as the doctor cut the young woman's jacket and clothes off her body. Everything seemed to be covered with blood, especially the pants. An older doctor arrived on the scene, his hair mussed from sleep.
"What do we have?"
"Hit and run. Compound breaks of both tibias and fibulas, Doctor Maise," the young doctor explained. "Probable internal injuries as well. Whoever hit her was going fast."
"Have them prep OR 2. Type and cross match six units of blood and page Doctor's Gannon and Marks to assist." The rest of the conversation was lost on Veronica as she put her hands in her pockets and felt the cold wallet tucked inside. She opened the thin wallet, surprised at the lack of contents. There were no pictures, no credit cards, not even a driver's license. A blue library card identified the victim as Rose Grayson and gave her address as Morris Street. A social security card and a Money Slasher check cashing card were the only other pieces of identification. She opened the Velcro compartment inside and found two bus tokens, one house key, and twelve cents. There was nothing else. Well, at least they'd have a name and address to go on, she thought as she walked over to the charge nurse's desk. As she approached, she heard the two woman behind the desk talking.
"Looks like an indigent to me. Put her down as Jane Doe…let's see…" She shuffled papers around on the desktop. "…number 77. Once she's out of danger they'll transport her over to Memorial anyway."
"Excuse me," Veronica interrupted. "She's been hit by a car and badly injured. Why would they move her to another hospital?"
"Look Miss," the charge nurse, whose badge simply read Mrs. Garrison, said. "This hospital is mandated by the State of New York to provide all that come here in urgent need medical care. Once they're no longer in danger of dying from their injuries, we can transport them to another hospital that hasn't met their requirement for indigents."
"Requirement for indigents?"
"We are required to provide full care for a certain number of indigents at no cost each year. We've met that requirement. It's obvious she has no money and most likely no insurance. They're taking her into surgery now, surgery that she'll probably never pay for. This hospital doesn't operate on good intentions alone. If she has no ability to pay, she gets transported over to Memorial. They haven't met their obligation this year."
The dark haired woman understood the implication...no insurance, no staying at the best Medical Center in the region. "But she has insurance," Veronica blurted, her decision made. "I mean…I know her. She's an employee of mine."
"She has insurance?" Nurse Garrison asked incredulously. "Miss, it's twenty below out there with the wind chill. She's running around in a spring jacket that looks like it was taken from the garbage can. Insurance fraud is a crime in New York. Where's her insurance card?"
"No, I'm telling you she has insurance. Look," Veronica reached inside her jacket and pulled out her small business card case. "I'm Veronica Cartwright, president and CEO of Cartwright Corporation." She quickly looked down at the library card in her hand. "Miss Grayson just started working for us. There hasn't been time for them to issue her card but I swear she does have insurance through my company. Now is there a form or something that I have to sign to authorize this?"
Now realizing that she may have made a mistake, the charge nurse backpedaled. She reached over and grabbed one of several clipboards already set up with a non-removable pen and multipart forms. "Fill out sections one through ten to the best of your ability. Do you know how to contact her next of kin?"
"Uh, no…I'm sure that information is at the office somewhere. I can call with it tomorrow."
"Fine." The nurse turned to address her coworker. "Change the chart for Jane Doe 77. Her name is…" she turned back to the tall woman questioningly.
"Rose Grayson."
"Rose Grayson," Nurse Garrison repeated, as if the younger nurse didn't hear it the first time.
Veronica walked away from the charge desk and slumped down in one of the orange vinyl chairs to fill out what little information she did know and settle in for the long wait.
*********
By the third hour of surgery Veronica became very worried. There had been no word on the young woman she had hit and the lack of knowledge set the executive's nerves on edge. What if she died? Veronica shuddered at the thought. Then another thought came to mind. Daylight would arrive soon and the obvious damage to the front of her car would be noticeable. Noticeable meant questions, questions she didn't want to answer. She walked over to the pay phone. The woman who always granted favors now needed one. Veronica dialed the familiar number. On the third ring, a sleep filled male voice answered. "You'd better have a fucking good reason for waking me up."
"Frank, it's Ronnie."
"Ronnie?" the tone changed immediately. "Hey cuz, what's up?"
"I need…" she swallowed. "I need a favor."
"Did you get that idiot to grant the variance?"
"It's in the bag. Listen Frank, this is important." She heard the flicker of a lighter as her cousin lit a cigarette in an attempt to fully wake up. "I need you to come pick up my car and drop me off another one."
"Since when did I become your private tow truck service?"
"Since I had to spend an evening bailing your ass out with that jerk Grace," she growled. "It's in the emergency parking lot at Albany Med. Park the other car in the general lot and bring the keys to me in the emergency waiting room. Frank, you have to do this now. It can't wait until morning." She knew that the cost of asking the favor would far outweigh the actual favor but sometimes that was just the way it was. At least she knew who to turn to when she needed something done discretely. Her favorite cousin was nothing if not careful.
"The emergency room? Ronnie, you okay?"
"Quiet down, Frank. You'll wake Agnes up. Yes, I'm fine, just a big shaken." She looked at her watch. "I really need you to come down here and get the car."
"Is your car driveable or did you wrap it around a tree?"
"The windshield and front end are smashed up. You're better off driving it a couple of blocks and then putting it on a flatbed."
"Jeez, you don't ask for much, do you? You know I'll have to get John to help me. I can't drive a wrecker and a spare car."
"Put the spare on the wrecker, then you won't need another driver, just do it now." she hung up the phone and returned to the chair that had been making her ass uncomfortable for the last three hours. She picked up a four month old issue of People and had just begun flipping through it when Doctor Maise stepped into the room.
"Grayson. Anyone here for Grayson?" he asked loudly, although Veronica was the only person in the room.
