Royal Pains : Sick Rich (9781101559536) (9 page)

“I understand completely. Wish I didn't. Wish we didn't have to. Things are very different than when I was in high school.”

Hawkins nodded. “And light-years from when I was.”

“What can I do?” I asked.

“I want you to help me get the word out. Not just to your doctor friends but to everyone.”

“I'll do what I can.”

Hawkins smiled. “Don't be so modest. I know about your practice. You see some of the most influential people in the Hamptons. Civic leaders. Community and fund-raising directors. Even the head of the school board if my information is correct.”

I shrugged.

“These are the people who can spread the word like a virus in a boot camp. And that's what we need. More eyes and ears. Shut this thing down before something really bad happens.”

“I'll call a few of my patients.”

“That would help immensely.”

“I'll also call the ER director at Hamptons Heritage. He's a good guy, and he stays on top of this kind of stuff. He'll send the word out to all the ERs in the area.”

“I've already spoken with Bernard Bernstein over at the Medical Society,” Hawkins added. “He's going to send out an e-mail blast to all his members.”

Dr. Bernard Bernstein was president of the Suffolk County Medical Society. I had met him before.

McCutcheon massaged his neck. “It's going to be a pain for the department, but let everyone either of you talk to know that we want to be called on any case of amphetamine or ecstasy use that they see or even suspect. I don't know how many the private practitioners and the ER docs see, but I bet it's a lot more than we might think.”

The truth is that the police are almost never notified when someone comes to the ER stoned. It's just too common. The police would run themselves ragged taking reports. Most of the stoners that do come in are casual users of things like alcohol and marijuana and occasionally ecstasy and even methamphetamines. Usually confused, disoriented, or with dizziness or vomiting or some other toxic symptom. Unless they've been assaulted or have assaulted someone or been involved in some accident, the police usually aren't called. The user's symptoms are treated and he's sent home. What McCutcheon was telling me was that that was about to change.

Hawkins stood. I did, too. He shook my hand. “Thanks, Hank.”

“Thanks for telling me. I know Kevin Moxley's mother will be impressed with what you guys are doing.”

“It's for kids like Kevin that this is so important,” Hawkins said.

“True.” I walked toward the door but stopped and turned back to look at Hawkins and McCutcheon. “I think I'll talk with Principal Hyatt, too. Maybe he has some thoughts on how to combat this.”

“I'll let him know to expect your call,” McCutcheon said.

I left McCutcheon's office and headed for the high school. On the way I called Divya and told her what I had learned about Kevin Moxley's cute little pink pills. She was as astonished as I had been. She had just finished the last follow-up and said she'd meet me at the HankMed booth.

“I'll be a few minutes late,” I said. “I'm going to swing by and see the principal first.”

“It's July. Why would the principal be in his office in July?”

“Because it's a year-round job and because summer school is going on.”

“I never thought of that. I just assumed they had a three-month vacation every year.”

“Not the principal. Sergeant McCutcheon spoke with him earlier and he said he would be in his office all day, so I thought I'd stop by and talk with him about all this.”

“See you shortly.”

Here's a life lesson: Never put off anything important. Just do it. If you don't, something equally as important will come along and you'll be behind the curve. Playing catch-up the rest of the day. Doctors know this. That's why they make hospital rounds so early in the morning. Before something big comes along. A sick ER patient. An ICU cardiac arrest. Things that can trash the entire day. Particularly if you're already behind.

To me, calling some of my more influential patients was important and shouldn't be put off. The sooner the word on this new drug got out there, the better. So once I parked in the high school lot, I spent the next thirty minutes calling several of my most well-connected patients. Each was shocked at the story I had to tell and was more than eager to spread the word.

Finally I climbed out of my Saab and set off looking for the principal's office.

That's exactly where I found Jerome Hyatt. I had met him once before and of course knew him by reputation. He had been principal at the high school for more than three decades and was very pro-student. He even demanded that they, and their parents, call him Jerry rather than by his title. That degree of informality could have backfired and led to disrespect, anarchy, and acting out, but Jerry had a knack for garnering respect even in the face of such laxness.

What was truly amazing was that he had kept the job so long, since siding with students meant that he had to butt heads with the board of education on a regular basis. But even the board members seemed to love him, so he survived despite the occasional skirmish.

