Pitfall by Cameron Bane Page A

Democrat-Advocate .” As the nurse looked at my card I craned my head around, grinning. “This is a nice place you have here.”
    Sure it was. If you could get past those disgusting posters on the walls, the waiting area looked like nothing more than the tension room at a third-rate dentist’s office. But I kept that to myself.
    Her expression turned skeptical. “You’re a reporter?” Sharp as a razor, this gal. Didn’t I just say that?
    “That’s right. May I ask you some questions?”
    Bluto narrowed her eyes. “What about?” Her cordiality had dropped another ten points, and she couldn’t spare it.
    “My paper is developing a story on health issues and family planning in the twenty-first century. I was hoping to speak to your boss about that.” Reaching into my shirt pocket, I pulled out my small Sony voice recorder. I flipped it on, casually holding it in my left hand. “May I have his name please?”
    “I’m sure he won’t want to speak with you. He’s a very busy man.”
    I sighed. “That’s discouraging.” Then I brightened. “But how about letting the doctor decide that?” I smiled in what I hoped was a boyish way. Sometimes it works with these types.
    “No.” Bluto continued glaring, boring neat, round holes into me. “And unless you have legitimate business with this clinic, I suggest you leave. Now.”
    It seemed my Jimmy Olsen persona had just gone down in flames. Time to punt. I turned away from her. “Say, are any of these posters for sale?”
    “What?”
    I motioned toward them. “These posters. I was just wondering if they were for sale. Only last week we had to move my Granny into a rest home in Florida. Poor old lady. She’s really not happy there, and I’ve been wracking my brains for a house-warming present.”
    I wished with all my heart she really was in a nursing home. Granny’s been gone for the better part of twenty years, leaving a hole in my life as big as the moon.
    “She likes hospital dramas. The gorier the better. Any of these would do.” I leaned closer to one, a particularly oozing putrescent thing that looked like seafood gone bad. “How do you pronounce this? Is it gonor rhe a or go nor rhea?” Before the nurse could answer, I plopped down in the nearest cheap plastic chair. “Oh man, that’s better. Hotter than a Teamsters’ meeting outside. The AC in here feels great.”
    Bluto plainly had had enough. Her knitted eyebrows made one long, black caterpillar of distaste as she stood and pointed at me. “What do you think you’re doing? Get out!”
    I shut off the recorder and put it back in my shirt pocket. Then lacing my hands behind my head I stretched back, my grin devilish. “No, I don’t think I will.”
    “You will or I’ll call the police.”
    “Do that.” My grin faded. “Better yet, let me. I’m sure your employer will love the publicity. Especially the way I’ll write it. Can you see the headline?” I waved my hand. “‘Reporter arrested in neighborhood clinic. Many issues raised. Doctor questioned.’ ”
    She stared in disbelief as I sat up, folding my hands loosely in my lap. “Ma’am, I’m not your enemy. Truly I’m not. And if you don’t want to tell me your boss’s name, that’s all right. I’ll just get it from public records. I was simply hoping that in the interests of general goodwill, if nothing else, you’d see your way clear to help me out a little.”
    Bluto’s lips were a thin compressed line—thin-lips!—and you could tell she just hated it, but she was stuck. I had her by the short ones, well and truly, and we both knew it.
    “What do you want to know?” she hissed.
    “Same as before. Your boss’s name, and what time he comes in.”
    “Very well.” If dirty looks were bullets, I’d be as perforated as the earthen berm at a gun club. “His name is Manfred, Doctor Ernst Manfred. He comes in at nine.”
    I stood. “There now, Mrs. Blutarski, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Taking a chance, I