An Eye For Danger (book 1)

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The bell on the pharmacy counter jolted George out of his concentration, and he pushed pills back into their plastic container. White bags marked with the Ramsey Pharmacy’s inky logo covered his work island, a hospital-style desk I knew his wife had dragged home.

“Haven’t seen you in months,” said George, offering a toothsome smile and a spindly hand dotted with liver spots for a shake. I took his hand and smiled, hoping to keep his gray eyes off the liquor bottles in my grocery bag on the floor.

“For a guy who retired, looks like work is keeping you out of trouble. I'm surprised you're not relaxing on a Maui beach with the wife.” When not playing emergency room doctor at Roosevelt Hospital, George’s wife ran the nearby medical clinic. "I wonder what she has to say about skipping another vacation."

“Not a word. Just driving her new Mercedes with a smile and singing my praises. Thirty-five years of marriage is a lot to celebrate. And damn expensive. Maui would've been cheaper.”

“You’re a lucky man, George.” I unfolded the prescription. “Look, I’m pressed for time, so...”

Years of exchanging prescriptions made us as good as neighbors in a big city. First the patches for my grandfather to chase the escalating pain of lung cancer, then the heart medication for my aunt as she withered into bones, and finally the little blue pills for my nerves after Luke’s death. But George was also a man who needed to know your life history and was just as willing to tell you his. And I didn’t have time for gossip. Sam had passed out as soon as he hit the pillow, but he’d freak over my absence the minute he woke.

George adjusted his glasses, closing on the paper. “This was prescribed weeks ago.”

“Delayed pain. Dry socket, they said.” I rubbed at my jaw.

“Doesn't expire till tomorrow, but an unfilled prescription always gets my hackles up. I’m a by-the-book kind of guy.”

“Of course.” I bowed my head, a gesture not lost on an old-fashioned man like George. Months after my accident, I’d tried to fill an anti-anxiety prescription with no refills left. I’d left the pharmacy empty-handed and in tears. But that was also the day I got free of pills.

“First, I’ve got treats for little Max.”

“He’s at home on probation. And he’s not so little anymore. Big enough to terrorize the neighborhood.”

George laughed. “You can’t go taking in every stray, Julie, but I do feel better knowing you’ve got Max as a guard dog. Heard they conducted a manhunt in the park earlier. Some crazy murderer on the loose.”

“So I hear.” I moved my attention to the tabloid headlines, quitting the conversation.

George filled the prescription and rang the total. “The usual account, I assume.”

“Cash today.” I threw in a new toothbrush and handed him a hundred dollar bill.