tumbled out of his jacket.
The doctor now wore that same look of discomfort. He swallowed. Tried to plaster on a professional smile. ‘I’m sorry . . . this is a little irregular.’
‘Most of your business is a little irregular, doc.’ The other man’s cheek was tinged with red. ‘I’ve got a wound to the head . . .’
The doctor’s discomfort increased as he forcefully interrupted, ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to wait in reception while I run our usual checks . . .’
But Mac wasn’t in the mood to wait. ‘I don’t want to be rude, but you’re a doctor and I’m a patient. You know who I work for and you’ve seen me before. Now make me all better again, doc.’
Deeply unhappy, Masri indicated to Mac that he should get on the deep-green leather examination table. ‘Take a seat on the edge.’
As soon as Mac was seated, the doctor took off the strip of towel, placed it in the medical waste bin and then began his examination.
‘You’re a very lucky man. I suspect that if the angle of the gun that was aimed at you had been a fraction different, the bullet might have fractured your skull. Or maybe you wouldn’t be sitting here now.’ He said the last as if he wanted that to be the case. ‘I’ll need to shave some of your hair, clean up the wound and then put in some stitches or staples . . .’
‘No staples,’ Mac interrupted. ‘I don’t want to look like the son of Frankenstein.’
There were, of course, no questions about how Mac had been shot in the first place. Doctor Mo knew better than that. While the good doctor prepared to do his work, Mac hopped off the examination table and went back to the window. The black Merc was back. He said nothing as he resumed his seat. The doctor gave Mac some antibiotics and smiled at a job well done.
‘Well,’ the doctor started as he snapped his gloves off. ‘If that’s all . . . ?’
‘Can you check me over and find out if I was drugged last night?’ Mac interrupted.
‘Drugged?’
‘Yes. I’ve no recollection of what happened to me from yesterday evening until I woke up this morning with part of my head missing. I need you to check to see if someone slipped me a mickey.’
The doctor looked back at him as if he was seeing that shotgun again. ‘The wound you’ve sustained might well have caused short-term amnesia. It’s quite normal. It’s also clear to me that you’re going through some type of shock. Whether that was caused by the bullet or by the circumstances in which you sustained it, I can’t say. If I were you, I’d just get back to . . . um . . . work . That’s the best cure for shock.’
‘Can you give me something for that, then? The “shock”?’
The doctor shook his head, ‘If I’m going to test you for drugs or supply you with any sort of longer-term medication, I’m contractually obliged to seek authorisation from your employer.’ Mac knew what that meant. Reuben didn’t like his people using uppers and downers. ‘Drugs make you an easy target for the cops and our rivals,’ Reuben had told him.
‘If you’d like me to request that,’ the doctor carried on, ‘I will happily do so. But experience suggests that you might have to wait some time for me to get an answer . . .’
‘No,’ Mac said. If the doctor talked to anyone in the gang then questions would start being asked. Plus, he didn’t have time to rest up.
Mac gestured to the window. ‘Can you think of any reason why two heavies in a Merc would be parked down the road from this clinic?’
The face of Mo Masri looked like he was seeing a fist coming straight at him. For more than half a minute he carefully watched the street. When he turned, Mac noticed how pale his skin looked, like he was now the one in shock. ‘Can you excuse me a moment? I have to make some phone calls.’
Mac dropped one of his feet on the ground as he leaned forward. ‘Is there a problem?’
From Mo’s face it certainly
The doctor now wore that same look of discomfort. He swallowed. Tried to plaster on a professional smile. ‘I’m sorry . . . this is a little irregular.’
‘Most of your business is a little irregular, doc.’ The other man’s cheek was tinged with red. ‘I’ve got a wound to the head . . .’
The doctor’s discomfort increased as he forcefully interrupted, ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to wait in reception while I run our usual checks . . .’
But Mac wasn’t in the mood to wait. ‘I don’t want to be rude, but you’re a doctor and I’m a patient. You know who I work for and you’ve seen me before. Now make me all better again, doc.’
Deeply unhappy, Masri indicated to Mac that he should get on the deep-green leather examination table. ‘Take a seat on the edge.’
As soon as Mac was seated, the doctor took off the strip of towel, placed it in the medical waste bin and then began his examination.
‘You’re a very lucky man. I suspect that if the angle of the gun that was aimed at you had been a fraction different, the bullet might have fractured your skull. Or maybe you wouldn’t be sitting here now.’ He said the last as if he wanted that to be the case. ‘I’ll need to shave some of your hair, clean up the wound and then put in some stitches or staples . . .’
‘No staples,’ Mac interrupted. ‘I don’t want to look like the son of Frankenstein.’
There were, of course, no questions about how Mac had been shot in the first place. Doctor Mo knew better than that. While the good doctor prepared to do his work, Mac hopped off the examination table and went back to the window. The black Merc was back. He said nothing as he resumed his seat. The doctor gave Mac some antibiotics and smiled at a job well done.
‘Well,’ the doctor started as he snapped his gloves off. ‘If that’s all . . . ?’
‘Can you check me over and find out if I was drugged last night?’ Mac interrupted.
‘Drugged?’
‘Yes. I’ve no recollection of what happened to me from yesterday evening until I woke up this morning with part of my head missing. I need you to check to see if someone slipped me a mickey.’
The doctor looked back at him as if he was seeing that shotgun again. ‘The wound you’ve sustained might well have caused short-term amnesia. It’s quite normal. It’s also clear to me that you’re going through some type of shock. Whether that was caused by the bullet or by the circumstances in which you sustained it, I can’t say. If I were you, I’d just get back to . . . um . . . work . That’s the best cure for shock.’
‘Can you give me something for that, then? The “shock”?’
The doctor shook his head, ‘If I’m going to test you for drugs or supply you with any sort of longer-term medication, I’m contractually obliged to seek authorisation from your employer.’ Mac knew what that meant. Reuben didn’t like his people using uppers and downers. ‘Drugs make you an easy target for the cops and our rivals,’ Reuben had told him.
‘If you’d like me to request that,’ the doctor carried on, ‘I will happily do so. But experience suggests that you might have to wait some time for me to get an answer . . .’
‘No,’ Mac said. If the doctor talked to anyone in the gang then questions would start being asked. Plus, he didn’t have time to rest up.
Mac gestured to the window. ‘Can you think of any reason why two heavies in a Merc would be parked down the road from this clinic?’
The face of Mo Masri looked like he was seeing a fist coming straight at him. For more than half a minute he carefully watched the street. When he turned, Mac noticed how pale his skin looked, like he was now the one in shock. ‘Can you excuse me a moment? I have to make some phone calls.’
Mac dropped one of his feet on the ground as he leaned forward. ‘Is there a problem?’
From Mo’s face it certainly
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