False Accusations Jacobson, Alan (books successful people read .TXT) 📖

Hennessy was seated behind his fifty-year-old wooden desk, which was mounded with papers. A dim fluorescent fixture hung from the ceiling and a half-eaten sandwich in crumpled tinfoil lay on the desk next to an open bottle of Yoo-Hoo chocolate drink. A steady stream of hot air blew up from the grating in front of the window on the far wall, where files were piled into not-so-neat stacks.

Hennessy, a man just shy of five feet and in excess of 175 pounds, looked up and saw Chandler as he walked through the door. “Chandler, you fuckin’ asshole. You just waltz in here and expect to pick up where you left off? Is that what you expect? Leave me to answer for your whereabouts with Gianelli while you’re out sunning yourself on the beach in California? You dick-faced cock. Nick’s been working double tours trying to get your work done. Do you care? Nah, you ain’t got the goddamned balls enough to care. All you care about is yourself.”

Chandler calmly sat in the metal chair in front of the desk. “Are you finished?”

“Yeah, I’m finished.”

“It’s good to see you too.”

“Don’t give me that bull-fucking shit. You’re not glad to see me. I’m gonna ride your ass till you retire.”

Chandler nodded knowingly, then said, “Before I forget. I’m taking an early lunch today. Ten o’clock. I should be back by eleven-thirty. Wife has a doctor’s appointment. I’ll stay until seven to help Nick out with whatever it is that he needs help with. Starting tomorrow, I’ll come in two hours early every morning until I’m up to speed on things. And I’ll find something on that Bobby Lee Walker case to bail you out of your jam. That sound okay to you?”

Hennessy made a noise that was a cross between a grumble and a growl, but Chandler took it as a yes.

“How is it that you do this to me, Chandler? Everyone here hates my guts. They’re scared of me. You, you don’t seem to care what the fuck I say.”

Chandler smiled and arose from the chair. “I know what others don’t. That underneath that gruff exterior is a caring man.”

“Bullshit.”

“Don’t shatter my illusion,” Chandler said, stepping out of the room. “I’ll be with Nick,” he yelled over his shoulder as the door closed behind him.

He expected to hear Hennessy scream after him—but it sounded like he flung a magazine or book at the door instead. And then it came: “Asshole!”

The office of Dr. Jason Bloom was newly remodeled: sleek halogen spotlights were recessed into the taupe-colored ceiling, with new hardwood floors and lush upholstered chairs that matched the reception room wallpaper.

Chandler let out a slight whistle. “Remind me to let Jason pick up the check next time we go out to dinner.”

As they took a seat, a smile brightened her face. “Remember when I first started seeing Jason? All your friends thought it was weird for us to be friends with your gynecologist.”

A slight smile spread Chandler’s lips. “Yeah, well, show me five guys who’re man enough to handle with that. One of my college buddies, who I drank beer with and went to Jets games with, was going to be sticking his fingers in your—”

“Denise?” A nurse was standing at the doorway holding a chart. “Come on back.”

The examination went well. Dr. Bloom kept the conversation light but professional while he poked and prodded her breast. He felt it methodically and carefully, and then had her lean forward and move her arms into various positions.

“I think we’re fine. The lump is mobile, it’s small, there’s no discharge from the nipple, and the skin isn’t dimpled.” He reached for a prescription pad from City Radiological Imaging. “I’m convinced it’s nothing, honestly. You know I’d tell you guys if it wasn’t. But for peace of mind, I’m going to send you for a mammogram. It’ll be good to establish a baseline for the future anyway.” He signed the slip and handed it to Chandler. “And while we’re at it, we’ll get a blood draw and run a pregnancy test. Maybe we’ll have some more good news.”

“Denise wants a girl.”

Bloom smiled. “Girls and their daddies are a special thing, Chandler.”

“That’s what everyone tells me. But I wouldn’t complain if we had another boy.”

“Knowing you,” Bloom said, “you’d probably throw a party.” He leaned over and gave Denise a peck on the cheek. “Keep him in line. I’ll see you guys on Saturday.”

After the nurse performed the blood draw, they left his office. “This is good, Denise,” Chandler said, taking her hand as they walked to the elevator.

She nodded weakly. “I’ll feel better once I get the results back from the mammogram.”

After visiting City Radiological Imaging and getting the x-rays squared away, Chandler hailed a taxi for each of them.

As the cabs pulled over to the curb, he gave Denise a kiss on the cheek. “I’ve got to put in some time at the lab, and then I’ll be home. I’ve pushed Hennessy about as far as I can.” He took her in his arms and squeezed tightly. “I’m glad I was here to go through this with you.”

Denise stroked his face with her fingertips. “Me too.”

When Denise arrived home, there was a message from Jason Bloom on her machine. According to a preliminary reading from the radiologist, the lump appeared to be a benign fibroid mass—which jibed with his exam findings. “So don’t worry, Denise,” the message said. “We’ll follow up in six months and do a comparison. Meantime, I’ll call you with the assay from the lab on the pregnancy test as soon as I have it.”

Later that evening, after she relayed the results of the mammogram to Chandler, he smirked.

“I know that look,” she said.

“What look?”

“That look that says ‘see, I told you.’ You always think you know it all.”

He held up a hand. “First of all, that’s not true. No one knows it all. I just know more than most people.” He grunted as the pillow