The outside door to his office was closed but unlocked, so I walked in. His secretary's desk was empty, the computer turned off, so I assumed she was not in today. The interior door that led to his private office was standing open and I saw him, sitting at his desk, head down, reading. I rapped on the doorframe. He looked up.

“Dr. Lawson.” He stood and came around the desk to shake my hand. “What a pleasant surprise. Sergeant McCutcheon called a few minutes ago and said you'd be contacting me.” He smiled. “Of course I thought it would be by telephone.”

“We're working on our booth for the health fair, so I thought it was easier just to come by and see if you were in.”

“Please, have a seat.” He retreated to his chair. “This is the time of year that's the hardest. You would think summers would be easy, but with our summer classes as filled as they are and with all the new rules and regulations that are coming into effect next year, like every other year unfortunately, this is what I do with my so-called vacation time.” He waved a hand over the stacks of papers on his desk.

“Sounds like the life of a doctor.”

“Very true, though maybe not as life-and-death.”

“Molding lives is often as important as saving them.”

“Perhaps.” He shrugged. “But that's not why you're here.” He rested his elbows on his desk and laced his fingers before him. “Sergeant McCutcheon told me about this new designer drug.” He shook his head. “I just don't understand this.”

“I'm not sure I do either, if that's any consolation.”

“I'm one of those who won't even take an aspirin. For the life of me I can't understand why anyone would put some unknown and unregulated chemical in their body. It just makes no sense.”

“You, of all people, know why,” I said. “Teenagers like to live on the edge. Using drugs like this is just part of that.”

“Unfortunately that's all too true.” He sighed.

I flashed on the old Springsteen song made famous by Manfred Mann. “Blinded by the Light
.
” The lines where Mama told him not to look into the eyes of the sun, to which the reply was that that's where the fun is.

This drug was the eyes of the sun. The users were looking for the fun.

“I understand that this one could be a little more dangerous than the usual,” Hyatt said. “Is that how you see it?”

I nodded. “Anytime you start mixing drugs—what we call polypharmacy—things can get sideways. And when you mix two different amphetamines like crystal meth and MDMA, the results can be unpredictable.”

His face seemed to collapse, pain written in every crease and a deep sadness in his eyes. Jerry Hyatt loved kids and I was sure that seeing a new destructive force enter their lives made him feel that he had failed them in some way. He of course hadn't, not now and probably not ever, but I knew I would never convince the man sitting before me of that truth, so I didn't try.

Instead I said, “I understand you've noticed an increase in drugs here at school?”

“It's a little soon to tell, but I think so. In the last three months of the school year––say March, April, and May––we sent around a dozen kids home for being in school under the influence of something.”

“That's more than usual?”

“Perhaps. It's hard to tell with such a short time span and small sample size. I couldn't say it's a statistically significant difference, but my gut tells me that that many is a slight increase.”

“Besides the numbers, was there any difference in the symptoms that the kids displayed?”

He hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowed. “I would say yes. A couple I can remember seemed to be a little more out of it than the typical stoners we see.”

“What do you mean by ‘out of it'?”

“More erratic behavior. More confused than the typical marijuana user. Maybe even a shade more hostile.”

“Did you involve the police in any of those instances?”

“Just once. But that was more about the fight that broke out in the parking lot than about the drugs. Though both of the combatants were obviously intoxicated.”

“What's your policy on reporting drug use at school to the police?”

“We try to avoid that if we can. Don't get me wrong—I think drug use is destructive and criminal. But the ramifications of police and court involvement can be equally destructive.”

“I can't say I disagree with that.”

“Not that I blame the police. It's just that a kid can sometimes become overwhelmed, even consumed, by the system. Take a minor self-limited problem and make it a permanent mark. It's often a tough call.”

I nodded. He was right. Same with stoners and tweakers who ended up in the ER. It's a judgment call.

“We almost always talk with the parents,” Hyatt continued, “but getting the police involved would probably complicate things and waste their time.” He spread his hands flat on the surface of his desk. “These aren't bad kids. They don't really harm anyone. Except themselves, of course. I like to handle these things as a family issue rather than a legal one.”

“Unless a fight or something like that is involved?”

