The Cost of Medicine

The Cost of Medicine

Constance sat on the green, vinyl covered couch. The waiting room was empty. The lighting from the windows made the room abnormally bright on a dreary day. It seems her mother’s cancer would need even more medication. The hardest part of battling a non-discriminatory illness is when the insurance runs out, but payment is demanded to continue the fight. You don’t bring a knife to a gun fight, and you can’t bring a modest bank account to an oncologist.

Time passed in an overwhelming feeling of absolution. If she were to be completely honest with herself, she had enjoyed a rather comfortable life until this point. Her long blonde hair and slate blue eyes gave her a beauty many would have considered a luxury. Facing facts now, it was impossible to believe that her menial salary as a barista was going to be enough to cover the extra medication her mother’s doctor was recommending on top of her ongoing treatments. Even with him giving her a heavy discount, they were still ridiculously expensive.

Next to the couch was a wooden coffee table. Constance picked up a pamphlet that calously read “So You’re Living with Cancer Now.” She rolled her eyes and precariously tossed it back to the table. The pamphlet fell off the edge and onto the floor. Constance let out a disgruntled breath as she leaned forward to pick it up. A little black book sticking out from just under the couch caught her attention. She picked it up and placed the pamphlet more cautiously on the table. She thought there might be a means of identification inside, so she fanned through it. There were many names: Lous Shultz, Vinnie O’nassis, George Franklin, all the names had a brief description followed with information on address, family names, even what kind of cars they drove. While it resembled some sort of address book, many names had been crossed out.

“Miss Sloan?” a voice broke into her thoughts. “Your mother is all finished.” The nurse went back to her desk. Without thinking, Constance tossed the notebook into her satchel and headed back to get her mother from the treatment room.

The drive back to her mother’s house was quiet. The traffic was light, and the two only exchanged a few smiles during the ride. She helped her mother inside, and gently placed her on the couch. She reassured her that she would be by later in the evening, and she hurried back to her car. “The coffee won’t make itself” she thought out loud as she drove off towards work.

When she walked in and the place seemed busier than usual. “You’re late,” Manny called from behind the counter. “Clock in and jump on the register!” Manny barked orders at her all the time, so she knew trying to explain the circumstances would be futile. Constance threw her apron on and dug into work. Coffee orders and stranger’s faces passed the time for a couple hours, but time was moving slowly today. However, there was one face in the corner that got her attention. The man sat with his eyes fixed on her, and it gave her an uneasy feeling. After the last customer in line was taken care of, Constance made her way from behind the counter towards him.

“Is everything alright?” she asked. “Can I get you anything?” He glared at her. His disposition caused Constance to take a step back. The man grabbed her by the wrist. Her eyes widened, and he pulled her down in what seemed like a “sit down” demand. Still gripping her wrist he said in a low, raspy voice “Just give me the book and I will walk out of here like nothing ever happened.” It was clear this was a demand and not a suggestion.

Constance carefully got up from the table, keeping her eyes fixed on him for a few moments. She went to retrieve the book from her satchel behind the counter, and placed it in her pocket. As she was about to bring the book back, the man began coughing uncontrollably. He pulled out a small handkerchief and dabbed away a few droplets of blood from his mouth. Constance walked back and poured a glass of water from the pitcher. Manny looked over at the commotion, and Constance assured him she was taking care of the matter. She hurried the water over to him and he took a few sips. Constance couldn’t help but think of her mother in this moment, and the pain this man must be going through.

“Do you need me to call someone?” she offered.

“No!” he answered back quickly. “I need help to my car.” Without thinking, Constance helped the man to his feet, and proceeded to let him lean on her as she walked him to the door.

“Constance!” Manny yelled. “If you walk out that door, you’re fired!” She looked helplessly at Manny and then at the man, and she walked him out, apron and all still attached around her hips.

The man handed her a set of keys and said “drive.” He clearly was still trying to get his breathing under control. “To where?” she asked as he got in on the passenger side. “I’ll tell you as we go.”

Constance drove for a few blocks before he abruptly said “Turn left on 76th street.” She complied, and after a few more blocks he told her to turn right at the next intersection. She followed his directions, but soon realized he was leading her to the entrance of an abandoned industrial area. The district had been empty since Constance was a child. The thought of being alone here with this man made Constance uneasy. “Pull up there on the right,” he said as he motioned with his hand.

“We should talk inside” he suggested and left her in the car. He slowly staggered inside the front door. Admittedly, Constance was a bit curious about the mystery of it all. She walked inside and found an empty shell of a building. Bare floors, steel beams, and a metal ceiling seemed to be all that was holding the building together. In the corner was a cot and a few duffel bags on the floor. He was sitting on the cot when she walked over to him and asked “What do you want with me? And what’s the deal with the book?”

