The Vern Stephens Operation Read online

  He didn’t even bother to put the lemonade glasses and pitcher away. No one bothered anything out here in the country. He was quite sure he could leave a gold-plated serving tray on that table and it would still be there after Christmas.

  Backing his car out of the garage he drove out to the hard road and turned north. Doc Collins was just down the road, as distance was measured in a rural area. About two miles as the crow flies.

  Two

  Mike pulled into Doc Collins’ driveway and as he expected, he saw Doc sitting under a shade tree in the side yard. It seemed to Mike that everyone in this country had a nice shade tree and made liberal use of it in the summer time.

  Mike had come here because Doc Collins knew everyone and everything about this community. Over 40 years of practicing medicine on people and animals, even though he was no veterinarian, had left little undiscovered. Doc had also befriended him after Mary had been killed. He was probably the closest thing to a friend Mike had—here or anywhere. Though Mike had never returned the concern Doc had shown him, nor acted as if he appreciated it. Still, he felt closer to Doc than anyone else.

  As Mike shut off the car and climbed out Doc Collins said, “morning, Mike.” Motioning him to a spare lawn chair.

  “Morning, Doc.”

  “What brings you around on this hot morning?”

  “Billy Stephens. His bicycle broke down in front of my house and I got to talking with him. Seems his father was injured and can’t work. Know anything about it?”

  Doc responded amiably, “Sure, but why do you care? Don’t take this the wrong way, Mike, but you’ve never expressed any desire to know about anyone or anything in the community since Mary was killed or before for that matter. Why now?”

  “I’m not sure. I just feel compelled to know. Do you mind?”

  “No,” Doc responded, “guess not. Just don’t let on you know or if you do where you heard it. The boy’s father is Vern Stephens. He was in a car accident on the way home from work one night a couple of years ago and badly injured his head. The hospital discharged him a few days after admission, because they couldn’t keep him longer against his will. He had no insurance and didn’t want to pay for any more treatment. The hospital offered to help him get financial assistance through Medicaid and social security benefits, but he flatly refused.

  “Vern Stephens is probably the proudest man in the county. As a result, he is the poorest. No one even offers to help him anymore, because he is so stubbornly proud and downright nasty when help is offered. Even I gave up and that’s saying something. I rarely give up on anyone, including you,” he ended looking Mike directly in the eye.

  Mike averted his gaze and let that comment pass, asking, “Tell me something else, Doc. Billy Stephens said everyone around here knew about me. What did he mean by that?”

  “He’s just a kid. Don’t pay no mind to him.”

  “Come on, Doc. I know I’ve kept to myself and don’t really belong here, but what does everyone know and think about me?”

  “You mean you actually care?” Doc asked, a little on the harsh side.

  “I’m asking aren’t I?”

  Doc grunted and continued, “Well...they say you bought that big house with 20 acres of woods just to ease your conscience. That you are trying to make up for what you didn’t give your wife when she was alive.

  “They say you’re too rich for your own good and that 38 is too young to retire. That you sit around in that big house, with all your money just remembering all the crooked dealings you were involved in to get that money.”

  Mike’s knew his face had fallen and a cloud was passing over it.

  Doc continued, “I’m sorry, Mike, but you asked. I don’t agree, of course and I think they are dead wrong, but I can’t change what they think and say. You aren’t well thought of in this community.”

  Mike did not respond and sat quietly for many minutes with his eyes looking off in the distance over the fields of corn and beans, unseeing, then he said, “a lot of what they say and think is true. I was a money-grubbing, greedy, and unscrupulous businessman. I took and took and took. I dragged Mary all over the country and never gave her what she wanted. A real home. Now it’s too late and so I guess I did buy that house to ease my conscience, but it hasn’t helped. It’s too late for Mary and too late for me.