“Exactly. Look. Most of them use alcohol, maybe drink a few beers at lunch, and come back in with alcohol on their breath. Some of them sit in their cars and smoke marijuana before coming to class. I've seen that myself.” He shrugged. “I don't like it. I do everything I can to fight it. But at the end of the day I'd rather help them, or at least try to, than make a legal issue out of it.”

“I understand. And I agree. Most of this is harmless and experimental, and I would assume that most of them will outgrow it and move on with their lives. But I'm worried about this new combination. It has the potential to create some truly bizarre behavior.”

“You've made my day,” he said with a sad smile. “As if these teenagers didn't have enough going on in their bodies and their brains with all the social and hormonal stuff, now they've got a new drug to throw into the mix.” His shoulders slumped and he settled back in his chair.

“I couldn't have said it better.”

“I'll keep my eyes and ears open and I'll be a little quicker to call the police than I normally would.”

“Let's hope this is a few isolated cases and not the start of something bigger.”

“You don't believe that, though, do you?”

“No, I don't. But maybe we can stop it early.”

“Let's hope.”

Chapter 11

“Point your toes,” Danielle said.

“I am. They won't fit through.”

“Didn't you try this on at the surf shop?”

“It seemed easier then.” Evan struggled to pull on his wet suit, not getting very far. His left foot kept getting stuck, stretching the material. “My foot's too big.”

“Bragger.”

“What?”

“You know. Big feet—”

“Funny. How come yours just slid right on?”

“My feet are smaller. Besides, I pointed my toes.”

“And your suit's much cooler.” He flapped one of the arms of his wet suit. “All the cool ones were gone. Something about this being a holiday weekend. So I got stuck with this orange and yellow one.”

“It'll be fine.”

“But everyone's staring.”

“No they're not. Now, let's get you into it and get the lesson started.”

Evan sat on the rear bumper of Danielle's SUV and continued his struggles.

“Let me help,” she said.

Evan extended his leg toward her. While she tugged and yanked each wet suit leg up over his feet, three teenage boys walked by, snickering and looking at Evan. Their eyes were glassy, pupils wide and black.

“Dude, you trying to get that on or off?” one of them asked.

The other two giggled.

“On.”

They burst out laughing.

The apparent leader of the group said, “Why? You'll look like a parrot. A giant yellow and orange parrot.”

More giggles.

“A cockatoo,” one of the other boys said. “Not a parrot. A cockatoo.”

The leader landed a playful punch on the other boy's shoulder. “Dude, you totally slay me.”

“Why don't you guys move along?” Danielle said. “Do something useful.”

“Uh-oh, his mommy's getting upset.”

More laughter as they continued across the parking lot, occasionally glancing back, stumbling as if drunk.

“The youth of America,” Danielle said. “And people wonder why we're in trouble.”

“They looked stoned to me,” Evan said.

“You think? Or it's possible they're just losers.”

Danielle gave a final tug and Evan's second foot popped through. “There you go.”

Evan rolled the suit up to his waist, leaving the arms dangling at his sides. He looked down at his orange and yellow legs. “I do look like a cockatoo.”

“It'll keep you warm. That's the important thing.”

“Hank said I'd be shark food in this color.”

“I think sharks are color-blind.”

“Really?”

“Actually, I don't know, but I thought that'd make you feel better.”

“But they do like surfers.”

“That's a myth.”

“Are you sure? Or are you still trying to make me feel better?”

“Both.”

A couple with two small children walked by, heading toward the beach. The man carried a cooler in one hand, his other arm hooked through two beach chairs. The woman had a stack of towels under one arm as she herded the children along. The adults eyed Evan as they walked by.

“People are still staring at me.”

“It's your imagination. You look fine.”

“Easy for you to say. Your suit's ultracool.”

It was. Solid black and form-fitting. Of course it was custom-made for her. One of the perks of being a pro.

“Look at it this way. With that outfit it'll be easy for me to keep track of you in the water,” Danielle said.

“Are you sure I need this? It's July.”

“The water doesn't know that. You'll be glad you have it when we get out there.”

Evan wasn't convinced, since sweat was already collecting beneath the suit.

“It's too crowded here. Let's grab our boards and move down that way.” Danielle pointed toward a rock outcropping about a hundred yards away. The beach there had only a few sunbathers.

She pulled open the back door of her SUV, revealing half a dozen surfboards.

