To read this serialized blog of A Relationship Beckons from the beginning, click here: Crisis Averted #1. Then navigate to the next post using the links in the upper corners.

Jake

Jake waited in his idling Tundra in the small square parking lot of the Starbucks on Warwick Boulevard facing the massive complex of buildings that represented Christopher Newport University. He listened to a local country music station as he absently gazed out over the perfect lawns and red-brick and white-domed buildings. He was always astonished at the royal presence and unquestionable erudition seeping from the campus’s every square inch. Former United States Senator Paul Trible who went on to become the fifth president of the then-college poured over one billion dollars of capital improvements into the school transforming it from a plain, fatigued smattering of flat-roofed buildings into a nationally-renowned performing arts institution. The campus resembled a sparkling, gleaming, updated version of the prestigious College of William and Mary, the second oldest institution of higher education in the United States and the ninth oldest in the English-speaking world. The three hundred and thirty year old school was only a modest drive north in Williamsburg.

Being an amateur history buff, Jake knew that William and Mary had educated three presidents and a regiment of historic figures vital to the founding of our nation. To pass the time, he asked himself three questions: How many potentially famous and influential men and women had already been graduated from Christopher Newport University? How many would graduate in years to come and make their mark on the world? And would the list one day be as long and distinguished as their sister school to the north?

The answers didn’t materialize. Instead, he was jarred from his reverie by the arrival of a white Cadillac Escalade in need of a good wash rolling to a stop in the adjacent spot. The woman–he knew her name to be Caroline–glanced over at him with a friendly, vivacious smile. Jake flashed an equally inviting smile. For some unknown reason, he glanced at his blue-faced Seiko DressKX. It read 10:43am. And for an equally unknown reason, the mental image of the watch face and the position of the hands were now burned into his memory.

He alighted from the pick-up at the same time Caroline descended from the luxury SUV. They met at the rear corner of his vehicle. She extended her hand in a crisp, friendly, business-like manner. “I’m Caroline.”

Jake accepted the petite, well-manicured hand. “Jake Murphy.”

Caroline pushed a few strands of her caramel hair behind her ear. She lowered her gaze momentarily then brought her eyes back to meet his. Jake’s heart gave a ever so slight bump. Inside his chest, it felt like a major earth tremor. The hazel eyes were flecked with brown and enhanced by the silky brunette tresses. Her smooth voice sounded like liquid honey. “This is the second time in twenty-fours hours I owe you a thank you. Ah…And I haven’t even properly thanked you for what you did for Peter yesterday.”

Jakes nodded with a slightly angled bow of the head. “How is he doing?”

“He’s fine. Back to his rambunctious self. The docs at the ER checked him out and gave him a breathing treatment. We were home in about four hours.”

“That’s actually a pretty good turnaround time for an emergency room. Lucky you weren’t in there for twelve.”

She nodded then said, “I suppose you’re right.”

Their eyes met again as a polite pause yawned into a zone of discomfort. Jake spoke as he pulled her phone from his back pocket. “I guess I should get around to giving this back to you. That’s a great photo of your son on your wallpaper.” He extended the device. Caroline hesitated and then accepted it.

“Thank you…I would like to…I mean…I’m not sure what the proper protocol is here. What I’m trying to say is I don’t think a simple thank you is sufficient.” Her eyes seemed to reach somewhere deep into him, blinking rapidly. Jake thought for a moment that she might break down right here. “Can we go somewhere and talk? I don’t think a handshake and a thank you is enough. And I don’t want to offend you and offer you money.”

Jake smiled and shook his head. “Money is definitely not necessary. I wouldn’t accept it.”

“Let me buy you a cup of coffee or a beer?”

Jake gave a quick guffaw. “As much as I would love a good beer, I usually wait until afternoon.”

Embarrassed, Caroline moved her hand to her forehead and gently slapped it with her palm. “Of course, so it’s coffee then?”

Jake furrowed a brow. “Wow that was very good. Nice recovery or a very well-planned transition.”

“Believe me,” she replied. “There’s nothing in my life that’s well planned at the moment.”

Jake checked the Seiko once more. 10:48am. “I have to pick up my daughter from my mother’s.” He hesitated as if considering the consequences. “But it’s not urgent. Mimmi can spoil her for a little longer.”

“Great, follow me. I know a perfect place.” Her face see brightened and her eyes held the sparkle of the Eiffel Tower light show.

Jake nodded and watched Caroline’s hour glass figure slide gracefully behind the wheel. As he turned to return to his Tundra, the black shine of a sleek BMW sedan caught his eye. It was a hundred yards away across the street on the campus of Christopher Newport University slowing down on one of the access roads. Jake’s eye caught the driver, a woman, looking in his direction. He made eye contact. But the woman looked away or simply hadn’t seen him.

Caroline’s Escalade slid behind him. She honked once and waved for him to follow.  Jake returned the wave and climbed in. He looked back toward the BMW across the way. The car was gone.

Luca

Luca sat behind the wheel of the while Il Gigante…er…Lorenzo Esposito’s girth… consumed the passenger side of his Mercedes like Andre the Giant in a circus clown car. Equally impressive and annoying, his impressive mass caused the luxury sedan to dip to the passenger side. The blunt point of his left elbow protruded across the invisible boundary of the car’s console and dug deeply into Luca’s right shoulder. Luca tried to shrink himself against the driver’s door so as not to touch Big Tommy Romano’s assassin in any way. He was unsuccessful. This lethal, extremely offensive looking man had not spoken more than ten words since appearing on Luca’s doorstep this morning. But creepiness and lethality seeped from his pores.

Two hours earlier, Luca had managed to convince Esposito to allow him a quick shower. Three minutes after ringing the bell, his hair still dripping, Esposito had Luca out the door and driving Luca’s Mercedes. Esposito navigated by pointing and grunting, “Turn here!” Now they were sitting in the listing vehicle peering through the windshield at the modest accommodation of Fernando Gomez in a unspectacular Norfolk neighborhood

It was a two-story affair with no more than a half-acre lot covered in a mixture of weeds and grass competing for notice. The building couldn’t have cost more than three hundred grand. Luca surmised Gomez like to spend his money on cars rather than his domicile. Three brilliantly polished vehicles were lined up in the drive way: a cherry red Shelby Ford Mustang with white double racing stripes down the middle,  a white Chevy Camaro with rear spoiler and, perhaps slightly more functional, a sky blue Chevy Silverado with an oversized cab and oversized knobby tires.