  “The first couple of months I thought about killing myself, but I couldn’t do it. I can’t change what I’ve done or not done, but I can change what I do in the future. How to change I’m not sure. I guess that’s the real reason I didn’t kill myself. I learned long ago that taking one’s own life doesn’t change anything, it only makes past mistakes look worse and confirms everyone’s darkest suspicions.”

  After a few more minutes of silence Mike asked, “What exactly is the problem with Vern Stephens, other than the fact that he’s too stubborn for his own good?”

  Doc hunched forward in his lawn chair, pursed his lips and responded, “As near as I can tell, only from what I have heard, the injury caused pressure on the brain which results in headaches, loss of some motor functions, restlessness, mood swings, and occasional temporary paralysis of the limbs. With that condition he can’t work, drive, or do anything with machinery, because he might have a spell of paralysis or loss of motor function at any time,” Doc ended clinically.

  “Is it curable?” Mike asked still looking out over the cornfields.

  “Couldn’t say,” Doc sat back and responded in a matter-of-fact voice.

  Mike turned now to face Doc and said, “Billy talked like he wasn’t getting better. I got the feeling he might be getting worse.”

  With a noncommittal shrug Doc answered honestly, “Could be. I just can’t say.”

  “What would you need in order to say?”

  “All of his hospital records and a thorough examination of the patient with all his medical history not included in the hospital records and there always is medical history not included in the hospital records,” he said, once again in his clinical tone.

  “Suppose I got you that?” Mike asked earnestly.

  “How!” Doc exclaimed sitting a little more upright now.

  Mike smiled an easy smile, one of the few in the last few months and said, “that’s my specialty, Doc. Getting things done by getting things that no one else can get. That was what I did to make my fortune.”

  Then Mike continued in his own clinical tone, “Let me pose this hypothetical situation to you. You look at his records and make a physical examination of him, with full medical history and it turns out that his condition is operable. What would his chances of complete recovery be?”

  “Depends upon what is wrong with him. If what I’ve heard is correct and it is pressure on the brain and if everything checked out okay I would say one hundred percent or pretty close to it, but how am I going to be able to examine him? I can get his hospital records or at least a look at them, because although I’m not on staff at the hospital where he was treated, I still have some connections. All that aside though, I can’t examine a man without him knowing it and he won’t let me examine him if he knows I am doing it,” he said plaintively.

  “Maybe he would let you,” Mike said cryptically and at Doc’s skeptical look he continued, “now just suppose that he was approached by you requesting a favor. You wanted his permission to examine him to see if he would qualify for an experimental treatment at some hospital or another. If he qualified he would not only get the treatment free, but the hospital would pay him five thousand for letting them treat him.”

  Doc’s mouth dropped open and he exclaimed, “That’s preposterous, Mike! No hospital works like that! Why even the teaching hospitals don’t PAY patients to let them treat them! It would be unethical, if not downright illegal.”

  Mike just smiled again and said easily, “You know that and I know that, but Vern Stephens doesn’t know that and probably won’t, at least not until it’s too late.”

  Doc responded cautiously, “I’m not going
to let you get me into something illegal. I’ve got a good reputation with the Medical Board and I want to keep it.”

  “No sweat, Doc. It’ll be on the up and up. No hospital is going to pay him, no one will be asked to do anything unethical. Maybe a little white lie or two is all.”

  “I don’t like lies, white or otherwise, but my curiosity is aroused, so tell me. You fool Vern Stephens. How about the hospital? How are you going to get them to go along?”

  “Let me give you another hypothetical,” Mike continued with the same calmness. “People donate money to hospitals all the time, right? So what do you think would happen if I donated, say…oh I don’t know, say…fifty grand to the hospital up the road and then a short time later asked them to do me a favor. I asked them to operate on a friend of mine and send me the bill and not say anything to the friend about how the bill got paid, except that there was no charge to him? Then I gave the same hospital another check for another five thou’ and asked them to run it through their bank as a refund or overpayment and re-issue it to this friend of mine?” He ended, waiting.

