Page 30 of Collateral Claim

Dec’s forthcoming with information, chatty, and easygoing. He said for as long as I’m not trying to escape, he won’t have a reason to shoot me in the kneecaps. How very kind of him.

I met Mary and tried to assess her health as Endo asked, but she told me to fuck off because, she said, my lot (doctors, I believe) are as useless as a dull knife. After breakfast, she stepped outside and never returned to work.

It’s almost eight at night before Mary comes back, wearing her civilian clothes.

A man drops her off at the mansion and remains in his car. They argue, and from the sound of it, I’m guessing that’s her husband.

Married people’s arguments are easily interpreted. There’s something about the tone and the way she throws up her hands in a general way that signals capitulation. Which could be why they’re still married. One of them is willing to fold.

Dec said I’m not allowed outside, but the steps must not be considered outside, because I stand on the first one to greet Mary.

“Endo called my husband and said I have to talk to you.” Mary plops her bottom onto the steps.

Dec snickers.

Having no choice, I sit beside her. The stone is surprisingly warm under my bottom.

“Have you been to any pastry festivals?” she asks. A pastry festival is where the greatest pastry chefs display their talents.

“My mother used to take me when I was a girl. I remember saving for it in my piggy bank all year.”

“Then I take the compliment about my croissant seriously. Thank you. Are you really a doctor?” She pulls out a pipe and lights up. A cloud of cannabis engulfs us.

I smile. Mary appears to be a tough woman and a no-nonsense kind of person.

“Yes.”

“Here.” She offers me a puff. “Have some real chill.”

“No, thank you.”

She switches the mouthpiece for a fresh one and offers it to me again. “Can’t trust a pearl clutcher with my health. Smoke.”

“I really shouldn’t.” Technically, I’m off duty. This isn’t a house call, and it’s been a hell of a two days.

I take a hit from her pipe. Not a massive one so that I don’t cough up my lungs, but a small one I can hold and then exhale.

“Even the way you smoke is preppy.”

“That’s because my father believed girls should be looked at, not listened to. Like dolls.”

“I bet you earned dessert for good behavior during dinner.”

“You got that right, Ms. Mary.”

Mary smokes, eyeing me suspiciously. “You warm up to me quickly.”

“I practice good bedside manners.”

“No beds out here.”

“But we have drugs.”

Mary laughs, placing a palm over her upper belly. She passes me the pipe. I replace the mouthpiece and take another hit. Return the goodness.

Now I’m buzzing, getting ready to listen to a patient and possibly treat her while intoxicated. I could lose my medical license. But on Endo’s land, breaking rules is encouraged as long ashisrules are followed.

“A real doctor. MD, not a PhD, right?”