He dropped the steel bar and turned toward the car.
"Let's get out of here. ' The keys rattled in his shaking hand as he fished them out of his jacket pocket. "You drive." The next few minutes were a blur, a fugue state in which he was vaguely aware of the car moving, pulling away, joining the flow of traffic on M Street. He sat in the passenger seat, shaking, shivering, trembling with the aftereffects of the adrenaline that had surged into his system moments before. High-pitched beeps brought him around.
Brad was punching the buttons on the car phone.
"What are you doing? " "Calling nine-one-one. ' - Duncan gently pulled the phone from his son's fingers and turned it off.
"No police. Let them crawl back to their cave and lick their wounds.
Maybe they'll think twice or even three times - before they jump another faggot."
"Shouldn't we report, ? " "If we involve ourselves, you know what will happen? We'll be on trial for assaulting them. That's the way our legal . .
system works.
They drove in silence for a while before Brad spoke again. "Why wouldn't you tell them? " "Tell them what? " '"That we're not gay." Gay. He hated that term. He couldn't imagine anything gay about being a homosexual. And he was a little disappointed in Brad.
He just didn't get it.
"That's not the point. If I want to put my arm around my son's shoulder, that's my business. I don't need anyone's permission but yours. I will no more allow myself to be dictated to by these troglodytes on the street than by the decerebrates on Capitol Hill.
Once you start backing down, you've got to keep backing down. So you don't start."
"But what happened to you back there, Dad? I've never seen you like that."
"That's because I've never been like that." He was nonplussed at the volatility of the rage seething within him.
He'd long been aware of its presence, had felt it percolating through him for years, but he'd thought he had it focused now, slowly bleeding off in the direction of the proper targets. He hadn't realized it was so near the surface, so ready to break free and hurl him at the nearest target. "You're a scary guy, Dad." He nodded.
"Sometimes I scare myself." GINA GINA HAD JUST FINISHED CHECKING A PATIENT WITH chest pain on Three North at Lynnbrook. She couldn't help thinking about Gerry and what a nice time she'd had with him and Martha earlier at that little Taco Bell.
Dinner at the Palms wouldn't have been half as warm. She'd hated to leave.
As she passed the nurses station she spotted Dr. Conway leaning on the counter, writing orders. She was surprised to see him. It was almost midnight, and usually she was the only doctor in the house at this hour.
He looked up and smiled as she took a seat on the other side of the counter. He tapped the chart in front of him.
'"Hey, Panzella. If I'd known you were in the house tonight I'd've let you handle this guy." '"Maybe you should have. You look beat." She wasn't exaggerating. He had circles under his eyes. "Go get some sleep."
"Soon as I finish this progress note, I'm gone." Gin spotted Harriet Thompson's chart and pulled it out of the rack. "I see your favorite little old lady is still here."
"Harriet? ' He nodded and sighed. "Yeah. And still not ready to go home, unfortunately.
Weak as a kitten, she says." Gin flipped through the chart. "All her numbers still look good."
"Perfect."
"You think there might be some secondary gains here? Like maybe she gets more attention here than at home? " "No. She's a real independent old lady. Hates it here. I think she's got some sort of postinfection asthenia. I've seen it before, especially after a pneumonia like hers. You can't see it, can't touch it, there's no lab test to confirm it. Mostly a diagnosis by exclusion."
"The administration still on your back? " "That's only half the story." He shook his head wearily. "It's getting a little ugly.
They've brought in reinforcements. I've had calls from the head of the family practice section and from the chief of staff himself. Nothing's been said in so many words, but they've dropped broad hints that I might have a rough time moving up to full attending here if I don't prove myself to be a team player." No wonder he looked harried.
"You can't get any family involved? " "Called the daughter in San Diego. Talked to her myself. She can't get away. It's not a good time' for her." '"So what's your next step? " "Same as ever. Screw em. She stays till she's ready to go. ' He closed the chart in front of him, left it where the charge nurse could review it, and pushed away from the counter.
"See you, Panzella."
"Hang in there, " she said as she watched him go.
Gin was worried. He could be headed for trouble here if he didn't back down soon.
Her thoughts'drifted back to Gerry and what he'd said earlier about Duncan's patients. Lane, Schulz, and now Allard . . . Gerry seemed to suspect a connection. What would he think if Gin told him that Duncan had been on the Capitol portico this morning, talking to Allard just before he fell? That he'd mentioned his dead daughter's name as a parting shot?
But how could she describe the frightening look in Duncan's eyes as he'd turned away from the congressman. The memory still gave her a chill. This was silly. What connection could there be between Congressman Allard and Duncan's daughter? She died five years ago. Gin was pretty damn sure from the presurgical history and physical she'd done on the congressman that he'd never met Duncan until he'd come in for a surgical consultation.
But still . . . it bothered her. She promised herself that when she had some time she'd do a little independent research on the late Lisa Lathram.
Gin was just stepping out of the stairwell on the first floor when she got paged again. She called the switchboard from the doctors lounge.
"Personal call, " said the operator. "Long distance. ' Who, she wondered, would be calling her here, long distance?
"Gin? " came a familiar drawl. "Gin, is that you? " "Peter! How did you find me here? " ' Wasn't easy .
She sat on the bunk and leaned back. Peter Hanson's dark eyes and strong, angular features floated before her.
"It's so good to hear your voice. ' "I miss you, Gin."
"Oh, and I miss you." She felt almost guilty now about dinner with Gerry tonight and enjoying it so much. They were two different types, really, Why was she thinking about Gerry with Peter on the phone?
He was talking about how empty their old apartment was without her, how lonely he was.
'"We really could use another internist here, Gin. Someone with your talent, your personality, and, being a woman to boot, I guarantee you'd have a beautiful practice in three months. We need you, Gin. I need you." Needed . . . wouldn't that be nice. No one seemed to need her around here.
She'd spent the last two years of her residency with Peter. He joined a multispecialty medical group in Baton Rouge. Gin had had an offer from the same group but turned it down. She'd felt she had to come to Washington and wanted Peter to come with her. They'd gone around and around with it until she'd finally left to return east.
As she listened to his voice she realized how much she missed him, missed Louisiana with its slower pace and rich, spicy food. And Peter.
And now, after the cool reception at Senator Marsden's offhce and still no call, it was so tempting to call it quits here and run back to New Orleans.
She ached to be with him but she couldn't go back. Not even for a visit. She might never leave, might never have the strength to say good-bye again.
"Peter, I need to see if I can work things out with this committee. " "You don't need a damn committee, Gin. You need to be practicing medicine." They'd had this conversation dozens of times and it always ended the same, Peter angry and Gin upset.
How could she say it without hurting him?
I still care very deeply for you, Peter, bxt the power here, the enormity of the decisions being made every day . . . it's an adrenaline bgzz like nowhere else in the world. It's, well, it's intoxicating.