The Stiff and the Dead by Lori Avocato Page A

she yawned. I couldn’t stop myself from staring, and noticed Hildy had more artificial holes in her body than a piece of Swiss cheese. Ears—about ten earrings between the two—nose—both sides—and two on each eyebrow. When I looked down toward her chin, she said, “Yep, bellybutton and nipple rings.”
    I gasped. “Ouch.”
    â€œYou have to suffer to be beautiful.”
    I sensed little Hildy was trying to cover up a lack of self-esteem by trying to show the world she didn’t care. But I doubted that when I looked into her green eyes. There was a sadness there, and, my old nursing skills had me wanting to help the poor kid. Besides, I could be helping Jagger and myself too.
    â€œSuffer to be beautiful. Who’s the moron who came up with that one?” I laughed.
    She hesitated and then joined me. From behind, a ghost of a man appeared. Again I gasped.

    Hildy turned. “Shit. What?”
    â€œThis isn’t a social, Jones. Get these passed out.” He threw a handful of white-bagged prescriptions onto her desk.
    I didn’t know what to say as I watched his beady eyes give me the once-over, then he turned to reveal a “monk-style” balding head. He’d spoken with a lisp, and I believe I’d noted a pocket protector in his white shirt. A nerd with attitude.
    â€œWho was that?”
    Hildy curled her lip. I thought the silver sourball had to hurt in that position. When she uncurled, she said, “Leo ‘The Shit’ Pasinski.” She grabbed the bags. “Gotta go.”
    â€œLet me help you.” I stood.
    She looked at me oddly. “No one’s ever offered to help me.”
    A bit saddened, I touched her arm. “I’m off duty now and free. Let me help.”
    â€œWhat about the patient that needs the prescription?”
    Caught up on observing Hildy and Leo, I’d forgotten about “Lance.” “Well, I guess he’ll come get it himself. You’re right. It isn’t a life-saving medication. Maybe he skipped out without it.”
    Fat chance, I told myself. But I also told myself that Jagger would come get it on his own terms.
    I called patients’ names while Hildy worked the cash register and insurance info. That I was interested in. I gazed down at one clipboard Medicaid patients had to sign when they got their medicine. Another was for all other insurances. The second list was minute compared with the Medicaid one, although I’d noted a lot of seniors had supplemental insurance since they didn’t qualify for Medicaid. So, Leo dealt with the elderly more. No great surprise though, since this entire conglomerate catered to the elderly. Who else used doctors and medicine more?
    A line had formed with everyone waiting for his or her name to be called. I’d found out from Hildy that the pharmacy stayed open a few hours after the clinic closed. When that tidbit had come out, I excused myself and ran back to get my purse and jacket before the doors to the clinic section were locked.
    Now, with no date to hurry home to, I planted myself in the pharmacy to “help” Hildy. Another pharmacist came for her shift, which made more work for Hildy. I hadn’t seen that pharmacist before. She had dark hair and seemed to keep to herself.
    Jagger never showed, so his medication was put in the bins. I actually noticed there were a lot of bags left in there. Nothing unusual about that. Lots of times doctors called in medications or patients left the prescription and came back later. I knew that much without asking.
    Hildy reached into the bin after a patient came to the counter. She rifled through the bags and then cursed.
    â€œSomething wrong?” I came closer.
    She stuck her finger into her mouth. “Thupid shit. He always screws up with the thapler.”
    At first I could only stare. Then the words sunk in as my mind translated Hildy’s finger-in-the-mouth-talk. “Oh, here.