Read Online The Fall-Down Artist by Thomas Lipinski - Free Book Online

officers.”
    â€œThank you for your tolerance.”
    Dorsey pulled the Buick to the curb in front of his row house and Gretchen opened the passenger door and rushed up the front steps in the rain. Dorsey hurried behind her to unlock the door. Inside, she tossed her wet smock over the staircase handrail and continued down the hallway to the kitchen. Dorsey followed behind.
    â€œSo, the boozer breaks loose and he’s a wild man, smacking the walls and stomping on snakes. And, of course, the only thing between him and my eight-year-old patient, who is frightened half to death, is me, having just sent the nurse to the phone to answer a page on my beeper.”
    â€œThings got a little rough, sounds like.” Dorsey bent down to search for a frying pan in a cabinet below the sink. “Bet he took the first round, but you came back and cleaned his clock in the second.”
    â€œYou can be sure neither of us went the distance,” Gretchen said, seating herself at the kitchen’s Formica-topped table. “I stood straight and tall, hid my trembling knees, squared my shoulders, and yelled for the guy to back off. He in reply smashes right into me. We both go down,and I slipped away and rolled into a ball. At that point the kid was on his own, I’m afraid, but the cops must have caught their breath. They took hold of the boozer and dragged him out.”
    Dorsey set down the frying pan. “You okay? Sure there’s no damage?”
    â€œFine. Slight bruise on the right hip, but it’s okay. The kid was a wreck, though. I gave some thought to slipping him a Valium, but the nurse came back and was able to calm him. She’s got kids.” Gretchen took a deep breath that came out as a long sigh, signaling that the story was over and the incident forgotten. “I’m hungry. What’s to eat?”
    â€œBacon and eggs,” Dorsey said, peering into the refrigerator. “You like the way I make them.”
    â€œNot always.” Gretchen laughed. “But tonight they sound good. I’m going to grab a shower while you cook.”
    â€œYour robe’s in the bedroom closet,” Dorsey said. “Hey, before you go up, take a look at the medical in that file.” Using the frying pan, Dorsey indicated the manila folder on the tabletop. “You take your shower, I’ll never get you to do it. It’ll take five minutes, no more.”
    Gretchen opened the file and studied the contents for a few silent moments. “Can’t anybody in this part of the state drive without getting hit? It’s all I ever see you handle, that and some really hokey comp cases. And something else: must everything I look at be from these cock-and-bull chiropractors? It’s insulting, equating me with them.”
    â€œC’mon, I don’t do that.” Dorsey forked bacon into the pan. “Besides, there’s some X rays and a CT scan report in there.”
    â€œAnd both of them say nothing.” Gretchen closed the file and rose from the table. “No pathology; no disc problems, herniated or bulging. A whiplash case is what you have.” Gretchen pushed the folder away. “Let the bacon fry crisp. I’m going to take a long shower and try to loosen my hip.”
    Dorsey lowered the flame under the bacon and went tothe office for his tape player. When he returned he plugged it in above the kitchen counter and put in a cassette of Benny Goodman’s 1938 Carnegie Hall concert.
    He had first met Gretchen in the waiting room of a large law firm in the Oliver building. The firm did a lot of insurance defense work, and Dorsey was there to be deposed on a personal injury case. Gretchen had accompanied a fellow ER physician who was being questioned about a negligence suit filed against the hospital. Seated on the waiting room’s brown herringbone sofa, Gretchen spoke first, curious as to what Dorsey was doing there. She had been in Pittsburgh for only two