Luca re-adjusted himself and checked his phone. He had texted Debra five times, hoping to glean more information about his ex-wife. What the hell was she doing? It was hard for him to focus. His head hurt from a drug and alcohol hangover. His body was sore. He could feel the burn of a fever building in his chest.

He started to compose a sixth message to her. But Il Gigante interrupted his thoughts. “There he is.” He smiled. But his eyes hardened as he watched the short Hispanic drug lord leave his house with three men. Bodyguards.

Il Gigante removed a pistol with a long sound suppressor. He chambered a round and returned the weapon to his shoulder holster. He then removed a short piece of metal. His thumb depressed a lever. The sharp metallic click announced the appearance of a thin, sharp blade.

“Today,” Il Gigante groaned. “The Spanish man…he die.”

Sacro e Profano

At the same time Caroline and Jake were meeting for the first time and Luca and Il Gigante were surveilling their target, a tall, thin and dangerous man stood in a darkened claustrophobic street four thousand miles away. Because of the time difference, it was currently approaching five in the evening in Italy. Via dei Maroniti in Rome, like many of the side streets in the Eternal City, was a quaint, narrow cobblestone passageway barely wide enough to accommodate the insectile European vehicles. During the day, pedestrians rarely saw the gleaming Italian sun for the five oor six story ancient edifici crowding the narrow sidewalk. The effect was that of a claustrophobic hallway. But nonetheless, it was the quintessential Roman experience.

Tonight, a few touristi strolled along aimlessly down this isolated street. Most were oblivious to the handsome, well-dressed man. That is except for the curious females imagining the carnal pleasures of an authentic Italian lover. His midnight blue eyes were often mistaken for black, especially after the sun went down. They were set close together over a razor sharp beak of a nose. The cheeks angled to a rounded chin. All of this was covered by deeply bronzed skin which made his smoky white hair glow under the amber lights of the restaurant.

International crime boss Giuseppe Linguale wore a double-breasted, Navy suit with white pencil stripes over a starched cotton white smoking shirt. A matching Navy tie was knotted expertly and pulled tight against the spread collar. Casual was not a term ever associated with this man.

He scratched his temple absent-mindedly with his left hand as he scanned the via across the thin rough street, revealing a gold pinky ring. Impatiently tapping his highly polished black monk shoes against the uneven cobbles. His two body guards took up rear guard positions, close enough to be one step away from their charge in case of trouble but far enough away to allow him a modicum of privacy.

As he crossed his arms and pushed out an exasperated sigh. Linguale hated to be kept waiting especially by a rival. He began to turn toward one of his guardia del corpo when a vehicle with glistening reflection cut through the shadow and ambient light. It came to a stop directly in front of the ristorante.

Languale recognized the vehicle. His French counterpart always rented the same model, color and upgraded amenities. The fire engine red Alfa Romeo Giulia Quadrifiglio. The driver exited, circled the engine compartment and opened the rear passenger door. From the backseat emerged, man younger than Linguale, shorter in stature, with a three day scruff of beard who wore circular sunglasses despite the lack of direct sunlight. His white suit coat was buttoned revealing an inverted white triangle of a pressed t-shirt. The khaki trousers and a pair tans sneakers lent the ensemble a casual air. The black thigh-length over coat draped over his shoulders announced him as l’homme Parisian.

The Frenchman scanned the scene initially not acknowledging Linguale. The Italian knew that Jacques Maurice L’Enfant saw him. The Frenchies game-playing infuriated him to no end. But Linguale needed the Frenchman. He had invited him to Rome to offer him a deal.

Linguale stepped forward and raised his hand. He’d play along for now. “Maurice, Buongiorno. Welcome to Roma!”

L’Enfant forced a stiff smile. The two men politely, but reluctantly, gave each other a tight gripped handshake. “Gio.” L’Enfant muttered.

Linguale motioned toward the restaurant. “We have much to discuss. I have need of your help in America. Virginia specifically.”

-To Be Continued-

If you have a pharmacy story or a story (heroic or challenging) of everyday life in your healthcare world, send it to me by clicking the link below…

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If you find this blog entertaining and informative, please share it with your contacts and on social media through the links on this web page…if you are a pharmacist nurse or doctor, please share it with your colleagues…thank you

 

To read this serialized blog of A Relationship Beckons from the beginning, click here: Crisis Averted #1 . Then navigate to the next post using the links in the upper corners

Il Gigante

The ceiling wavered like pond water disturbed by a tossed rock. It rippled outward from a single point in concentric waves. Luca tried to lift his head but was stopped by a spasm of dizziness and nausea brimming in his temples. Bile surged from his gut. He swallowed it and lowered his throbbing skull back onto the sofa cushion which felt like a block of concrete. Ever so gently and slowly, he rotated his eyes, taking in the room and trying to remember how the hell he’d ended up like this.

The coffee table was a post apocalyptic landscape of crushed beer cans, two shot glasses holding remnants of a clear liquid, several small pimples of a snow white powder dotted the glass top in a patina of fine dust. A pizza box lay toppled on the carpet its cardboard yawned revealing the remains of crusts and half-eaten triangles of baked dough. An ashtray lay at the center of the no-man’s land. A bunker of smoldering butts sending tendrils of blue smoke wafting toward the wavy ceiling. Beside that lay the wooden vessel lined with blue velvet in which rested the instrument of death.

Luca licked his lips and tasted bits of the anesthetic powder beneath his nose. A burgeoning headache was erupting behind his eyes. The acidic tang of vomit clung to the back of his throat. He rolled to his left and dropped from the sofa on the thick pile of carpet. Sucking in slow, deep breaths, he waited for the spinning to subside. Every movement was a Herculean achievement.

I’ve got to stop this, he whispered. The words sounded like a blasts of a fire alarm.

As he lay there, the vague conversation with an irritated Debra suddenly spoke to him. She’d placed the tracker on the bitch’s car. Now he would know where she was all the time. Why was Debra mad? There was something wrong. Even through his dense drug-induced befuddlement, Luca knew her words were curt and filled with disdain.

The capo managed to push himself to all fours in the narrow space between the coffee table and the sofa. He struggled to his feet and eventually pulled himself to a semi-erect posture. Shuffling toward the guest bathroom, he kicked the pizza box and the rigid wedges within re-organized themselves. It was then that he noticed that one foot was bare. The other still clothed by a sock half dangling over the toes. The naked foot revealed red dots of clotted injection sites between his toes which ached. The crack of breaking plastic under foot told him he’d stepped on the syringe. He studied his unadorned wrist. His Rolex was missing. What happened to his watch?