  Doc sat in contemplation and pretty soon a slight smile appeared on his face and continued to grow into a wide bright grin. “Yes! It might just work. In fact, I’m sure it would work! Providing Vern’s condition is operable, that is, and providing I call in a favor from a surgeon friend of mine. You see, you forgot about the doctor’s fee. The hospital might play ball, but the surgeon bills separately and has no obligation to perform for free or keep it quiet.”

  “I didn’t forget that. I knew you could handle that end for me,” Mike said and smiled impishly.

  Doc looked quizzically at him and then said, “I now think I see how you earned all that money. You’re pretty shrewd, but that check for five thousand isn’t that sort of money laundering?”

  “No, money laundering is when you use legitimate operations to hide illegally obtained money and turn it into what appears to be legitimate money. The hospital isn’t changing illegal money, they are just giving away a donation they received. They can’t write it off as a deduction, but then it doesn’t matter because the income to them isn’t taxable anyway. It’s a wash, no harm no foul. The five thousand is under the gift tax limit, not taxable as a gift and not taxable to the donee, namely Vern. As far as the free services the hospital has no tax problem. That hospital is a not-for-profit corporation, I’ve checked, and they do public service all the time, they are expected to do that. Don’t worry, Doc, I used to be shrewd, but not anymore. Not that kind of shrewd anyway. That part of me is dead and I hope it stays dead. There was a time when I was worse than shrewd, Doc. I...well, I’d rather not get into that, if you don’t mind.”

  “Okay, Mike. Let me see what I can find out at the hospital.”

  “Oh, and Doc.”

  “Yes?”

  “No one knows about this except you and me. Let’s keep it that way.”

  “But if it works it might change a lot of attitudes about you in this community. That’s what you want isn’t it?”

  “No. I want to see Vern Stephens healthy again. I want to know that Billy Stephens doesn’t have to beg for food at school and I want to see him ride by my house on the way to play ball like all the other kids. Not on his way to buy groceries.

  “I want to use some of my money to do some good for a change. Good for someone other than myself. That’s what I want and no more. I don’t care what the community thinks or says. I’m long past caring about things like that. So let’s keep this between you and me. Okay?”

  “Okay, but while you are here there’s something else I want to talk about.”

  Mike furrowed his brown and said, “okay shoot.”

  “Might help ease your conscience some if you started going to church.”

  “No thanks, Doc. I haven’t been to church in a coon’s age and I’m not going now. Got no use for God and I doubt God has any use for me.”

  “Then you believe in God?”

  “Maybe, but whether I do or not doesn’t matter. I’m sure He has better things to do than worry about the likes of me.”

  “I think not, Mike. You are in the plan, too. I think if you started going to church you might find that out and you might find out why Mary was taken from you.”

  “Mary’s gone because I was a bum and didn’t appreciate her. I’m not going to church and say thanks for that. So long, Doc,” Mike said shortly as he stood up and quickly headed for his car.

  ~*~

  Doc was sitting in St. Francis Hospital medical records room studying the records of Vern Stephens. As he had suspected there appeared to be pressure on the brain and it could possibly be relieved by an operation. Then, he thought, with time and proper care Vern could expect a full recovery. He wasn’t sure about his diagnosis and he wasn’t sure Vern would agree to the surgery and treatment, because he had yet to talk with him about the “so called” favor that Mike had dreamed up. He had first wanted to assure himself that there was at least a chance the injury was operable before he went to the trouble of confronting Vern. Now it looked as if he was going to have to talk with Vern and try to persuade him to do him that “favor”.

  “Hello, Doctor Collins,” a familiar voice said from behind him and continued, “I heard you were here snooping around in some old records.”

  Doc turned around and as he had expected, he saw his old friend Doctor Tom Billson. Tom was a few years younger and still pretty active in the field. Currently he was the hospital administrator. He was a tall, skinny man with a totally bald head that actually made him look younger. “Hey, Tom how you doing?”

