The Protocol: A Prescription to Die (4 page)

Chapter 3

Eat was back on the freeway, headed towards the city. He had travelled extensively, and had seen several skylines. Even though it was home, Minneapolis was definitely one of his favorites.

The chasm between winter and spring was not the most beautiful time in the upper Midwest. The beginning of March was the worst: it seemed the weather developed temporary insanity, and right now Minnesota was in the middle of a kickass personality conflict. The landscape was brown, wet, and muddy. Mounds of stubborn snirt, the combination of snow and dirt, littered the ditches and parking lots, and provided more mud to be picked up by cars and flung onto the windshields of those following too close. Courageous souls on motor cycles tended to look more like raccoons at the end of their ride than human beings. Eat’s budget for windshield washer fluid and car washes, climbed exponentially during this time of the year. However dirty it could be though, Eat preferred this time of the year. Everything was on the verge of being reborn. There were no mosquitoes to wrestle with, and that fact alone was reason to enjoy the seasonal changes here. His lungs didn’t freeze solid with every attempt at inhalation during this time of year, either.

It was the time of year when the trees were slowly anticipating the beginning of spring. They, too, were caught in the middle of the seasonal war of personalities, and didn’t know whether to begin budding or wait another few weeks. If he tried to focus on a single tree, it still looked brown and lifeless. When he passed a group of trees, or looked towards the horizon, he could make out the initial whispers of green that heralded the news that spring was winning not only the battle, but also the war. A chirp from his car’s stereo, told him that he had a call.

“Hello Beautiful,” he said after he pressed the small telephone button on his steering wheel. There were only a few people who had this number, so he knew it was safe to use his very familiar greeting. The added insurance of the caller ID told him who it was.

Andy.

“Hey Handsome,” she replied. “I was wondering. Would my man like to come by the office, pick me up, and have some lunch with his lady?”

“I just had a Hot Pocket, a handful of Cookie Crisp, and a warm Diet Pepsi,” said Eat.

“You have got to be kidding,” she laughed and snorted.

Eat thoroughly enjoyed yanking her chain.

“Yup. About fifteen minutes ago. But I could go for some real food. Sounds good. Promise there won’t be any dead bodies lying around?”

Andy was a forensic scientist for the City of Minneapolis and it seemed like every time Eat went to her office, Andy was digging, poking, probing, and prodding into something or someone who had devolved into a mass of gelatinous goop. He never thought there would be much need for those services in Minnesota, but apparently more unexplained death occurred than was reported in the news.

“Scouts honor. No dead bodies. At least nothing with a face.”

“Good. Then we can . . . “

Eat heard a rustling in the background and could tell Andy was no longer facing the phone. She’d been distracted.

“Oh. Ok. Just put it over there.”

There was a slight pause, and then he heard her voice again.

“Let me find a pen. Hey Eat. Hang on. I just received a transfer from the morgue.”

He could hear Andy rifling through the desk drawer. Eat knew she was likely in search of a pen. Since he knew what the office and desk looked like, and knew he was on the speakerphone, Eat interrupted.

“There’s one to the right of your monitor on your desk. A red one I think.”

Eat was just there yesterday, and remembered seeing it. He was sure it hadn’t been touched, and was positive that Andy hadn’t found the time to organize the desk since. Saying the desk and office had clutter, was like saying the Sahara Desert was covered in sand. The amount of work Andy had backed up was mind-boggling.

“Yup. There it is. What are you, telepathic? Can’t be red though. Need blue or black,” there was more rifling and then the sound of a slamming desk drawer. “Shit! Do you have one?”

Eat assumed that the question was directed to whoever had delivered the latest specimen, as it wouldn’t help the situation if he had one or not. Eat rolled his eyes, shook his head, and smiled. Although Andy was incredibly intelligent, one of the smartest in his opinion, organization wasn’t her strong point.

“Look behind the box of tissues. You always throw pens on your desk, and they bounce behind it. Remember? You did that just the other day. I’m sure it’s still there,” Eat heard the box being slid across the desk.

“Ah. There it is. You’re good Eat. Peculiar. But definitely good. That’s why I love you, though.”

Eat heard pages turn, and a scratching sound that was probably Andy signing on the dotted lines.

“There we go.” The voice became a bit louder as Andy moved back to the phone. “Ok. Where were we?”

“So what did they drop off? Another human who’s turned into lutefisk?”

“No. I don’t think it’s anything that cool. I haven’t even had time to look at it too closely but it looks rather solid from here. No face that I can see either. So you are safe. No eyes gazing longingly at you,” she said teasingly.