Eons later, he found the bathroom and flipped on the light. Daggers of white pain sliced through his brain. He closed his eyes and the intensity and the agony eased. Feeling for the toilet, he raised the seat, dropped his shorts and began urinating. The muted hiss told him he’d missed the bowl. Opening one eye, he re-adjusted and the yellow stream found its mark.

The bells of Notre Dame pealed jolting him. Quasimodo, the grotesque hunch-backed bell ringer was furiously tugging on the imaginary bell pull sending acoustic waves of agony through his ears. He finished his business and awkwardly zipped up. It was then that he realized the loud chimes were that of his own door bell, not some ancient cathedral in Paris. “Coming,” he moaned, struggling again to cover the distance. He sighed, preparing for another wave of vertigo then pulled open the with great care.

The emotionless face that stared back at him appeared to be Quasimodo himself. The dark blue eyes were set in cavernous sockets in a Neantherdalian skull beneath a protruding ridge of bushy black eyebrows. A wide scar cleaved the brow over the right eye. The crooked nose had been mashed by an unsympathetic God and possessed the angles of mountain road. The skin covering the whole bony, angular mug was scarred and resembled a pocked moonscape. The thick lips were pulled into a permanent sneer. The massive humanoid on his stoop seemed to block out the sun. Luca stared up at this behemoth momentarily dumbfounded. He moved his eyes to the neck and shoulders looking for signs of a hump. He found none.

The uncomfortable silence yawned for several moments. Luca moved his gaze back to the mountain’s butt-faced visage then Luca managed one pain-soaked word. “Yeah?”

“Big Tommy sent me,” the stranger growled in a rusty New York accent. The sunken eyes moved beneath the bony overhang and sized up Luca. “Get dressed. We got woik.”

“You Il Gigante?”

“Name’s Lorenzo Esposito.” He stepped closer. The stench of stale coffee, Tabasco and eggs hit Luca in the nose.  “And don’t you forgit it.”

Caroline

Debra’s butt had gone numb two hours ago after she’d sped away from the Caroline’s Williamsburg neighborhood. The all night vigil outside Luca’s ex’s house had been interrupted only by her quick three am excursion from the car to Caroline Clivio’s driveway where she’d quickly slipped under the chassis of her Escalade. She attached the tracker just inside the rear bumper. That four minute trek of nervous pulse pounding had been followed by more hours of monotony capped off by the gray-haired black man banging on her passenger window and threatening to call the police. He’d not said so. Not in so many words. But he’d made his intent clear.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the beep and flash on the app on her phone. The blinking icon on the map indicated the vehicle being tracked. She looked up. Caroline climbed out of her Escalade, circled the vehicle and extracted her son, Peter from his car seat. She led him by one hand toward the entrance of the Newport News law firm of Weedle and Chase. Debra had googled it moments ago. It was medium-sized firm dedicated to family law. Debra thought a moment. Caroline and Luca were already divorced. So why did she need the services of a family lawyer. In her opposite hand, Caroline carried a manila envelope.

Oh shit! She thought.

She’d answered Luca’s call earlier. His slurred and slow words told her everything she needed to know. He was high or drunk. Or both. And she hadn’t wanted to see or be near him right now. She was still pissed at him. He’d brought her to Big Tommy’s house for his meet with the Don. And she’d heard Luca’s boss give him an order to kill a member of the Gomez family.

Debra wasn’t naïve. She knew what Luca did. And she knew what Big Tommy did. There were criminals. It was exciting…dangerous. Debra liked the danger…the excitement. But it had gone too far. Murder. She wanted no part of it. She knew she needed to extract herself from this rabbit hole into which she had plunged. Her relationship with Luca was over. He just didn’t know it yet. And she did not have any clue as to how she would execute her escape. But when the opportunity arose, she would become a ghost.

-To Be Continued-

If you have a pharmacy story or a story (heroic or challenging) of everyday life in your healthcare world, send it to me by clicking the link below…

Check Out David’s Books

Send David Your Healthcare Successes and Challenges

If you find this blog entertaining and informative, please share it with your contacts and on social media through the links on this web page…if you are a pharmacist nurse or doctor, please share it with your colleagues…thank you

 

 

To read this serialized blog of A Relationship Beckons from the beginning, click here: Crisis Averted #1 . Then navigate to the next post using the links in the upper corners

Awakening

Jake fidgeted as Olivia’s soft curves undulated back and forth over him. He lie on his back gazing up at her, drinking in her vague beauty. The cloudy lines in and around her partially obscured his sight of her. But he knew it was her. The familiar, comfortable feel of her warmth; the curve of her angelic face; the penetrating ice blue eyes and, of course, her alluring, intimate curves. He ran his fingertips over her hips moving them upward navigating the topography of the torso, guiding her, encouraging her. His body moved in perfect concert with hers, gyrating faster with each passing second toward the anticipated crescendo.

Out of the corner of his dream’s eye, he spied a nebulous figure in the shadows, murky and hesitant, lurking near the lingerie chest visible but out of focus. As his dead wife pleased herself atop him, Jake’s attention remained riveted on the mysterious form. Olivia–in silent pleading and protestations–began tugging at Jake’s subconscious, willing his eyes back to hers. But Jake’s stare stayed on the dubious silhouette. As ripples of pleasure rocked him, propelling him toward a heavenly climax. As his pleasure mounted, her unspoken words grated in his ears.

Her hips ground harder and deeper as her remonstrations grew harsher. In response, Jake pushed harder against her. When their bodies could go no faster, grind no harder, the figure moved away from the chest, stepping closer to them. It rushed to their side impatiently, interrupting their love-making. Olivia’s image disintegrated, melting away. The face belonging to the figure lowered itself toward Jake, leaving the misty shroud concealing it.

Rather than lingering the face receded and a new torrent of images assaulted him. The face of the stranger was replaced by the mug of Stephan Willings, the pinch-faced pharmacy manager, from a different angle.  The disgusted, frustrated moues of dissatisfied customers and patients clicked onto the screen of his subconscious like clinical slides showing the carnage of hatred and intolerance alternating on either side of Olivia moving body. Jake’s head jerked from side to side. There was Lizzie’s chubby-cheeked smile smeared with spaghetti sauce chopping on snippets of pasta with her plump fingers. The mangled metal and shattered glass of the devastating car wreck.