  “Just fine, Bill and you?” Tom asked as he pulled out a chair.

  With a shrug Doc answered, “Pretty good for almost 70. So how are things at the hospital these days?”

  “Well, today they couldn’t be better. Just this morning a man by the name of Mike Maltby sent us fifty thousand dollars to use as we saw fit. No strings attached. Just gave it to us out of the goodness of his heart.”

  Doc smiled and said casually, “Mike Maltby, huh? He lives down my way. Not over three miles down the road. A real generous man, or so I hear tell.”

  “He must be. We don’t get many donations these days with no strings attached. Usually the donor wants a wing named after them or free care for their family for the rest of their life,” Billson said with disgust.

  “Oh, I don’t think you have to worry about that with Maltby,” Doc said and continued, “I hear he has more money than he knows what to do with. Any favor he ever asked would probably not cost you a dime and might even make you more money. Everything that man touches turns to gold, or so I hear,” he finished, still casually.

  “No kidding? Well, it might pay to keep that in mind. Hey, I got to run. See you, Bill.”

  “Okay, Tom,” Doc responded smiling to himself and thinking that it never hurt to grease the wheels before you started on a long trip.

  When he had finished his review of the records and packed up his notes another thought struck him. I might just as well stop and see Frank Moss before I head back. Frank Moss was one of the best head cutters in the area, if not the whole state, and besides, he owed Doc one or two favors.

  With a spring in his step that he hadn’t felt in years, Doc passed on the elevator ride and walked down three flights of stairs to the parking lot. He crossed the lot to the medical office center adjacent to the hospital, but once inside he took the elevator up to the fourth floor. He wasn’t feeling that spry just yet. He strolled into suite 402 and directly up to the reception window. “Good afternoon. I wondered if I might see Doctor Moss, please.”

  He could see that the young girl behind the reception window was taken aback slightly. Doc understood that one of the receptionist’s main functions was to screen out unwanted salesmen and other people who distracted the doctor from his important business.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name. Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, I was just in the area and
stopped in to see Frank. The name is Bill Collins,” he said amiably.

  She responded dryly. “I’m sorry, but the doctor is very busy right now. As you can see we have a room full of patients waiting. If you want to leave your name and phone number I can have the doctor call you later.”

  Nonplussed Doc said to himself. I should have called ahead. Then he said to the receptionist, “Well, yes I guess I could do that. I should have called ahead. I’m not used to the hectic pace of city doctors anymore. The name is Bill Collins and my phone number is….”

  “Bill! Bill Collins! Why you old dog. What brings you up to the big city?” A booming voice from beyond the receptionist’s desk and out in a small interior hallway yelled out.

  Doc looked up to see Frank Moss standing just outside the receptionist’s room and framed in the doorway, or rather taking up all of the doorway with his frame. Frank was an ex-football linebacker and had the build for it.

  Doc smiled and said, “Frank! Boy it has been a long time. I just stopped in to see you, but I forgot how busy you big city doctors can get. I’ll leave my number and you can call me when you get a chance.”

  “Oh no you won’t! You get your tail right on back here and come in to my office. I’m never too busy to talk to the doctor who tutored me through semiology. Why, if not for you, Bill, I would never have gotten through that year of medical school,” Frank Moss exclaimed loud enough for all of his waiting patients to hear, most of whom Doc noted exchanged wondering looks.

  Doc was slightly embarrassed now, but he responded, “Okay, Frank, if you are sure. I won’t take but a few minutes. Wouldn’t be fair to your patients to take up more of your time than that.”

  He walked over to the left of the reception window and through a door that led down the hall to where Frank was still standing. They shook hands warmly and Frank led him down to the end of the hall to his handsomely furnished private office. He could tell from the clutter in the office and on the desk that Frank was either one busy doctor or the most disorganized one he had ever met.