“I only have eyes for you Andy. You know that.”

“So, did you go through with it?”

Eat feigned ignorance.

“Go through with what?”

“Your dad’s ashes. Did you put them in the St. Croix, or not?”

“Oh. That,” Eat said. “Nope. Chickened out again. You should see my pants.”

“Huh? Did you spill your lunch again? Eat, you have to do something about that.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

“What do your pants have to do with your father’s ashes?”

“You’ll see,” he said as he tried to brush them clean again. A car to the right honked, and the driver saluted him with his middle finger. Eat realized that it was not smart to try to clean your pants while in freeway traffic.

Eat could hear Andy laugh.

“Let me guess. You were brushing your pants, and you started to veer into another lane.”

“Shut up.”

Andy knew Eat very well.

Andy laughed again.

“Well, maybe it’s just not supposed to be then.”

“What, having clean pants?”

“No. Maybe your dad doesn’t want to be spread out on the St. Croix. Maybe he’d prefer the Amazon. Or the Dead Sea.”

“The last time I checked, the Amazon isn’t exactly drivable, and the St. Croix doesn’t flow into it. The Dead Sea? Well, that’s dead. I don’t think he’d like that too well.”

The traffic was becoming dangerously soupish, too thick for Eat’s liking. He preferred to focus on driving, rather than talk on the phone. Even though the conversation was hands-free, his concentration needed to be on avoiding the tons of steel travelling at seventy miles per hour in the adjacent lanes more than continuing jolly banter.

He was cautious that way.

“I’m hitting some traffic, so I’ll let you go. See you in a bit.” Eat looked at the dashboard clock. “Probably twenty minutes given this traffic.”

“I’ll be here. ILU.”

“ILU cubed,” said Eat as he pressed the button on the mirror to end the call. He could see the skyscrapers in the distance. Andy, and the newly delivered body parts, was right in the middle of that beautiful forest of concrete and glass.

*

Knowing the lead forensic scientist for the city had its benefits: Eat was able to use the parking garage closet to Andy’s office. This allowed him to skip the security line that non-employees had to use. Since it was a Saturday, avoiding security didn’t make as much of a difference; but patience was not one of Eat’s many virtues, and waiting in line, regardless of how potentially short it was, was as painful as having a tooth pulled without the use of Novocain. Eat had met Andy 780 days earlier, when he’d demonstrated a custom software application that used artificial intelligence algorithms to analyze blood splatter patterns. It helped those in Andy’s field determine where a perp may have been within the crime scene, as well as providing some of the criminal’s stats, such as height, weight, and even the person’s dominant hand.

As Eat entered the building, he saw Andy in her office. They made eye contact, and waved at one another. Before he could even pull his badge out of his pocket, he heard the buzz of the magnetic lock release the door. Eat put his badge away and pushed. The door swung open and the smell of antiseptic and bleach soured in his nose. It was hard for him to comprehend that this was what Andy inhaled day in and day out. Andy’s office was the first one on the right. A fake, Halloween leg bone was screwed on top of the name plaque.

Andrea I. McCorkendale

Sr. Forensic Pathologist

As expected, her office looked as if a volcano had erupted and instead of lava, it had spewed paper. Reams of it. Folders filled with it. Stacks in every conceivable square inch of open floor, and counter space. The only area void of paper lava was the examination table, and the only reason it wasn’t stacked was because it had what looked like a fresh specimen placed in a shiny metal tray, and sealed in a zipped freezer bag.

Andy smiled and beckoned him into her lab.

“Hey Eat!”

It came out like hay-yeat, and slurred together as one word. She looked at his pants and smiled.

“Looks like you lost a fight with a midget baker.”

“Hey, And,” he said as he tried to brush his pants clean again. It didn’t make any difference. In fact, it just made things worse. “Umm. That’s Dad.”

“Do you realize how wrong that sounds?” she said as she walked over and kissed him.

Andy was younger than Eat. Although they were both thirty-five, she was seventy-seven days, four hours, and fifty-two minutes younger. However, she was taller than Eat. 5.267 inches taller. When he looked straight at her, Eat looked straight into, and usually up, her nose. He had to raise his head to make eye contact. And when she did make eye contact, Eat would melt as fast as a set of wax lips in the August sun.

Her eyes were crystalline blue.

Persuasively crystalline blue.

Eat once matched them to Pantone© 293 using an online color pallet, which she thought was very strange. They were absolutely mesmerizing, and she knew precisely how to use them.