Olivia, feeling his distraction, re-doubled her efforts, pressing her body into him, lowering her breasts onto his chest and allowing her nipples to caress him. She battled desperately for his attention…

Then the little boy, blue and pale, sped past his eyes, pleading with Jake for assistance. Willings. Patients. Helen, the middle-aged pharmacy technician. More patients. Lizzie. Olivia. The wreck.

Then the first stranger reappeared jutting her face at him. It was not harsh nor an unpleasant experience. It was interruption. It was the face of kindness and gratitude. Jake was transported back to the waiting area in the pharmacy. The boy–what was his name–sitting in his mother’s lap as he administered the breathing medication. In this version of events in his dream, Jake was not focused on the boy as he had been that day. Now at this moment, his subconscious brought forth the pleasing scent of his mother, the nearness of her breasts, the soft, silken curtain of hair framing a concerned, pleasing visage.

Then everything disappeared…

Jake woke with a start. His lungs burned. His chest heaved. He was covered in perspiration. His eyes locked on the ceiling because it was above him and the only image available to him. Everything from his disjointed, sensual yet upsetting carnal episode lingered. Momentarily paralyzed, he tried to assimilate, to understand where he was and what had happened. After a time, blinking rapidly, he calmed his breathing and realized it had been a dream. An extremely realistic and jarring dream. With great effort, he pulled back the bed covers and rose to a sitting position. He dragged his hands down his face and sucked in several deep breaths. He swung his legs off the bed. Padding to the toilet, he lowered his briefs, placed one hand on the wall and whizzed into the bowl. He trudged to the kitchen, placed a K-cup into the Keurig and brewed a large cup of java. As it brewed, he moved to the sink and splashed several handfuls of cold water onto his face. He patted it dry with a dish towel and expelled another long sigh.

His vision bothered him. He hadn’t dreamt about Olivia in weeks. And it had been at least six months since he’d fantasized that she was making love to him. The memory and sensation had felt as real as it ever had. The memory pleased and shocked him. But what frightened him more was the presence of the image that had intruded, expelling Olivia from his reverie. The last few seconds, it had transformed it from a near wet dream to a breath-stealing intrusion, thrusting him into the present reality. It had been…her.

The unnamed woman. The easy-on-the eyes mother of Peter–that was his name–the boy Jake had saved at the pharmacy.

He doused his coffee with a healthy portion of creamer, stirred it. Returning to the bedroom, he retrieved both phones and tapped the screen on the unknown woman’s phone. The image of the smiling Peter reappeared as he gulped the hot coffee.

He needed to get this thing back to her…or someone somehow. The need was urgent now. Though he’d only had the phone in his possession for a few hours. Less than ten. It felt heavy and burdensome. He wanted to be rid of it. He needed to put this in his past.

A Plea For Help

Latent images rushed her. Caroline lowered Peter’s binoculars from her eyes. She stared out the window but she did not see beyond the glass or the louvres of the blind. She saw only what her mind regurgitated. Scattered disconnected images collected from the last twenty-four hours.

Pressing the accelerator of her Escalade, the monstrous vehicle fishtailing out of the soft, wet grass of the shoulder and nearly colliding with another car screaming past as Peter struggled for breath in the backseat. The sliver of a memory cut at her:…the driver making a animated gesture at her in the millisecond as it passed. No, as she passed. The vehicle was dark blue or black. The logo on the rear hatch of the SUV. The circle divided into quadrants of alternating blue and white, resembling that of a spinning propeller. A BMW.

Then that same SUV skidding to a halt behind her in the pharmacy parking lot as Caroline carried a barely-breathing Peter across the pavement. It hadn’t registered then. It was the same BMV, gleaming and polished in the brilliant spring sun. But Caroline’s mind must have recorded it as she bolted toward the pharmacy door. The image of the Virginia license plate had been burned in her mind like a searing brand on her cerebrum: BTCHY.

Later in the emergency room, Caroline remembered thinking she had seen this woman before as she angled herself against the wall. Luca’s–whatever–concubine, slut, bitch, drug dealer, whore. She recalled the thin, wry smile creeping across this witch’s features. In this revelatory moment despite her growing consternation, Caroline begrudgingly admitted that this woman was not unattractive. Caroline raised the orange field glasses again. This time she could she that the she-devil looked haggard and exhausted as she thumbed through the images on her phone in the early morning light.

But an obvious fact impatiently elbowed away her memories. Luca was having this woman follow her. That’s how he had known that Peter was in the emergency room. That’s how he had arrived so quickly even without Caroline calling him. Which she had never done. He must have been in the middle of shooting up or snorting a few lines. He had been high in the hospital.

How long had she been following her? Had she been parked on Caroline’s street corner all night long? Caroline swore at Luca and her own naivete. She was foolish for not realizing Luca would resort to such tactics. Luca’s paranoia was fueled by his criminal activities, his nature and stoked by his relentless drug use.

Caroline checked the clock over the small gas fireplace. It was still very early just before six in the morning. The man living in the other unit of this duplex was an older gentleman with whom she had a congenial relationship. They had been neighbors for about six months and spoke twice a week about neighborly, irrelevant matters. Caroline once let it slip that she was divorced. He had told her that he was retired and his wife had died two years ago. Caroline guessed he was about seventy. But he was kind and tended to look out for them.

Caroline pondered for a moment. Then she retreated to the back door and opened it slowly. She slipped outside and circled the fence partition separating her part of the backyard from her neighbor’s. Knocking three times, Caroline ran a hand through her disheveled hair. After several moments, she lifted her fist to hit the door again when it swung open.

“Oh!'” she started. “You surprised me!”

The elderly black man with a cloud of white hair and white moustache and wearing a wrinkled t-shirt and pajama pants registered surprise. “Good morning Caroline. I surprised you? You did knock on my door, didn’t you?”

Blushing, she replied, “Yes, Mr. Beck. I didn’t think you’d answer so quickly. Thought you’d still be asleep.”

“I get up at five every day. With this damn prostate, I have to pee three times a night”

“I’m sorry to disturb. But I don’t know what to do. I need your help.”

Instantly concerned, Joe Beck said, “Is it Peter? Not another asthma attack, I hope?”

Caroline shook her head. “No nothing like that.” She hesitated then continued. “It could be nothing, but something doesn’t seem right.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s out front,” she said.

Joe Beck turned and looked to the front of his unit. He spun back to Caroline and said, “Show me.”

