Healing Wolves
Part Four - The Wolf
By Scott J. Welles
scottjwelles@yahoo.com

ER and all related characters are the property of Warner Bros., Amblin Entertainment, and ConstantC productions, used here without permission. This story has been written entirely for entertainment value. No copyright infringement is intended, and no form of profit is being made on this work. Any errors in continuity, characterization, or common sense may be blamed entirely on me. Sorry. If this hasn't given you eyestrain already, read on.



"Do a lot of people in Los Angeles drive cars like this?" Kerry asked me, as we drove back to the hotel.

I shrugged. "Not this one exactly, but there's a lot of sports cars, lot of convertibles." I was driving a Jaguar convertible, painted a deep metallic blue. It looks cool as all get-out, particularly when I dr ve it wearing the John Lennon shades. I said, "I've wanted one of these since I was a kid. Just bought it last year."

"This is exactly the sort of car Glory always wanted, too," she said. Her tone implied that she didn't see the attraction.

"That right?" I figured Kerry Weaver for something less flashy, more reliable and cost-efficient. Maybe a Volvo. Maybe a Beemer.

"She used to borrow our friend Stephie's Trans Am and we'd go out driving around at night on the highways. She drove way too fast, but never got pulled over." Maybe a little bitterness in there. "She loved feeling the wind washing all over her. Almost got hypothermia sometimes, but she wouldn't put the top up."

"Yeah, the LA climate's better suited to it than Chicago," I said, just for something to say.

"When she'd had a good day, Glory used to get me to hold the wheel while she put her arms in the air and let out the loudest howl she could, like she was a wolf baying at the moon." Kerry shook her head at the memory. "It's a wonder she didn't get us killed."

I nodded, but Kerry wasn't really talking to me.

"She was always like that. Unafraid of anyone or anything. Crazy and wild and fearless. I was the sensible one, of course. She dragged me into all sorts of things, and I was the one who provided the common sense."

I thought of Glorianna Rossili saying, 'I got sick of her being my conscience years ago'. "Sounds like you two complimented each other," I said, diplomatically

"I guess we did. I kept her out of trouble, helped her keep things straight, and she... well, she gave me strength when I needed it desperately. Eventually, I guess our differences became insurmountable." She scowled a little. "Or maybe I became too inflexible. Glory could never convince me to howl with her."

"Howling's not for everyone," I said.

"No, it just wasn't me. Why am I telling you this, anyhow? I don't talk about these things with people I see every day."

I shrugged. "Maybe because you're going to get on a plane and never see me again," I said, "so anything you say in front of me isn't likely to come back and bite you in the ass the next morning."

She nodded, unconvinced.

"Sometimes being in a strange place far from home does that to people," I went on.

"You don't get much stranger than this," she admitted wryly.

"After I enlisted in the Air Force, I found myself saying things and doing things I didn't know I had in me," I told her.

"Radical change of environment affects learned behavior," she mused. "That's not a bad thought."

"I'm smarter than I look," I said, modestly.

"You look pretty smart to me."

I gave her the Christian Slater smile. "My point exactly."

One of her eyebrows went up, accompanied by a corner of her mouth. It was going to be either a smile or a sneer, and I don't think she had decided which it would be just yet. "Daniel," she said, in a flat tone of voice, "Are you flirting with me?"

"No, Kerry, I'm not," I said. Then, considering, I amended, "Okay, maybe I am, a little." I hadn't really intended to flirt with her. In fact, I hadn't been in the habit since Val Besch broke up with me. "Sorry."

She nodded. "That's okay." She sounded satisfied. Or was I projecting?

"I didn't mean anything by it," I added. "It's just a reflex action."

Kerry gave me cool eyes. "Of course it is. In fact, I'd almost have expected it of you. It's all just part of the image, right?" She smiled, humorlessly. "It's like you've got your own little TV series running in your head, and you're the hero, of course. Daniel Fox, Hollywood Private Eye." Her voice had a quality like an exaggerated television announcer. "Whether he's sweet-talking the ladies, wisecracking in his office, or cruising the streets of LA in his Jaguar, he's the coolest character around, right?"

"You flatter me, Madame," I said, ignoring the sarcasm.

"Oh, I doubt that," she purred, turning towards me in her seat. "I bet you've led a life of adventure and excitement and really wild things." Kerry leaned closer, her gaze intense. "But have you ever done anything truly heroic, Daniel? Not flashy stuff with the girls and guns and fast cars. I mean the things you can't charm your way through. Have you ever taken care of someone too feeble and sick to get out of bed to use the bathroom? Ever talked to someone who's been permanently maimed, and tried to reassure them that their life still has meaning? Or sat all night with someone and held their hand while they died, because there's nothing else you can do for them?"

A lesser man would have wilted under her scrutiny. Frankly, I was close to it, myself. I managed to keep my voice steady as I replied, "Can't say I have."

"No, I wouldn't have thought so," she said, sitting back. "That takes a real tough guy. Not a would-be comic book character like yourself."

"Wow," I said, stifling my irritation, "It's like you've known me all your life."

