Trouble is a Friend of Mine

Digby whispered, ‘One-two-one-three-one-zero. One-two- one-three-one-zero.’


Before I could process that, the receptionist said Schell was ready for us.

Despite all the sex talk in my house in the last year while the divorce proceedings were in full swing, my own experience with sex was nonexistent. I hadn’t even been to a gynecologist’s office before.

On the long walk to the exam room, we passed posters like HOW TO TELL A NEW PARTNER YOU HAVE A SEXUALLY TRANSMITTED DISEASE and DON’T PANIC!: WHAT TO DO WHEN YOUR CONDOM BREAKS. When I saw the exam table with stirrups you put your feet into so your knees stuck straight up, I thought, God, I promise to stay a virgin, just please don’t let anyone probe me.

‘What can I do for you?’ Schell said.

There was something creepy behind the suburban dadness of Schell’s first impression. If he were ever found with corpses in his freezer, people would say I knew it. He was so pink and moist. Of course, it’s possible that Digby’s paranoiac distrust of everyone was contagious.

‘The school nurse isn’t allowed to give us the talk anymore, so …’ Digby said.

‘Surely your parents –’ Schell said.

‘No, I mean the talk about different things we can use, not the classic sex talk,’ Digby said.

Schell’s eyes goggled at me out of his sweaty bald head. There were beads of sweat on his upper lip too, which was weird because the room was chilly.

‘You mean contraceptives?’ Schell said.

‘Yeah – what we could use in addition to condoms. A pill just to make sure?’ Digby said.

‘She could go on a low-dose –’

‘She’s got a seizure disorder so maybe you could check if it’d interact with her anticonvulsant.’

‘These are widely prescribed –’

‘We’d be more comfortable if you checked.’

‘Anyway, you’ll have to come back. I can’t write the scrip without insurance information, parental consent, an internal exam … and I don’t have time today.’

Internal exam. I didn’t like the sound of that.

‘Please, Doc. If you’d just look it up real quick,’ Digby said. ‘But, you know … now.’

Schell looked annoyed but went to his computer anyway. Digby stood behind him, spitting out questions. Thrombosis? Weight gain? Hair loss?

Digby seemed even more wired than usual and kept checking the time. A minute into this weird charade, we heard a loud wail. Most of it was garbled, but what was audible was disturbing.

‘Mafawashee … you killed my baby …!’

Schell ran out of the room, cursing. Digby immediately jammed a USB key into the computer, about to type, when I pointed out a key logger plugged into it.

‘Why does a gynecologist need a key logger?’ I said.

‘Or a cell signal jammer, but he has one of those in reception too.’ Digby removed the key logger.

‘Get off that.’

‘Close the door,’ he said, already typing. ‘I can get into his patient records, but not these encrypted files. I’ll clone them and decrypt later.’

I was in a bind. Close the door and help him rip off Schell’s files or leave the door open and get caught sooner. I would later recognize this as a textbook Digby lose-lose scenario.

I closed the door.

‘Finish what you’re doing or stop – I don’t care which. Just get off that computer.’

‘Take it easy.’ Digby ejected the USB and clicked back to the webpage Schell had been on. I put back the key logger. ‘Hey, check this out.’ He climbed onto the exam table, leaned on the stirrups, and reached for a ceiling-mounted camera.

‘It’s for training med students.’ I pointed at a sign that said so with a highlighted note that CAMERA IN OPERATION WHEN GREEN LIGHT IS ON.

‘The angle’s weird. It’d film the patient but not the med student.’

‘That doesn’t make sense,’ I said. Digby waited a second for the penny to drop. ‘He’s filming patients …?’ Patients like Mom.

‘What’s this?’ Digby reached out again but lost his balance and somersaulted off the exam table. He pulled the camera off its mount on his way down, leaving it dangling by its wires, and causing a huge racket.

God, we’re dead. Any second Schell would rush back in. I panicked. I bolted out the door into the waiting room, where I barely registered that Schell was arguing with Aldo, the homeless guy Digby was talking to outside. ‘Hey, girlie, where your cookies at?’ Aldo said as I ran past him.

I ran out the door and kept running for blocks. When Digby finally caught up to me, I was sitting on a bench, panting.

‘So … that wasn’t suspicious or anything,’ Digby said.

Reader, I hit him. Hard. In the gut.

‘Okay … I deserved that. Although, thanks for not hitting me in the nads.’

‘You realize Schell’s going to call the cops on us,’ I said.

‘That’s a good punch … definitely useful,’ Digby said. ‘Schell’s not calling the cops. He doesn’t even know who we are. Besides …’ Digby held up a little black square.