As Nurse Bryson snipped and unwrapped the bandages slowly, methodical, and coldly, as was her nature, Jefferson Brown took a deep breath. This had been a gamble right from the start, a gamble on the rumors of Dr. Bryson’s reputation as a plastic surgeon for the underworld. All these months of being covered with a bandage were torture.
If it hadn’t been for Dr. Bryson’s daughter Valerie following him around like a puppy dog, he might not have made it. Even the visit from his new “client”, Ian Devereaux, was a help, albeit a brief one.
Finally the last bandage was removed. Mrs. Bryson smiled politely. “There you are.” She offered a small mirror. “Now, before you look, know there are some scars that are still healing. It might be a shock.”
Brown nodded and looked in the mirror. At first he did feel some shock at the face staring back…but it was no longer the face of Jefferson Brown. He smiled. “Not as bad as you warned.”
The icy smile stayed. “Good. Now, as soon as my husband sees you, we can talk…reimbursement.”
Jeff Brown looked back at her. “Oh, don’t worry. You and Dr. Bryson will be well paid.”
She left him with that iciness. He wondered for a moment how that marriage truly worked after hours, but it soon left his mind. They would no longer be in his life after the money he promised was paid, in exchange for the brilliant surgery and discretion.
He looked at his new face for a long while, tears coming for a bit as he sadly remembered his old face and now knew he would never look like that again. SO WHAT? That face had never brought him anything except amusement and pity…and playful contempt from Schuyler Whitney himself! HIs old boss Fowler Wilcox even had some of that employer to employee condescension, though tolerable. TO HELL WITH THEM ALL, DEAD OR ALIVE!
About an hour later, Dr. Kenneth Bryson strode in, anxious to see his work of art revealed. He broke into a smile of proud joy. “Lieutenant Dedrickson! How are you feeling?”
Brown smiled back. “You did it, Dr. Bryson!”
“Indeed I did. And it was no small task, I guarantee you. Sit down while I check you thoroughly.”
Brown took the chair near his bed while the doctor examined every inch of new tissue and scarring. After what seemed forever, Dr. Bryson stood with a satisfied sigh. “You might be my greatest surgery yet, Lieutenant. The way I had to completely rebuild your face was almost what some might say a work of art.”
“Too bad Valerie did not get a chance to see it.”
Another sigh, though this one was of paternal regret. “Ah, Valerie. I must apologize again for her foolish crush on a patient.”
Brown held up a hand in reassurance. “No need, Dr. Bryson. I had a long period of time to wait during the healing. Valerie was quite kind. It reminded me of how fun it was to be that young.”
“Oh, you’re not old like me just yet.”
“Well…the war forced me to grow up.”
Dr. Bryson nodded glanced at his notes in a folder before closing it. “Now, we come to what some of my patients feel is even more painful than the waiting.”
Brown smiled knowingly. “Your fee.”
“Yes. The usual is a flat million.”
Brown nodded in thought. “You will receive three million.”
The doctor’s face fell open for a moment. “I was going to say two for the more extensive work.”
“Oh no, what you did for me is worth the three million. I just need to get back to my life to make the arrangements. Wire transfer is what we agreed on.”
Dr. Bryson nodded, glancing at his notes again. “There was one small matter. Well, not really a matter. Just a scar on your back. Your face was more important, of course, so I refrained from offering to remove it. I still could, no extra fee.”
Brown pondered for a moment, then shook his head. “No thank you. It’s…a reminder of my past that I would like to keep.”
The doctor smiled. “Very well.”
“When can I leave?”
“In a week. I want to be sure there are no problems after the bandage removal. It happens sometimes.”
Exactly one week later, after securing his personal items, actually both his and Sky’s, Lieutenant James Dedrickson left the Bryson clinic. Still holding some of Sky’s remaining money belt fortune, he was able to locate the attorney Heinrich Zimmermann who handled Sky’s inheritance. It was an easy trek via train to Geneva. It took a little German know-how to find Zimmermann’s office and to arrange the appointment, but once he said who he was, Zimmermann was fast to see him.
Zimmermann was a short, heavyset man with a monocle and droopy mustache and belt that likely needed to be loosened a notch or two. The man ate well. “Herr Whitney!” He stuck out his hand and shook his ‘client’s’ rigorously. “We have been trying to find you!”
Brown nodded and closed his eyes in annoyance. “Yes yes, if you would let go of my damn hand, I’ll tell you.”
Zimmermann acquiesced and they went into his plush office. He took a seat as Zimmermann took his own. “Now, please, tell me what happened. You look like you’ve been hurt!”
“I was.” He began his story of the plane ride with his friend Jefferson Brown. The blizzard and ensuing crash made Zimmermann’s eyes almost bulge out. “What happened to your friend Brown?”
‘Schuyler Whitney’ looked down for a long moment, then looked up. “I wasn’t able to save him. By the time I came back to consciousness, the plane had fallen into a mountain crevasse. I assumed Jeff had also fallen.”
Zimmermann bowed his head in respect for a moment. “Yes, that was the report from the rescue team.” He looked up again. “Herr Whitney, it has been four months since anyone last saw you, when you and your friend boarded the airplane. We began to think you were…”
“Dead? Is that what you were going to say?”
The man nodded in shame. “Yes.”
‘Sky’ smiled. “Quite the contrary, Herr Zimmermann. I was recuperating in a cabin. The crash did some damage, as you can see.” He pointed to his face and upper neck. “Believe me, it was worse a month ago.”
Zimmermann looked at him for a moment, studying the damage, then nodded. “But why no contact?”
“There was no telephone. I was lucky there was firewood and a stove. And since I know how to hunt, survival was just a matter of knowing how.”
“How did you get here?”
“Another piece of luck, Two skiers came upon the cabin, and they had a radio.”
Zimmermann sat back, taking it all in. “What a tale! The newspapers will have quite the story.”
“Well, the only one who can hear it all is you. We will just tell the papers that I was missing for two months.”
“Why?”
“Because I was still quite shaken from the crash and needed the time.”
Zimmermann frowned. “But nobody ever reported seeing you.”
‘Sky’ shrugged. “Dark sunglasses and a hat can do wonders. And I had enough money to get by on. And with that, let’s get to the subject of my inheritance.”
Zimmermann smiled finally. “I knew that was why you were here. As you Americans say, it is burning a hole in your pocket already.”
“Oh, believe me, I have plans to make it grow.”
“I am sure. May I make a suggestion?”
“Yes?”
“Stop playing airplane pilot.”
‘Sky’ smiled. “Oh, don’t you worry, Herr Zimmermann. I am on to healthier pursuits.”
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