He stepped aside and allowed her to enter. The kitchen was a mirror image of hers, small but functional with the basic amenities. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. A steaming mug sat beside an open laptop. The Wall Street Journal website shone on the screen.

Caroline followed him into the living room around which resided stacks of novels and magazines. She spied a gun of some kind–not a revolver–lying on one of the side tables. He approached the front door and was about to grab the knob when she stopped him.

“Don’t open the door!”

Beck halted and rotated, looking confused then concerned. “What?!”

She pointed to the window facing the street. Caroline walked over and separated the slats of the blind an inch or two. “That car has been parked their all night. There’s a woman sitting in it.”

“All night?”

“I heard Peter rustling around three. I happened to glance out the window. The driver was looking at her phone and her face was lit up,” she lied. “When I got up again a few minutes ago, I saw that the car and the woman were still there.”

“A friend of yours?” Beck studied Caroline. Caroline did not meet his gaze. But she replied honestly. “No, it looks suspicious. But I don’t want to call the police if it’s nothing.”

Beck scratched his balding head. “I spent thirty years in HR. I’ll find out what’s going on.”

The Black Man

Debra read the text she’d just composed: “Been here most of the night. Her car is in the drive way. No other cars around. No signs of a man. Appears to be alone!” She tapped the send arrow.

Two sharp raps on the passenger side window caused Debra to start. Her heart jumped into her throat. Her head swiveled toward the sound. Her hand instinctively moved to the blade slipped into her open bag at her feet. A tall, aging black man with white hair and moustache bent at the waist appeared ready to knock on the glass again. He was wrapped in a tan robe and the wrinkled collar of a t-shirt created a white triangle below his chin. His eyes were hard, penetrating and not inviting.

He motioned for her to lower the window. Debra depressed the door button and lowered the glass a few inches.

“Can I help you?” She asked.

“Morning.”

A ding told her that Luca had replied to her text. Good. Did you place the tracker on her car?

Debra hesitated and looked at her phone. “Good morning,” she replied with her eyes lowered, reading the response.

“You live around here?”

“Who’s asking?”

The black man hefted a thumb over his shoulder. “I live right back there. Noticed you sitting here for a while. Just checking to make sure you don’t need anything. I’m part of the neighborhood watch. Been watching you for a while now.”

He straightened and removed a cell phone from the pocket of his robe. Moving past the right front headlight, the stranger held the phone in such a way Debra could tell he was shooting a pic of her tag number.

Another ding. Did you place it?

“Ah….I was just trying to find…a place to have breakfast. There’s no need to do that,” she said when he returned to the window.

“Just a precaution. Can’t be too careful,” he retorted, bending back down to the slightly open window.

“I don’t mean any harm.”

A Third ding. Did you?

“Then you shouldn’t care if I record your plate.” The man’s eyes shifted to her phone. “Your boyfriend’s getting impatient?”

Debra looked up from the device but said nothing. Their eyes locked for a tortuous quintet of seconds.

The old man moved his gaze from the front to the back of the car. “Nice!” He smiled. The smile disintegrated just as quickly as it had appeared. “Not from around here, huh?”

“Not really.”

“Too much violence. Damn mass shootings on the television every week. Crazy ass kids doing drug deals, shooting teachers–each other. Like I said can’t be too careful. You should be careful where you hang out, young lady.”

“Ah…yeah…right,” Debra croaked. Her heart rate spiked. She could feel it pounding in her temples. The fatigue was catching up with her.

“You be moving on now. I got some neighbors who aren’t so patient as me. Try Shorty’s Diner. Opens at six in just a few minutes. Best home fries around.”

Debra put the phone in the console tray and pressed the car’s starter button. The Beamer fired up. She rammed the shift into drive and punched the accelerator. The car lurched taking the corner in a high squeal.

The phone rang through the car’s speakers. The displayed showed it was Luca. She hit the talk button and shouted, “What?”

Luca’s tired and drug-addled voice slurred. “Did you put it on her car?”

“God Damnit! Yes!”

Finding The Phone’s Owner

Ninety minutes later, Jake entered through the garage. Sweat stained his Semper Fi t-shirt in circles under the armpits and in an imverted V down the middle. It clung to his torso over a pair of red shorts trimmed in gold. The thigh of the right leg was emblazoned with the Eagle, Globe and Anchor. Jake had pushed himself harder than normal this morning. Normally, he covered the five miles in about forty-five minutes. Today, he’d done it thirty-five.

He needed to exorcize the visions. He figured he could accomplish this in three ways. First, the exertion pumped the blood hard through his veins, clearing his head and cleansing his soul. Second, he was going to get the damn phone off of his person and out of his house. Then he was going to get Lizzie from his mom and they would go do something fun. Distraction. Focus on what’s important.

He ate two pieces of toast slathered with jam and downed a second cup of coffee then hopped in a steamy shower. Twenty minutes later, he donned a pair of jeans and pulled a blue Polo over his head. He grabbed his phone from the night stand along with the unknown woman’s.

He sat at his computer desk in the downstairs office and touched the screen. The smiling image of Peter again stared up at him. In the upper left hand corner of the screen, he saw in small letters the name of the provider. He searched for the nearest outlet for that company. They opened at nine. The time on his computer screen read 8:23am.

He needed to cool his heels for about twenty minutes. He would leave then and he should get there when they opened.

His phone rang. He checked the screen and saw the name: Stephan Willings. He would keep calling until Jake answered that’s the kind of dickhead he was.

“Hello?”

Willings did not even bother with a greeting. “I need to see you this morning. I am writing you up for closing the drive-thru.”

“It was in the best interests of my patients and my practice. It was unsafe to have it remain open. We were understaffed and the chance of mistakes happening were too high.”

“Company policy does not allow you to close the drive-thru with approval.”

“I don’t care, Willings. I don’t need your approval. My name is on those prescriptions. Not yours. I’m the one who will have to answer for any mistakes made.”

“I’m not asking. I’m demanding. You come into the district office today.”

“We’ll see what the Board of Pharmacy says. It’s my day off. We’ll talk when I get back to work two days from now. Go haunt someone else!”

The benefits of the run and the shower dissolved. His ire returned climbing high in his back and neck along with a bolus of bile in his gut. I’m calling the BOP later, he told himself. This crap is going to stop. He paced around the house for a good five minutes stewing. The retail pharmacy industry was killing itself because of management’s lack of concern for its employees and their work environment. Boards of Pharmacy around the country including Virginia had begun to take action to correct the dire situation. The public was in danger from understaffed and overworked pharmacists and technicians.

