"Yes, but?—"
"But what? What more do you need?"
The receptionist cut in. "Madame, you must understand?—"
I should let it go.
Walk past. Leave.
But I believed in paying debts.
Good and bad.
And the American girl had stepped in for me without hesitation.
Plus, I really wanted to see the look on the doctor's face.
I walked up to the counter.
The doctor noticed me first.
"Can I help you?"
The receptionist answered first. "You should pay your bill and leave."
The doctor was more tactful. "Monsieur, if you could wait?—"
The American girl didn't say anything.
But the look in her eyes said everything.
She needed help.
I'd pieced together enough. She was trying to get information about the file on the counter. Something personal. Something the doctor didn't want to release.
I glanced down at the file, then back up.
And grinned.
"The fat men were asking about you."
The doctor's face went pale.
Bingo.
He was in their debt. Had to be.
Time to press.
"I could put in a good word with them. If you'd be so kind as to help ..." I paused, glancing at Miss Manhattan.
She caught on immediately. "Ella."
I smiled. "Be so kind as to help Ella. Otherwise, I'll have to mention that you made one of their fighters wait outside your clinic for forty-five minutes to get stitches. When they were the ones who sent me here."
Silence.
The doctor's jaw worked. His eyes darted between us, calculating.