"Oh, I have," she said, no longer smiling, "or others just like you. You remind me of a doctor we had at County General. Doug Ross, he was there on a pediatric fellowship. He had knowledge and skill and was exceptionally good with kids, but he couldn't see beyond his own needs and desires. He didn't realize when his actions were hurting his colleagues, or even himself. You know what happened to him? He ended up quitting in disgrace, and the worst part is that he even thought I was happy about it. He just didn't understand. None of you do."

I was quiet. Nothing like a good after-lunch lecture to aid in the digestion.

"You're just one more in a whole series of egocentric men I've known who spend all their time trying to be cute. Men who are smart and good-looking and charming and talented, but you all think you can coast through life on that alone. You guys just don't seem to realize that most people have to work twice as hard just to keep their heads above water, let alone get anything done, while you're all smug and self-satisfied in your own little domains."

I drove quietly for a while, letting her words sink in. Then, I said, "So, you think I'm good-looking, huh?"

Kerry stared at me for a moment, then looked disgusted and turned away in a huff.   Okay, ix-nay on the arm-chay.

We drove the rest of the way in silence. I was imagining a tiny little Kerry Weaver as someone's conscience, sitting on their shoulder, pointing out the difference between Right and Wrong. I wondered if Pinocchio would have put up with her, or would he have squashed her underfoot?

As we entered the Bonaventure's lobby, we were approached by a tall, broad-shouldered man in an expensive three-piece suit from Saville Row. His shoes were spit-shined and immaculate and he leaned on a polished mahogany walking stick with a brass handle. His silver hair was brushed back in a Widow's Peak, and he sported a prominent handlebar mustache. When he smiled at us, his eyes twinkled like Burt Lancaster's. I said, "Kerry, this is-"

"Richard, you handsome devil, you're looking well," she said, ignoring me. She smiled generously and offered him the back of her left hand.

"Dr. Weaver, I presume," Richard Wintergreen said, in his deep, Sean Connery voice, as he bowed and kissed her hand.

"Am I to gather you two already know each other?" I said.

"His powers of observation are nothing short of astonishing, aren't they?" Richard said, still addressing Kerry.

"Well, I'm sure he learned from the best," she replied, earning a dazzling smile from him.

Richard Wintergreen had enchanted legions of women with his charisma and courtly manner. I'm told he once had dinner with the Queen of England, during his Scotland Yard days, and she was quite taken with him. When we were alone in the office, he could cuss like a marine, but in public, he was propriety incarnate.

Richard is the son of a circus strongman, and you can see it in his build, despite his advancing years. He lied about his age and joined the British Army at 16, to fight in World War II, then spent the next 40 years with Scotland Yard, mostly as an Inspector with their Special Branch. He left their service for...well, for personal reasons, and came to the States in 1985 to open his own private investigations firm. I met him four years later, and have worked for him since then. Val Besch used to say that our partnership was like one of those buddy flicks about the mismatched cops who are required to work together. She said that we went together like Alastair Cook and Matthew Perry. Richard took umbrage at that, insisting that he looked nothing like Matthew Perry.

Richard had offered Kerry his arm, and they were walking across the lobby like a Lord and Lady on their way to tea. I kind of trailed along with them, noticing that they almost limped in synch. "I must apologize for not receiving you in person yesterday," Richard said, "I fear I was unavoidably detained."

"Please, don't give it a second thought," she assured him, the soul of graciousness, "Daniel's been extremely helpful."

"Now she tells me," I mock-grumped.

"You must excuse the lad," Richard told her, as though I wasn't within earshot, "He's becoming a skilled investigator, but I'm afraid his social skills leave a great deal to be desired."

"Yes, it's so hard to get good help these days," she said, and they shared a smile, like tolerant parents. Richard was fond of having a laugh at my expense this way, and Kerry was milking it for all it was worth.

Kerry and Richard exchanged a few more pleasantries, largely ignoring me, and then she said, "Well, Richard, I'd love to visit some more, but I'm afraid I've got a plane to catch."

"I could give you a ride to the airport if you like," I said.

"Thanks, but no," she said, with a slight smile, "It'll take me a while to get packed. Thank you for lunch, Daniel. It was...memorable." We shook hands and she said, "It was lovely to see you again, Richard."

Richard bowed again, and we watched her as she went into the elevator. Her gait, though slightly asymmetrical, was unforced and natural. Lifetime of habit. Seven years ago, when I was recovering from my injuries, I'd wondered what it would be like living with a permanent disability. I hoped I'd deal with it half as well as Kerry Weaver did.

Richard said to me, "I gather you're fond of the good doctor, my boy."

I looked at him. "What gives you that idea?"

"You took her to lunch, and you offered her a ride to the airport."

"I was being polite, okay? Things didn't pan out like she wanted, and I felt bad for her. That's all. Besides, I don't think she likes me much."

"Pity. I daresay the two of you looked rather good together, as you entered," Richard said, stiffly. "Certainly, she'd be better for you than that roller skating girl from Venice Beach." He meant Val.

"Richard," I said, "name one thing that Kerry Weaver and I have in common?"

Richard Wintergreen looked directly at me and replied, "My sincere respect."

Well, how do you argue with that?