Jake knew that Virginia’s Board had issued a guidance document stating the expectations for the work environment. Corporations were being advised to no longer place quotas on pharmacist for immunizations, prescriptions or time expectations. They were also mandating that staffing be appropriate. The document also said that the pharmacist on-duty had the final say as to what happened, if it happened and how it happened, not the corporations. Though the document did not have the force of law, Jake also had read that it soon would, at least, in Virginia.

His belly roiling he checked his watch. He bounded out the door and into his car. He arrived just as the customer service associate unlocked the front door.

“What can I help you with?”

“I found someone’s phone and I need to get it back to them.”

Jake place the device on the counter. The young woman turned it to her, tapped the screen and read their company’s names in the upper left corner. “Okay, I see we are the provider. I assume since you are here that you do not know whose phone it is.”

“No, I don’t. I thought maybe you could look up a serial number or something?”

“No, can’t do that. But if you want to leave it with us. Since they use our service, I can try to re-unite it with its owner if possible.”

Jake considered the offer. Considering his torment from this morning, he should take her up on it. “Ah,” Jake hesitated. “No, is there anything else you can do?”

She pressed the side buttons on the iPhone then re-started it. She explained. “Sometimes folks will put ‘In Case of Emergency’ on the Lock Screen or will put emergency contacts there as well.” The phone rebooted. The woman swiped up on the screen and the “Enter Passcode” screen appeared at the bottom the word “Emergency” and “Cancel” appeared. She tapped emergency. “They can also set up the Medical ID with emergency contacts.” She swiped at the screen again. “But that has not been done with this phone.”

“Crap,” Jake muttered.

With some effort, the woman removed the phone case and examined it. “Sometimes folks will put contact info on the phone for just this reason. But I don’t see anything. She put a finger to her mouth as she thought. “Let’s try this.” She held the phone to her face and said, “Call Mom.”

An ID popped onto the Lock Screen. The image of an elderly woman appeared and the name, “Mom”. The attendant pressed the call button. and placed the call on speaker. It rang several times and then gave that frustrating three-note tone followed by a computer voice: The voicemail box has not been set up.

“Looks like I’m outta luck,” Jake sighed.

“Well, that call should be registered on the mom’s caller log. Perhaps she’ll call back. Then you can explain you have the phone. ”

The young woman shook her head. “Sorry none of those things worked. I’ll be happy to hold it for you and see if she calls back. Or you can turn it in to the police.”

Give her the phone and be done with it!

“No,” Jake replied, tapping the phone. “I’ll think I’ll hold onto it…for now.”

Back in his car, Jake navigated back onto Jefferson Avenue headed to his mother’s to pick up Lizzie. As he braked for a light, the stranger’s phone chimed some kind of peppy tune. Jake picked up the device and clicked on.

“Hello?”

To Be Continued-

If you have a pharmacy story or a story (heroic or challenging) of everyday life in your healthcare world, send it to me by clicking the link below…

Courtney Johnson and Yezellia Bray of Victra, an authorized Verizon dealer, in Suffolk, Virginia for their assistance with the research for this month’s blog.

The author also utilized the New York Times article (04/24/2019) How to Return a Lost Phone

Check Out David’s Books

Send David Your Healthcare Successes and Challenges

If you find this blog entertaining and informative, please share it with your contacts and on social media through the links on this web page…if you are a pharmacist nurse or doctor, please share it with your colleagues…thank you

To read this serialized blog of A Relationship Beckons from the beginning, click here: Crisis Averted #1 . Then navigate to the next post using the links in the upper corners

The Plan

The Mansion

The leaden silence following Big Tommy’s words did more than shroud Debra and Luca. It oozed around and between them like a primordial essence filled with foreboding and apprehension. Luca could feel Debra tense despite the four feet separating them in the two, cushiony chairs.

“You know why I have summoned you here tonight.”

Big Tommy’s onyx eyes did not shift from Luca to Debra or vice versa. His declaration was aimed at one person. And one person only. Luca Clivio. The mafia crime boss’s attention sliced through the absolute yet terrifying stillness. For Luca, everything fell away. Tommy’s ominous glare held him like a shot of a paralyzing agent. He could see and hear. But he was unable to move, his muscles unresponsive. But Big Tommy’s eyes seemed to reach inside him, exposing every childhood sin and every improper thought. Before this criminal mastermind, Luca was a nothing more than a fly on a steaming pile of crap.

Luca did not know how much time had passed. Each second became an hour. Each minute a year. Luca returned Tommy’s hard gaze with a futile, ineffectual one of his own. Finally, Tommy demanded a response.

I said, “You know why I have summoned you here?” His gravelly voice grated in Luca’s ears.

After an eon elapsed, Luca managed an barely perceptible nod. He cleared his throat and replied, “My tribute?”

Tommy nodded with gravity of a hanging judge. “Ah si, il mio tributo.” He moved his plump hands in a gesture of incomprehension. “You are expected to provide me with $5000 a month. Your last two payments have been less than two g’s.”

Luca opened his mouth to speak. But Tommy cut him off, the ire in his tone climbing. “My other ten capos…nussun problema. Cosa sta succedendo?”

What’s going on?

A trickle of sweat snaked down the depression along his spine. Whenever Tommy started speaking in Italian, he knew things were going downhill…fast.

Luca licked his lips and swallowed. “It’s the dam…Gomez gang. They moved in several months ago. They’re undercutting us…me. Selling more blow, smack and rainbows cheaper.”

Tommy who had been leaning forward angled his bulk back against the sofa which groaned under the enormous mass. He steepled his hands in front of his chin. “And?”

“They’ve taken over the area.”

Tommy pouted his lips and nodded slowly. “What do recommend?”

Luca glanced at his Rolex. It was approaching one in the morning. “We cut our prices? Cut the product to make it cheaper so we can compete.”

The smile that crept over Big Tommy’s countenance made the thick moustache over his lip appear to shrink then expand as if it might crawl off his face. “No. no. no. Mio amato. I have made my reputation on the quality of the product we deliver. That is not an option. My other guys are making their quotas. You must be doing something wrong–”

“They have not yet spread to the other capo’s territories.” Luca’s words were involuntary and they cut off his boss. Not a wise move. Luca glanced at Debra whose eyes widened momentarily at his bold interruption. The shock they communicated made Luca’s stomach clench.

