Flashback by Michael Palmer

your confidence in this matter.”
    “That goes without asking,” Zack said. “But I have to warn you of something. The Judge on Sunday, and you again this morning, suggested that at least some of your quarrel might be with Frank. You should know that I have absolutely no desire to take sides in that disagreement. Your friendship means a great deal to me. I don’t know if I’d even be a surgeon today if it weren’t for your influence. But Frank’s my brother. I can’t imagine lining up against him.”
    “Even if he was in the wrong?”
    “In my experience, Guy, right and wrong are far more oftenshades of gray than black and white. Besides, I tried my hand at crusading during my years at Boston Muni. All it got me was a tension headache the size of Alaska. I should have bought stock in Tylenol before I took my first complaint to the Muni administration. I’ll listen if you want to talk, but please don’t expect anything.”
    “Thank you for the warning,” Beaulieu said. “Even though I have a great fondness and respect for you, and even though, as you no doubt gathered, I haven’t much support around this place, I was reluctant to share with you what I know, largely because of Frank. But then, when you said what you did at the meeting this morning—I mean about treating anyone, regardless of their ability to pay—well, I sort of took that as an invitation to talk.”
    Zack sighed.
    “You thought correctly,” he said finally. “I fight it tooth and nail, but when I’m not looking, the part of me that can’t stand seeing people get screwed always seems to sneak to the surface.”
    “Yes, I heard what you did for that old woodcutter the other night.”
    “You did?”
    “Don’t be so surprised. This hospital, this entire town, in fact, has a communication system that would make the Department of Defense green with envy. You had best accept that fact and adjust to it if you’re going to survive here. Drop a pebble in the lake and everyone—but everyone—will feel the ripple. That’s why stories, such as those that have been spread about me, are so damning. In no time at all, everyone has heard a version.”
    “Like that old game—telephone.”
    “Pardon?”
    “It’s a party game we used to play. Everyone sits in a circle, and the first person whispers a secret to the one next to him. Then the secret goes all around the circle, and by the time it gets back to the one who started it, it has totally changed. It bothers me terribly to think that anyone would deliberately be doing anything to hurt you, especially making the sort of accusations the Judge says have been flying around.”
    “They are lies, you know, Zachary. Every last one of them.”
    Zack studied the Frenchman’s face—the set of his jaw, the dark sadness engulfing his eyes. “I know, old friend,” he said at last. “I know they are.”
    “So …” Beaulieu tapped his fingertips together, deciding where to begin. “What did you think of my little prepared statement this morning?” he asked finally.
    “Well, the truth is, I thought you handled yourself, and expressed yourself, very well.”
    Beaulieu smiled. “Diplomatically put, my boy. But please, continue, and remember, my feelings are quite beyond being hurt.”
    Zack shrugged. “Okay, if you really want to know the truth, I kept thinking that all that was missing from the whole scenario was a horse, a lance, a shaving-bowl helmet, and Sancho Panza.”
    This time, the older surgeon laughed out loud.
    “So, you think I am tilting at a windmill, is that it? Well, my young friend, let me give you a closer look at that windmill. Richard Coulombe. Do you know him?”
    “The pharmacist? Of course I know him. I called in a prescription to him just yesterday.”
    “And did you know that he does not own his pharmacy anymore?”
    “The sign says Coulombe Drug.”
    “I know what the sign says. I also know that Richard is now an employee, and not a proprietor. He sold his