Eat’s eyes were close to Pantone© 575 and he often described them as puke green. As usual, she was wearing her white lab coat that brushed the floor as she walked. She owned more than a dozen lab coats and each one was frayed in the exact same spot. She called them her dust mops. Underneath her coat, as always, she was in her Lucky blue jeans, and one of the multitudes of souvenir t-shirts that she’d bought at rock concerts since she was a teenager. Her lab coat was open slightly he could see the shirt she’d chosen for the day. It looked like the one she’d picked up at an Eagles concert a few years back at their second farewell tour. She always bragged that she had a million t-shirts and that she rarely had to wear the same one twice in a year. What amazed Eat even more is the fact that she could still fit into the ones she’d bought as a teenager. Some, she had to admit, were a bit tight.

Eat liked those.

Eat actually took the time to count them once. She was exaggerating with one million. Just slightly. She had precisely fifty-six. Fifty-seven if Eat counted the one that was now under the sink, and is used as a dust rag. Besides her eyes, her only foray into the color pallet was her custom Converse sneakers that she had ordered online directly from the manufacturer. Gaudy didn’t quite describe them well enough.

Garish was closer.

But she apparently liked them, and that was what counted. She had ten pairs of the sneakers, each in various color combinations. Her most unique pair, and Eat thought that calling them unique was being kind, was an odd amalgamation of red, orange, yellow, and purple with white and black polka dot laces.

Eat noticed she was wearing the diamond solitaire earrings that he’d given her for Christmas. They were the only extravagance that she allowed herself, and although she protested that he’d spent way too much, deep down Eat knew she loved them. Eat hoped that someday she’d wear one a diamond on her finger but he hadn’t found the courage to get to that yet.

Someday soon.

*

“I see you have been doing some house cleaning,” said Eat as he surveyed her office.

“Quit being a smart ass. You are not very good at it.”

“So is this what you had delivered while we were talking? Or did it walk in?”

“Yup. I haven’t had time to dig into it yet. Don’t even know what it is.”

“Looks like a foot to me,” Eat walked over to the lab table. Even though he couldn’t fathom doing what Andy did for a living, it was compelling, if not nauseatingly interesting. She could be elbow deep in viscera all day, and still be game for eating Italian at night.

Eat approached the table, and gazed at Andy’s latest delivery.

“If this is a joke, it’s not funny,” he croaked.

Chapter 4

Barbara’s sixth sense intuitively picked up on the woman as she approached her door. Before Natalie could knock on the door’s metal frame, Barbara piped, “Have a seat.” She pointed to a chair, not one of the larger ones at the nearby meeting table, but the small one in front of her desk.

Natalie walked into the office, and sat in the leather accent chair she was directed to.

Finally, Barbara looked up. She surveyed the grandmotherly woman with disdain, and was happy that she’d made her guest chair as uncomfortable and low to the ground as possible. She’d found it in the warehouse. It was next to the garbage, and waiting to be thrown out. Making those who were subordinate to her uncomfortable was definitely a perk in her position of authority. If Barbara had had her way, all of the old employees would have been laid off within days of the acquisition. But that would have been a PR nightmare; a distraction that she did not have time for.

As the Claims and Accounts supervisor, Natalie was responsible for ensuring claims were processed correctly and that all accounts were current. Before Aequalis acquired her previous employer, her job involved ensuring customer satisfaction, within reason, but primarily it was to slow the claims process down to a very slow crawl.

Send a letter asking the physician to clarify the method of treatment.

Incorrectly code a procedure.

Identify a recorded malady as a pre-existing condition.

All of these slowed the process of claims payment down, and therefore slowed the output of money to a trickle. Natalie had done her job well over the years. Now, there were different rules of engagement for the Claims department.

Barbara opened the folder that she’d prepared for the interrogation, and finally addressed the woman directly.

“Do you understand why you are here, Natalie?”

“No, Barbara. Is something wrong?”

“Ms. Nordstrom.”

“What?” Natalie looked confused. She was definitely uncomfortable.

“Ms. Nordstrom. I am Ms. Nordstrom to you. You called me Barbara.”

Barbara watched Natalie shift awkwardly in her chair. She moved from side to side to get a better position. Her face was red with embarrassment and tension.

Barbara felt good.

“Natalie. Have you looked at last month’s claim numbers? I’m assuming you have, since it is part of your job.”

Natalie nodded that she had.

“Good. Then is it safe for me to assume that you can tell me why the claims are higher than projected? Aequalis has very strict guidelines that must be adhered to.”

“Some of the claims administrators are having trouble with the percentages. They have clients they’ve worked with for years. Developed friendly relationships.”