Tommy closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. He let it out slowly through his nose as the muscles in his jaw flexed. Luca had seen this reaction before when others had been the subject of the big man’s scrutiny. When his raised his puffy eyelids, they were once again slicing through Luca with the sharpness and intensity of a searing knife. “Not a good enough answer. First, you must make your account good again. You are behind by six G’s. I need payment…now!”

“But Tommy, I have no more cash. I had been paying you out of my own funds.”

“You should have solved this sooner. Nonetheless, you owe me. Pay.”

“I don’t—what do you recommend?”

Tommy did not move a muscle. His eyes shifted to the expensive watch on Luca’s wrist. “That will do nicely. That will make you whole again.”

Luca closed his eyes and pushed it out. He slipped it off his wrist and placed it on the coffee table with a click.

“Very good. And I’m going to bring in some help. I’ll call Il Gigante in the morning.”

“Il Gigante?”

“Assolumente. He will make sure the job is done to my soddisfazione. And I will give you something else.”

Tommy smiled a wide grin. He lifted his right arm whose bulk was evident even through the silk robe enveloping him. Two fingers snapped twice. One of the gargantuan men near the doorway, spun to a bookcase and lifted a wooden box from it. He carried it to the coffee table and set before Romano then quickly and quietly resumed his position by the door.

Tommy leveled an expectant gaze at Luca who alternated his eyes between Tommy and the wooden vessel.

“What’s this?” Luca asked.

With great effort, Tommy hefted himself away from the back of the couch and placed two hands on the box. He pushed it across the table nudging aside the shot glasses and the bottle of Sambuca. “Look for yourself.”

Luca rubbed his hands hands along the tops of his thighs then cautiously moved them to them to the box. The hinges faced him so he spun it around. With a finger from each hand, he lifted the lid with a low creak. The inside was cushioned and lined with blue velvet. A single item dimpled the plush interior. It was a polished, nickel-plated Smith and Wesson  Model 539 semi-automatic pistol. 

“If you’re not going to go all they way, why go at all?”

Luca frowned and furrowed his brow. A husky lump formed in his parched throat.

Tommy smiled. “Eliminate the competition.”

The Drive Home

Debra’s stylish boots straddled the gleaming woo0den box as it sat on the passenger side floorboard of Luca’s S-Class Mercedes. As he drove mechanically along the avenues of Ocean View away from Romano’s oceanfront mansion, the pair remained silent. Debra peered out her window, biting her lower lip, trying to determine when the right time would materialize to discuss Tommy Romano’s lethal directive. Luca quickly gave her an opening.

“When we get back to my place, I need you to resume your tail on Caroline.”

Debra rotated her head slowly to look at him. Luca continued staring out the windshield. After several moments of silence, she spoke. “That’s it,” she declared. “You ask me to follow your ex-wife again. Just like that!”

Luca shot her a quick look then returned his eyes to the road. He shrugged. “What?”

“Tommy just ordered you to kill…I don’t now how many people. And you ask me to follow her like nothing’s happened?”

Luca sighed. “I’ll figure something out.”

Debra scoffed. “That’s just fucking marvelous. You’ll figure something out. You do realize I was just a witness to Tommy giving you an order. If this goes bad, it will come back on me too. Ya know! What the hell have you gotten me into?”

The Tail

Caroline woke just as the first vestiges of dawn cracked over the horizon and sifted through the pines and oaks visible from her bedroom window. She felt a relief she hadn’t experienced since the day she left Luca. The decision had been made. She was going to file for sole custody of Peter. Luca would be livid, possibly, out of control. But this move was necessary for Peter’s benefit. Luca’s lifestyle, his criminal activities and his drug use. It was a easy choice but a difficult one nonetheless. For her son’s sake, there was no other option.

The digital clock on the bedside table read: 5:23 a.m. Peter would not be up for another hour and a half. Normally, Caroline woke about thirty minutes before Peter. Something had awakened her early today. She didn’t know what. Had it been a sound? But Caroline also knew that sleep would not return this morning. She was wired. Something still niggled at her. The events of yesterday were chaotic and stressful. But she was missing something. There was a dot that had not been connected.

Still carrying the burden of sleepiness, she padded into the kitchen  and pressed a button to start the coffee which was scheduled to begin brewing for another forty-five minutes. As the machine hummed and hissed to life, she picked up the legal document and perused, stopping at her signature on the final page. Her steely determination from a few minutes ago dissolved like a snowball in the fires of hell. Fear gripped her again. She knew this would be an emotional roller coaster miles long.

She tossed the papers back onto the desk, poured herself a cup of brew and strode through the living room. She separated the slates of the blind and looked out onto the street. The two-residence carriage home sat at the intersection of two wide avenues. The soft glow of early morning shone a burnt orange hue over the rooftops across the streets.

Caroline sucked in a sharp, shocked breath. What her eyes registered, connected the rogue dot that had haunted her .

The vehicle, some sort of SUV. “Son of a bitch,” she spat. It sat across the intersection. Its grill facing to Caroline’s right, giving her a three-corner view of the automobile. In the growing light, she recognized the BMW blue and white logo simulating a propeller. Dark blue or black with a pristine, glowing paint job.

The driver sat behind the wheel with her head down. Probably checking out her phone, Caroline thought. The sunlight was just right. She could make out the driver. But just to be sure, she raced to the small bedroom that she had converted into a play room for Peter. Digging around in the toy box, she found what she sought.

Running back to the window, she leveled the slates slowly to allow a better view. Lifting the orange toy binoculars to her face, she studied the driver. Long, straight blonde hair. The form fitting sweater. The same white one she’d worn as she leaned on the hospital wall less than twenty-four hours ago.

“Son of a bitch,” she repeated. Moving the binoculars slightly, she read the tag number. She didn’t have to memorize any numbers. It was a vanity plate: BTCHY.

To Be Continued-

If you have a pharmacy story or a story (heroic or challenging) of everyday life in your healthcare world, send it to me by clicking the link below…

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If you find this blog entertaining and informative, please share it with your contacts and on social media through the links on this web page…if you are a pharmacist nurse or doctor, please share it with your colleagues…thank you

To read this serialized blog of A Relationship Beckons from the beginning, click here: Crisis Averted #1 . Then navigate to the next post using the links in the upper corners.

Big Tommy

The Mansion

Luca and Debra were shown into the massive living room. The brawny henchman with the permanent scowl adorning his face patted down Luca first. His rough hands ran roughly over every inch of Luca’s frame and sparing no part of him including his crotch. He then did the same to Debra utilizing the same lack of finesse over her curves including her breasts and the upside down V of her womanhood.