“Are all these yours?” Evan asked.

“Yeah.”

“Are they expensive?”

“Not for me. My sponsor gives me as many as I want. And wet suits and anything else I need.”

“That's so cool,” Evan said. “I need a sponsor.”

Danielle laughed. “Let's get you up on a board first. Then we'll see about sponsors.”

“I'm going to shred it,” Evan said.

“Shred it?”

“I read one of those surfer magazines you gave me. Isn't that the current lingo?”

“I think we'll be doing more paddling than shredding today.”

“You'll see. Evan R. Lawson is destined to be a great surfer.”

Danielle laughed again. “Here, Big Kahuna.” She lifted a red-trimmed white board and handed it to him. “This one should work for you.”

Evan took it from her and said, “It's not as heavy as it looks.”

“Boards are lighter now. Not the old wooden logs of the past.” Danielle grabbed her board, ivory with two dark green stripes running its length. “These are my competition boards, so they're very light.” She clicked the SUV locks, tucked her board under one arm, and said, “Let's go.”

She headed down the beach. Evan followed. Danielle carried her board easily, casually, but Evan struggled with his, not sure exactly how to grip it. He managed, but did drop it a couple of times.

Before they had gone very far, two bathing suit–clad young girls—early teens, Evan guessed—intercepted them. They shielded the sun from their eyes and looked up at Danielle.

“Aren't you Danielle Delaney?” one of them asked.

“Yes. And who are you?”

“I'm Rebecca. This is my friend Alex.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“We're big fans,” Rebecca said. Alex nodded enthusiastically.

“Do you young ladies surf?” Danielle asked.

“No. But we saw that meet you won. On TV. The one in Hawaii.”

“The Pipeline meet,” Danielle said. “That was a tough one. The waves were fierce.”

“Looked that way. I don't know how you stay on the board with all that going on.”

“That's the trick, isn't it?”

The girls giggled.

“I can't believe it's really you,” Rebecca said. “I can't wait to tell all my friends!”

“I'm flattered.”

The two stood awkwardly for a minute.

“Tell you what,” Danielle said, nodding toward the camera Rebecca held. “How about a picture together?”

“Really?” the girls said in unison. Their eyes could not have gotten any bigger without exploding.

“Really.” Danielle smiled at them.

“That would be so way cool,” Rebecca said.

Danielle took the camera and handed it to Evan. “Want to do the honors?”

“My pleasure.”

Danielle positioned herself between the girls and Evan took a series of pictures and then handed the camera back to Rebecca.

“There you go,” he said.

“Thanks you! Thank you!” Rebecca said.

The girls turned and took off, giggling, with arms waving, toward a group of adults, most likely their parents, who were gathered beneath a pair of umbrellas.

“You just made their day,” Evan said. “That was nice of you.”

“Fans are one of the things that makes pro surfing fun.” She looked at Evan. “And teaching new surfers, of course. Ready?”

“Let's do it.”

They continued down the beach. When they cleared the crowd of sunbathers and neared the rocks, Evan headed toward the water.

“Where are you going?” Danielle asked.

“The water. Isn't that where you surf?”

She laughed. “Not yet, Big Kahuna. We start here on the beach.”

Evan dragged his board toward her. “Why?”

“Slow down. We'll get in the water soon. First you need to learn a few things.”

“Like what?”

“Like how to stand on the board.”

“Like this?” Evan dropped the board on the sand and stepped up on it. He wobbled a bit, lost his balance, and one foot slid off onto the sand.

“See?” Danielle laughed. “It's not as easy as it looks.”

Evan shrugged. “Okay. What do I do?”

“Lie down on your board.” He did. Danielle walked around him. She nudged his foot with her toe. “Move up a little. So you're balanced in the middle.”

He wiggled up into position.

“That's it. Now, this is how you'll lie on the board when we head out and when we paddle to catch a wave. Make sure your arms can move freely.”

Evan mock-paddled.

“Perfect. Now watch me.”

Danielle lay down on her board. “When you catch the wave you'll want to jump up on your knees.” She deftly pushed up to a kneeling position. “Make sure you're centered when you do. Now you try it.”

“On my knees?” Evan asked. “I thought we were going to stand up.”

“Later. You have to crawl before you can walk.”