“Having trouble with the percentages? Personal relationships? We have the 60-70-80 Guideline to make it easier for your team. Not more difficult. And, must I remind you, that they’re not here to make friends. Friendly relationships belong outside of our building walls. As a matter of fact, friendly relationships with clients is probably a violation of corporate policy.”

When Aequalis assumed the reins from its predecessor, it instituted new claims rules as part of the formulary prescribed by Congress’
Healthcare for All Act
. The 60-70-80 Rule was very simple and straightforward. It was simply interpreted, and just as effortless to follow. 60% of all claims were to be denied or delayed for 180 days or more. 70% of all prescription claims were to be denied, and 80% of all surgical pre-approvals were to be denied or postponed for a minimum of 210 days.

Quite uncomplicated.

The only difficulty the team would have is when the percentages were changed in ninety days to: 68-73-85. The ultimate goal was incremental increases until the percentages became 70-80-90.

“Yes but…”

Barbara didn’t give her a chance to finish. She slammed the folder on her desk, and leaned closer to the woman who was already shaking, and close to tears.

“There are no buts, Ms. Carlson. Just rules. Rules that are to be adhered to. Rules that have been created by those much smarter than you. Rules that have a purpose.”

Natalie quivered as she exhaled. With a shaking hand, she reached up to move a piece of hair from her eye.

Barbara hated weakness.

She hated emotion and tears even more.

“What are you going to do about this Natalie?”

“I will meet with the administrators. Our numbers will improve. You have my word. 60-70-80 is the rule.”

Barbara smiled. But the smile wasn’t a “Gee I’m glad you understand,” smile. Instead, it was a, “You mealy gnat, I could crush you with my heel if I wanted to” smile.

“Your word doesn’t hold much water for me, Ms. Carlson. No. You are going to terminate the three people with the worst numbers. Their presence is no longer needed here. They will be the examples for the rest of your team. If numbers don’t improve next month, then three more will be let go.” She re-opened the folder and looked back at the paper she had printed. “That’s Namees, Roland, and Timmons. I want them out of here,” she looked at her watch. “In ninety minutes. Not a minute longer. Understand?”

“Please. I will talk to them. Make sure they understand.”

“Bullshit.” Barbara watched Natalie flinch at her choice of words. She was sure the old woman was not used to anything more than a “gosh darn” at the office, and probably no more than a “dag nabbit” by her husband at home. “All three individuals received training and signed agreements confirming that they understood and accepted the Aequalis rules of conduct.” She picked up three sheets of paper and pointed to each of the signatures. “Pretty simple if you ask me.” Barbara put down the three sheets and picked up a forth. “This one is yours. That is your signature, isn’t it?” Barbara was loaded for bear and she wasn’t about to back down. Examples had to be made, and she was going to start now.

“Yes, but...”

Barbara took in a long, deep breath, and shook her head in counterfeit dismay, and feigned capitulation. She crossed her hands and quietly placed them on her desk. She was a cobra waiting to strike. “I completely understand, Natalie.”

Natalie looked dumbfounded.

“You can leave.”

Natalie pushed her chair back and eased herself up. She smoothed her flowered dress as she stood, then headed for the door.

“Oh. One more thing,” said Barbara.

Natalie stopped, and turned around to face Barbara.

“You can pack your belongings. I’ve had the facilities bring boxes to your work area while you were in here. Your services are no longer needed at Aequalis.”

Barbara rotated her chair back to her phone and dialed the number for Aequalis security on the first floor. It was answered on the third ring. Two rings too late for her liking.

“Security, this is Butch.”

“This is Barbara Nordstrom. Natalie Carlson will need an escort out of the building. So will Namees, Roland, and Timmons from the Claims Department. Can you handle that?”

There was silence from the other end.

“Can you handle that?”

“Yes. Ms. Nordstrom.”

“And Butch?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t ever make me wait again. Understand?”

“Yes, Ms. Nordstrom.”

She could imagine the sweat beginning to form on the guard’s forehead. It made her feel warm inside.

Barbara returned her attention to Natalie, who was now in tears.

“Ms. Nordstrom. I’ve worked here for twenty-five years. Please,” Natalie pleaded.

“Security will help you with your belongings. Close my door on your way out,” said Barbara as she returned her attention to her laptop display.

Barbara heard slow, quiet footsteps recede behind her followed by a non-stop stream of whimpers and sobs.

Her office door clicked shut.

She looked out beyond the far windows of her office and smiled. She had important things to accomplish and not a universe of time in which to get them done.