Immediately after the frisks were completed, their eyes were drawn to the two-story floor-to-ceiling glass wall that fronted the lower Chesapeake Bay. At this late hour, it was a black tableau played out through vertical, rectangular panels set in tracks along the floor and ceiling. Apparently, the panels could be opened like folding doors to allow access to a wide balcony with stairs leading to a lower level and a swimming pool. Beyond that lay more stairs descending to the beach. A high, glistening curtain framed the glass wall ready to be deployed when required.  The faint sound of the gentle surf caressing the beach sifted through the thick glass along with a gentle whiff of salty air.  The twinkle of orange sodium lamps to the west belied the south island of the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel complex. Tommaso Romano had purchased several oceanfront tracts on Willoughby Spit, demolished all the buildings on them and built a towering three-story regal edifice that rivaled European castles. It bespoke the vast amount of money Romano’s crime family earned through its various arms of illegal activity.

Debra knew that Luca was oblivious to any of the history behind the residence. But when she’d first visited Romano’s stately home, she’d done a bit of research on the area and Romano’s part of it. This peninsula took its name from one Thomas Willoughby, a pilgrim who arrived in Virginia in 1610. Legend had it that this finger of land materialized overnight, created by a terrific storm–possibly a hurricane–in the mid- seventeenth century. The Willoughby family quickly took ownership of the newly created acreage and their named had become attached to it forever.

Debra could feel the cold sweat against Luca’s hand as it grasped hers as they walked stiffly and tentatively into the colossal space. The vaulted-ceiling of the room dwarfed the furnishings which were rich and expensive and coordinated with a professional hand. An assortment of comfy, over-sized chairs and two large sofas dotted the space amid coffee and end tables of light-colored mahogany. The arrangement lent an inviting and–at the same time–intimidating air.

“The view’s much better during the day.” The words came from behind them and emanated from a deep, accented voice thick with the gravelly timbre of a longtime smoker and bolstered by the sharp, confident resonance of success.

Debra and Luca turned. Though they both were quite familiar Big Tommy’s vocal signature. Luca instinctively released her hand and clasped both of his together in front of his crotch. Romano stood just inside the nine foot doorway. Two linebacker-sized men in dark suits with sizeable bulges in their jackets took up a rear guard position behind their boss.

Tommaso Romano was as wide as he was tall. No more than five-nine, he carried at least two-hundred and fifty pounds around his torso and prodigious legs. His dark features both in hue and expression were captured in a bowling ball-like face punctuated by black eyes, thick black eyebrows and a curved, black Saddam Hussein moustache that looked like a large equatorial caterpillar had taken up residence beneath his bulbous nose.

“We normally open the panels to let in the night air. But this April evening–as you know–is a little chilly. I must have you both back during the summer for a swim and a meal.”

Luca nodded and said in a rough whisper. “That sounds…wonderful, Tommy.”

Debra added. “That’s very generous, Mr. Romano.”

“Nonsense,” Tommy replied. “Please call me Tommy, we are family. Are we not?”

“Of course…Tommy,” Debra replied hesitantly. She looked in the direction of the door and saw Romano’s bodyguards standing like statutes on either side of the doorway.

He motioned to two overstuffed chairs separated from a wide couch by a wide sand-colored coffee table. Romano plopped his gelatinous frame onto the sofa, taking up a goodly portion of its seating space. When they were seated and without prompting, a liveried waiter in a short white tunic and black trousers appeared with a tray on which sat three shot glasses, a bottle of Sambuca and a long-reach lighter. The servant who appeared to be of Spanish or Mexican descent set the tray on the coffee table. In each shot glasses rested three coffee beans. The houseman poured generous amounts of the anise-flavored liquor. He then picked up the lighter and clicked it so that a long finger of flame curved up from its barrel. He touched the flame to the contents of each shot glass. Each glass seemed to erupt.

Tommy Romano waved away the waiter who left the lighter and the Sambuca on the tray. He studied his guests over the flames that were growing smaller. “We wait for the flames to turn blue. Then we drink…”

Luca held up a hand indicating he did not want to partake. “Tommy, I’m not…”

Romano’s hard gaze turned to granite, cutting off Luca without a sound. “You come into my home and refuse an offer of hospitality. You will drink. We have an urgent matter to discuss…as you know.”

By now, the flames had dwindled to a blue haze. Tommy placed his meaty paw over the shot glass smothering both the fire and the vessel. He nodded to his guests that they should do the same. Luca instantly covered his glass with his slender almost emaciated hand. Debra did the same, wincing as she did so, anticipating some pain. But none came…a brief warmth.

Tommy lifted his glass. “Cin Cin alla nostra salute!” Luca and Debra touched theirs to his. They tilted their heads back and downed the fiery liquid. Debra winced as the burn fell to her belly.

Romano relaxed his bulk deeper into the cushions.  He steepled his hands in front of his chest. His black, emotionless eyes bore into his capo. “You know why I have summoned you here tonight.”

Caroline

Caroline could not sleep. The events of the day clung to her like a skunk’s spray. She padded into the kitchen in her in her t-shirt and short. A coating of sweat dampened her clothes. She moved down the hallway. Cracking the door to his bedroom, she checked on Peter. In the faint moonlight sifting through the window, she could see his angelic face deep in the throes of slumber. His breathing was deep and regular with a slight snore. He cradled a football in his arms. The sight of him safe and unharmed comforted her.

Caroline moved back into the kitchen and the small desk area built-in near the pantry Their Williamsburg carriage home was small compared to what she was used to when she mas married to Luca. It was a four thousand square foot domicile in Newport News. Trading the luxury for her sanity was worth an untold price.

She sat at the chair before the desk, opened the drawer and removed a large manila envelope. Undoing the clasp, Caroline removed the sheaf of documents. She read over the legal document from her attorney that had been sitting untouched for two months:

Request for Change in Child Custody

Without hesitation, she plucked a pen from the coffee cup on the desk, clicked it and scribbled her name on the second page. With a heavy sigh, she closed her eyes and prayed for strength. This was going to be the flight of her life. And she was not looking forward to it.

To Be Continued-

If you have a pharmacy story or a story (heroic or challenging) of everyday life in your healthcare world, send it to me by clicking the link below…

Check Out David’s Books

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If you find this blog entertaining and informative, please share it with your contacts and on social media through the links on this web page…if you are a pharmacist nurse or doctor, please share it with your colleagues…thank you