The Good Doctors

Here is a bit of a scene during the formation of the Good Doctors. Robert is recruiting his cousin Samuel Moore who is studying to be a doctor as well as a mortician at Penn University. I always place hints of comedic touches in my crime novellas. For example, my novella Raina: A Prequel to Jacqueline Willoughby has Raina saying something cleverly funny before taking out her victim.

Samuel looked at him incredulously, “Me?”

Robert nodded.

“I can’t kill anyone…” Samuel’s voice trailed off.

“I just need your help—your expertise. I don’t need for you to participate in the actual act.”

Samuel nodded, but he wasn’t sure if aiding and abetting was any less murderous.

“We’re in the same boat, Samuel. I’d be willing to pay you. Handsomely. Enough to ensure that you can remain at Penn.”

Samuel stared up at the imposing library building. Leaving Penn would be nothing short of devastating.

“Law enforcement?” He asked.

Robert nodded, “They’re bad people. We would be doing the world a favor.” He trusted that Noel had been telling him the truth. If he could trust Howell, he reasoned, he could trust Noel.

“How would you do it?”

Robert shrugged, “I’m considering options. At the moment, I’m leaning toward lethal injection.”

“Lethal Injection.” Samuel repeated the words, “What would I do to earn my keep?”

Somewhere in the distance, the raucous sounds of a party—likely a fraternity of some sort—carried through the campus as if carried by the wind.

“We will need to secure the target.”

“You’re speaking in code, Robert. You haven’t changed at all.”

Robert looked at his cousin, the only man he could trust with such a proposal, “But do you understand the code?”

“I never understand the code.”

“I’ll need you to make certain the patient is ready for his treatment.”

Samuel shook his head, “You’re still doing it.”

“Make certain he’s ready for his injection.”

“Kidnap him?”

“Not necessarily. Not preferably, actually. I simply want the target secured so that he can receive the injection.”

“I’m just one person.”

“I don’t expect you to work alone.”

“Then who—”

“Clark.”

Samuel almost laughed, “That’s unlikely.”

Robert shrugged, “You might be surprised.”

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