I lie down on the bed. “Let us proceed then.”
A clearing of the throat. “Well, the incision is in your hip, you see. So I’ll, ah, need you to disrobe. From the waist down, at least.”
Without hesitation, I hike my dress up to my waist, staring at the wall, and work my underwear off. “Better?”
“Um. Yes. I would have left the room, you know.”
“I want this over with. I want the chip out.”
“I didn’t think you knew.”
“I didn’t,” I say. “I do now.”
A bob of a heavy head. “I see. I see. Well. I’ll just spread this over you . . .” Dr. Frankel drapes a large square of blue tissue over my waist, a square in the middle left open.
The square encloses the scar on my hip, and the doctor uses medical tape to make sure the tissue remains in place. Dr. Frankel dons a pair of blue exam gloves from a packet, very carefully not touching any of the glove except the very ends near the wrists as he slides them on.
Lifting a syringe, the doctor casts a glance to me. “A little pinch now.” There is a brief sharp poke, coldness against my skin, and then nothing. “Some iodine to sterilize your skin . . .” A small white carton has its lid torn off, revealing a brown liquid and a sponge.
The iodine is cold and turns my skin orange.
Another packet is opened, revealing a scalpel and a pair of forceps. Dr. Frankel lifts the scalpel and prods my scar with it. “Can you feel that?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Very good. I’ll begin. Look away, perhaps? And if the anesthetic wears off, let me know right away and I’ll administer some more. I don’t want you to feel a thing.”
“All right. Carry on then.”
I watch in curiosity as Dr. Frankel presses the tip of the scalpel directly over my scar, free hand keeping my skin taut. After a glance at me to make sure I’m not experiencing any pain, the incision is lengthened, precisely to the size of the previous one. Blood wells after a moment, and a cloth smears it away, and then forceps delve into the opening of my skin. I am morbidly fascinated, watching as my skin is parted. The scar isn’t actually directly on my hip, but nearer to my buttock, just behind the bone, which explains how something like a chip could be inserted subcutaneously without leaving a bump. A moment of searching with the forceps, and then Dr. Frankel withdraws them, pincering a tiny red-dripping square of plastic. The chip is so small I wouldn’t have suspected anything amiss even if it had been placed where it would leave a bump. It clatters in a bowl, and then Dr. Frankel deftly sews the incision shut with a few quick loops of black thread and tapes a bandage over the area.
The entire procedure took perhaps five minutes from start to finish.
“Wonderful. That’s that.” Snapping the gloves off, Dr. Frankel wraps up the entire mess, sans surgical instruments and syringe, and discards it in the trash, and the instruments are deposited in a box on the wall labeled SHARPS.
“Thank you very much, Dr. Frankel,” you say. “Your balance should reflect your payment by the end of business today.”
“I have no doubt.” A quick glance at Caleb. “And this evening?”
“A limo will be waiting for you at your hotel, with your companion for the evening already in attendance.” You pause. “I must remind you of the rules regarding my employees. They are companionship for the evening only. And, of course, your complete discretion regarding the procedure you just performed is expected.”
“Don’t have to remind me on either score, Mr. Indigo. I know the rules. I signed an NDA years ago, and besides, I didn’t get where I am by having loose lips.”
“Of course not,” you say.
A glance at me. “Take it easy on those stitches. There aren’t many, and they’ll come out on their own in time. But try not to get them wet for forty-eight hours at least.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Doctor.”
“Pleasure. Next time, try to give me more than a couple hours’ notice, will you?”
“Hopefully there won’t be a next time,” you say.
Dr. Frankel laughs. “Ah yes, the plight of the doctor. Happy to see us show up, happier yet to see us leave. And happiest of all to never have to see us in the first place.” With that last quip, Dr. Frankel is out the door.
When the good doctor is gone, you glance at your watch, and then at me. “A rather expensive seven minutes, I’d say.”
“If you hadn’t put it there in the first place, you wouldn’t have had to spend three million dollars to have it removed.” I frown. “Why did you have him put a tracking chip in me, Caleb?”
A breath that isn’t quite a sigh. “A last-minute quirk, you could say. A means of ensuring I could protect—”
“Your investment?”
“Are you so determined to believe the worst?”
“Yes.” I step into my underwear and allow my dress to fall back into place as I stand up. I wobble, as my hip is still numb. “With reason.”