Evan sprang to his knees several times.

“Bet this is easier in the water,” Evan said.

“It isn't,” Danielle said. “Here the sand balances the board for you. Out there's a different story.”

Evan jumped up to his knees and then back down. Then up on his knees again.

“That's it,” Danielle said. “Work on that for a few minutes and then we'll try it in the water.”

Evan made the move twenty or so times. While he was doing it, he noticed the three teen boys who had harassed him earlier. Up near the edge of the beach, standing next to a van, talking with a couple. The guy was tall and thin, with a ponytail down to the middle of his back; the girl was shorter but also thin and with long, dark hair.

One of the boys exchanged something with the man, both stuffing whatever it was into their pockets. The couple then climbed into the van and drove away while the boys turned back up the beach.

“Looks good,” Danielle said. “Let's hit the water.”

I found Divya at the HankMed booth.

“How did your meeting with the principal go?”

“He didn't put me in detention, if that's what you mean.”

Divya laughed. “That would be more Evan's style.”

“True. Jerry Hyatt is as disturbed as we all are over this new drug. He's going to keep an eye out for it and be a little more proactive about calling in the police.”

“Maybe the police can find out where this stuff is coming from and put a stop to it.”

“Let's hope. How'd the visits go?”

“Fine. I completed my notes if you want to see them.”

“Later.”

“I've been thinking about how best to configure the booth,” Divya said. “I think the desk is fine there. Maybe an exam table along each side. We'll need some privacy screens, though.”

“I'd bet Jill has some we can use.”

“Probably. If not, I'll rent them.” Divya pointed to the two rear corners. “The portable X-ray can go in one of those corners, and we can stack consumable supplies in the other.”

I looked around. “It'll be tight, but we can make it work.”

“We can park the van right there, can't we?” She pointed toward the back of the booth. The two rear flaps were tied open, revealing a grassy area.

“I think so. We'll ask Jill.”

“That would make things much easier. We can leave some of our equipment in the van that way.”

“Maybe keep the X-ray unit in the van until we need it,” I said. “That'll open up more space in here.”

“Good idea.”

I walked to the front of the booth and gazed across at the Hamptons Heritage booth. Several people were working there, but I didn't see Jill among them. “Have you seen Jill?”

“No.”

“Let's go find her.”

We went out into the middle of the football practice field and turned toward the opposite end, moving along one set of hash marks. The health fair setup was well under way. Each of the goalposts was wrapped in red, white, and blue. Canvas booths completely circled the track that bordered the field. Some sat empty, but others were filled with people prepping for the weekend. A long-jump pit, an obstacle course, a pair of trampolines, a scaffold with three dangling ropes for climbing competitions, and a cluster of gymnastic bars and beams dotted the field itself.

We found Jill near the gymnastics equipment. She gave us a tour, showing us where booths would be for CPR instruction by the American Heart Association, child safety, bicycle safety, skin cancer protection and prevention, home health and safety instruction, smoking cessation and a Tobacco-Free Youth program, drug use intervention and prevention, back health, diabetic testing, hearing testing, eye exams by two local ophthalmologists, nutritional counseling, lung function testing by one of the hospital pulmonologists, and even insurance counseling. There were also commercial booths: Marcy's Bodyworks, Wiggins Waters, Good Vibrations Massage Chairs, Verona's Health Foods and Vitamins, and of course, Fleming's Custom Shop. None of these had been set up yet.

“We're going to have races for the various age groups,” Jill said. “Nothing longer than a mile, though. Some relays, too. On Sunday afternoon we'll have Evan's fund-raising walk.”

“How are the sign-ups for that going?” Divya asked.

“It's been unbelievable. We have all three hundred slots filled and a waiting list. Thanks to Evan.”

“He's obsessed about it for two months,” I said.

“His obsession has paid off. He's rounded up folks from various businesses, social clubs, even the PTA and the Chamber of Commerce.”

“Maybe that's his true calling,” I said. “Maybe he should be a professional fund-raiser.”

“Don't forget superspy,” Divya said.

“How could I?”

We completed our lap around the field and reached the HankMed booth. Jill pointed across the end zone toward the Hamptons Heritage booth.

“I thought putting the two medical booths near the front and one on each side of the field would be best. That should make them easy to find since everyone will see them as they come in.”