“It’s a money book,” he explained with a smirk. “You like money?” Constance nodded in a slow, yet confusing manner. “I am an old, dying man.” he tried to explain. “I use this book to make my living.”

“What is your name?” she asked.

“You can call me Amos.”

“Fine Amos. Take your damn book!” she fired back. As she turned to walk away, he grabbed her by the wrist much as he did in the coffee shop. He pulled her down and they were facing one another. “This book, it has sensitive information in it. Try to understand, I was born into a poor family, I didn’t receive an education. I had to teach myself to be useful. But now, this sickness has made me useful no more. I was paid for a job. Once this job is done, I can leave this place. Doctors can’t help me anymore. And I am ready to leave this world, but I cannot do that when I owe a debt. Do you understand what I am saying now?” he asked.

Constance politely nodded. “So this is a book of people you are helping?” she asked with naivete.

“Not exactly,” Amos explained. “For these names I get payment.”

“You’re a hitman!” she jumped up in fear.

“I fulfill contracts,” he said with justification. “You see this man?” he pointed to a name in the book. “This man tricks lonely ladies into giving him all their money and leaves them with nothing. This man kidnaps young girls like yourself and sells them over computers. And this one, my dear.” He paused as he turned to a very specific page in the book. “This one makes promises of fake medicine. He finds desperate people and sells them fake pills and promises of health.” He moved the book towards her so she could fully read the name “John Phillip, 501 Grove St, 1 son, tan Mercedes.”

Confusion turned to anger as Constance yelled at Amos “That’s my mother’s doctor! He has been selling me clinical trial pills for weeks because he knows I struggle to afford her medications! You’re wrong!” She was near hysterics now.

She jumped to her feet and began pacing feverishly. Almost instinctively, and surely accidentally, she screamed “I could just kill him!” Constance covered her mouth and shot Amos a look of surprise. He looked almost humored as he raised an eyebrow and said “Not so different you and I.”

She threw her hands in the air and asked “Fine, then what is it you want from me?”

Amos said in a condescending tone. “You could dispense justice of your own.”

Constance was going to need a bit more persuasion and he asked her “What do I call you?” It was only then she realized she hadn’t given Amos her name. “Constance,” she said curtly.

Amos pulled a small bag out from under the cot and unzipped it partially. Copious amounts of cash were revealed.

She stopped in her tracks and stared in awe. “How much is in there?” she asked with wide eyes. “Twenty thousand dollars,” Amos replied nonchalantly. She came closer and used a finger to widen the opening to see better. Amos closed the bag on her hand and just replied “But I understand if a young girl like yourself has no interest in such money.”

“Why do you even need my help?” Constance asked.

“Surprise is a priceless element I no longer possess, with all this coughing I mean.” Amos reminded her as he cleared his throat.

“How would I do it?”

“The good doctor needs a special touch.” He reached under his pillow and grabbed a much smaller bag. He unsnapped the closure and the bag revealed a glass vile and some needles. “This would be much more poetic for the demise of our dear doctor, don’t you agree?” he asked.

Constance smirked slightly and asked “How does it work? Will he feel pain?” I need him to feel pain, she thought.

“It’s a poison,” he explained. “It’s an untraceable combination. The reaction will be instant, and to anyone around, it will simply look like the overworked doctor has had himself a heart attack.”

Constance replied, “Ok, what I need to do?”

Amos smiled.

***********************

The subway platform was full. People scurried about, and a man played guitar while singing near the stairwell. Standing amongst the crowd was a man in a black coat; his green hospital scrub pants peered from below it. He checked his watch impatiently, and you could tell that he was uncomfortable in his surroundings.

“Excuse me, do you have the time?” the voice of a young woman asked. He looked up to respond and met her slate-blue eyes with a look of recognition. As he was about to acknowledge her, he felt a sharp piercing in his thigh. His eyes widened. She grabbed the needle and put it in her hoodie pocket. She lowered her head and blended in with the crowd. As she hurried past the man with the guitar, she heard a man yell out “Someone call an ambulance! He is having a heart attack!”

Constance got into her car and locked the doors. She took the notebook out of her pocket and carefully crossed off “John Phillip.” She stared off into nothingness for just a moment, and then she turned the page. She read aloud “William Stevens, 449 Richmond Hills, no children, silver Jeep.” She knew she needed to go home and begin her research. It was time to formulate her next plan.