Chapter 11: Donor Side

On the second of January I had a nine o'clock appointment, and Hattie's station wagon wouldn't start.

"I'll drive you," Ansel said.

"It's across town."

"I have a car and a morning."

"It's a doctor's appointment."

"That's the best reason to drive someone anywhere," he said, and held the passenger door of his rental open until I got in.

He'd read the summons twice at the kitchen table the night before.

On the way he talked about the summons.

"I'll have my lawyers look at it. They'll cost you nothing."

"They'd cost me everything. Business only, remember?"

"Then hire your own, and I'll pay the bill, and we'll say it's an advance on your fee."

"That's a bribe."

"It's a retainer."

"It's a bribe with a nicer name," I said, and he turned his face to the window so I wouldn't see it, and I knew he was smiling.

The clinic was on the fourth floor of the university hospital.

I'd walked down that corridor six times since November, and nobody had ever looked at me twice.

The elevator opened onto a wide waiting room with a fish tank in the corner and a row of vinyl chairs.

Two doors stood side by side across from the desk.

The sign on the left said Transplant Recipient Clinic.