"Here." She rose to her feet quickly. "How is she?"
"As well as can be expected, I guess. She's resting now. Are you family?"
"Uh…no, I'm her employer."
"Oh…have you contacted her family yet?"
"Not yet. My secretary is working on it," she lied. "How is she?"
"Well, both legs were badly broken and there was a hairline fracture to her skull, most likely from hitting the concrete. Other than abrasions and a gash on her face that required several stitches, there wasn't much else. No internal injuries anyway. She'll live, but it'll be quite a while before she's able to return to work, I'm sure." He took off his glasses and wiped them with the corner of his doctor's coat. "I'd say probably three months for the legs to heal, then maybe three to six months of physical therapy."
"Oh god." Veronica sat back down, unable to believe that in a split second she had ruined someone else's life for who knows how long.
"Did you see the accident?" he asked, pulling her back from her thoughts.
"Uh, no, I didn't," she said, praying that John hadn't fallen back asleep and was on his way with the wrecker and a spare car.
"Well, whoever it was hit that poor girl hard. Probably some drunk who didn't even realize he hit her."
"Probably," she repeated.
"Well, if you'll excuse me, I need to go check on her." He left the waiting room. She watched him go, then sunk back into the orange chair. The woman, Rose, would live. She breathed a sigh of relief at that but the guilt still weighed heavily upon her. In one brief moment she had destroyed the young woman's legs, in her mind possibly crippling Miss Grayson for life.
*********
The sky was still dark when Veronica closed her eyes, fatigue threatening to claim her. Minutes later they opened again when her nose was assaulted by the scent of far too much cheap cologne.
"Cuz."
"Hi Frank," she said wearily as he plopped down in the seat next to her. "Did you take care of it?"
"All done," he said proudly, holding out a set of keys. "Blue Mazda. Third level, dealer plates. Can't miss it."
"Thanks."
"No problem. Always happy to do a favor for my favorite cousin." He smiled, showing off teeth that were far too white to be real. "So what'd ya do? Hit someone?"
"Shut up!" she hissed through clenched teeth, amazed at the amount of stupidity that her cousin seemed to possess.
"Sorry." He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Jeez, is it your time of the month or something?"
"Thanks for taking care of that, Frank. Do me a favor and make sure the Porsche is taken to my place. Park it in the garage. I'll have Hans come over and fix it."
"I don't understand why you go to him instead of having Michael work on it. You know he owns"
"Michael owns a Toyota dealership. He works on twenty and thirty thousand dollar cars, not Porsches. Hans is the best mechanic I know. Just make sure it's put in the garage, out of sight. Move the Jeep if you need room."
"Fine," he sighed, knowing that he would never win the argument. He looked around for something to occupy his interest.
"Is that it?" she queried, looking pointed at him and then at the door.
"You're not gonna tell me why you're here or why your car is all smashed up, are you?"
"Frank, what happened to my car or why I'm here, that's my business, just like where all the profits from the car wash go are your business. Got it?"
"Got it." He knew better than to piss off his cousin, knowing full well just how volatile she could be sometimes. He stood up. "You know my number if you ever need anything."
"Yup." She opened the People magazine and flipped through the pages, effectively dismissing him. She waited until he was out the door before heading to the nurse's station to inquire about the young woman's condition.
*********
Veronica stepped out into the dreary grey of another day. The snow had stopped and now the streets were full of people trying to make their way to work through the frozen slush. She reached in her pocket and pulled out the library card. Morris Street. She tried to picture where the street was in relation to the hospital. Certain that it wasn't far and that she could find it without a map, Veronica headed for the multi-level parking garage.
The small blue car was parked right where John had said it would be. The raven haired woman tossed her attaché into the passenger seat and folded her long frame into the small space of the driver's seat, fumbling around until she found the lever that allowed her to push the seat back so that her knees weren't kissing her chin. She had to turn the key several times before the 323
would sputter to life. Veronica gunned the gas repeatedly until the old car seemed willing to continue on its own. "Frank, you son of a bitch," she swore as the beat up excuse for a vehicle slowly put-putted out of the parking spot and headed down the ramp.
Veronica took a left out of the parking garage and drove up New Scotland Avenue heading toward the park. She went two blocks before the street sign she was looking for appeared. As she thought, Morris Street was a one-way, of course in the direction opposite the way she wanted to go. A quick turn on Madison and another on Knox put her at the other end of the block and finally she was able to go up the narrow street.
Morris street was once home to doctors and families of wealth but had long ago changed to a street known more for the occasional drive-bys and roaches than anything else. The homes were packed tightly together, usually with less than a foot between them. Veronica pulled over at the only open space she found, ignoring the red fire hydrant prominently standing on the broken sidewalk. Veronica grabbed her attaché off the seat next to her and stepped out of the car. She briefly thought about locking the battered heap but decided that it wasn't worth the effort. If a thief wanted to fight with the stupid thing to get it running, it was fine with her. She climbed over the snowbank and looked around for house numbers. Most buildings were missing one or both digits but eventually she found the place that Rose Grayson called home.
Veronica climbed the rickety and slippery steps until she reached the outer doors that led to the first and second floor apartments. A look at the three wall mounted mailboxes showed that Rose lived in the basement apartment. She pulled the small stack of mail from the box and stepped back out onto the landing. Cursing at the thought of negotiating the snow covered stairs again, the raven haired woman placed her gloved hand on the shaky metal railing and slowly made her way back to the street level. Under the stairs she found a door missing most of its paint. A small card taped to the glass said simply "Grayson". Veronica knocked several times but received no answer. Perhaps the young woman lived alone. Reaching in her pocket, she pulled the key out of the worn sports wallet and wiggled it into the lock built in to the door handle. It took a few tries but finally the lock turned, allowing the executive entrance the small apartment.