Then he thought Jimmy had to be ribbing him. He wouldn't be so crazy as to pull such a stunt with Wyatt. "Come on. This is a joke, right?"

Jimmy's gaze shifted to a point behind Earl and his eyes widened. "Oh, sweet Jesus, I see the man himself headed this way."

"Quit kidding me, Jimmy, not about this."

"Oh, but I'm not. And he's flushed purple as an eggplant."

Of course Peter Wyatt wouldn't be behind him. Maybe Jimmy had never said anything to him at all, the story being just a way of making a point about a problem that he thought deserved attention from the new VP, medical. Earl loved how the priest could quick-shift from the serious to quirky, off-the-wall teasing. Delivered at the right moment, his jokes could lift the spirits of an entire ER staff and keep the craziness of what came in the door from eating at their minds. What's more, fun could be had in playing along with the man, calling his bluff, throwing out even nuttier nonsense, the game being to top him. Earl relaxed. "Yeah, right, Jimmy. And were I to turn around, there'd be the Pope as well, the pair of them coming to admonish you for sticking your nose where it had no business."

"Dr. Garnet!" rattled the gravelly voice of Dr. Peter Wyatt, the sound running down Earl's spine like knuckles on a washtub.

Jimmy winced. "Want me to stay? I will, but my presence might inflame things."

"Jesus Christ, you really did tell him off!" Earl still couldn't believe it.

Jimmy's gaze hardened, completely devoid of the sadness from minutes ago. "As I said, it needed doing. Do you want me to stay or not?"

"Garnet, I want a word with you!" Wyatt's bellow sounded twice as close as before.

"Jimmy, I swear I'll get you for this. But right now, just get out of here."

"See ya." He flashed that magic grin, gave his hamstrings a quick stretch, and jogged off.

Earl, fuming, turned to confront the chief of oncology, and had to stifle a nervous laugh at the sight of the man descending on him. Bushy eyebrows and a furrowed forehead always endowed Wyatt's grim face with more horizontal lines than the mug of an onrushing bulldog. Normally he stuffed his stocky frame into a three-piece suit, giving himself the formidable air of a Winston Churchill. Today, however, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts, he looked more like a knobby-kneed drug dealer. "Peter, good to see you." Earl force-marched his mouth into a genteel smile and held out a hand in greeting. "Fine day for a race, isn't it?"

Wyatt huffed up to where he stood and ignored the gesture. "I see that priest's already gotten to you."

Oh, brother. "Jimmy? He just promised to leave me in his dust during today's race, as usual."

"He didn't tell you what he said to me?"

At close range, Earl could see droplets of perspiration appear across Wyatt's beefy forehead despite the cool breeze. He almost suggested the man sit down somewhere but figured Wyatt would take it as an insult, he being a staunch practitioner of middle-age macho. "He never mentioned you at all, Peter. And why would he? Today's a time for fun, not business."

"Fun, my ass. That comedian in a collar had the nerve to tell me and my physicians how to treat dying patients. Even suggested that there ought to be an audit of how we practice. I never liked these modern types of chaplains, always going on about 'interfacing' and 'holistic care,' as if that's going to shrink a tumor. But Fitzpatrick crossed the line today, and I don't want him in my department anymore. You make sure he stays away."

"Now, wait a minute. I can't do that."

"No?" Wyatt drew in a sharp breath, the kind meant to show indignation, except the wheeze in his nose ruined the effect. "If you won't, then I'll go to the CEO, the board of directors, whoever it takes to get rid of him."

The man's angry voice had started to attract passersby. "Peter, this isn't the time or place."

Wyatt looked uneasily around and broke into a professional smile. "I want him to leave oncology patients alone." His voice had dropped to a whisper but had the sibilance of an angry snake.

Earl maintained the show grin he'd started with, but his cheek muscles had started to burn. "I won't do that, Peter. Jimmy's the only person some patients have to talk with, especially the terminal ones. They'd die alone if it weren't for him."

Wyatt's smile congealed a little, like cold grease. "Garnet, I didn't want you as

VP, medical in the first place, and you sure as hell aren't changing my opinion any-"

"Well, I'm sure I can work with you, Peter," Earl interrupted. Despite the pain, he attempted to widen his grin, determined to take control of the situation. It felt more like a show of teeth than a smile. "How about I issue a formal reminder to him and all other Pastoral Service personnel? Something to make it clear that while their insights into patient needs are always valued, final decisions on issues of pain control and medication have forever been and forever will be the exclusive domain of doctors? A kind of 'render unto God what is God's and unto Caesar what is Caesar's' memo."

Wyatt turned a deeper shade of purple. "You're making fun of me."

Earl imagined him in a toga and sporting a crown of leaves around his head. If anyone had an emperor's complex and fantasized about possessing the power to make all of St. Paul's do his bidding with a thumbs-up or thumbs-down, it had to be Peter Wyatt. "Not at all, Peter," Earl quickly reassured him. He knew that Wyatt also held considerable sway over the other dinosaurs who'd led the anybody-but-Garnet lobby and opposed his appointment of Earl Garnet to his current post. They couldn't wait to engineer his downfall. The best defense against this bunch would be copious stroking and keeping them busy. "The truth is, Peter, you just gave me a brilliant idea."

Wyatt's heavy jaw slowly opened, as if about to swallow something whole. "Me? What kind of idea?"

"Who better to lead a hospital-wide audit on pain management than yourself? You've always showed the way in making sure St. Paul's was on the cutting edge of such protocols." And he had. The protocols gathered dust on shelves at every nursing station. "But do we really know if all of us are using them properly? It's a flaming-hot topic right now, as you're well aware, and I can't think of a better person to guide us through the minefield it's become than yourself."

"Conduct a hospital-wide audit? Why, that's a huge undertaking-"

"As far as I'm concerned, you inspired the idea, and the job's rightly yours. The Wyatt Inquiry, we could call it. You'd have the power to appoint anyone you wanted to help you, and I'd order the full cooperation of all the other chiefs. It would be your show, start to finish."

"But I'm so busy-"

"With or without you, it goes ahead, Peter. And that could be a hell of an ordeal if you have to live under somebody else making a mess of a matter you're naturally passionate about. A lot harder than doing it right yourself. Isn't that why any of us take these crazy jobs in the first place?"

Wyatt hesitated, a look of alarm pushing its way onto his thick features. "Yes, that would be hard…"

Earl watched the fight go out of him.

During the man's early days in the late sixties, Wyatt had possessed the courage to take on malignant diseases at a time when they had 80 percent mortality rates. His research had even helped develop the treatments that stood the statistic on its head for lymphomas. In that category, now it was survival rates that stood at 80 percent.

How sad it was to see this tiger so diminished, his once heroic passions for epic cancer work diverted to such puny issues as perceived turf incursions by an overzealous chaplain. "So what do you say, Peter? Will you think about it?"

No answer. He looked overwhelmed.

Earl moved in with the clincher, knowing the one sweetener Wyatt wouldn't be able to resist. "There might even be a paper in it for you, Peter. After all, if you were to develop a road map that would help other hospitals actually implement current protocols in pain management, leading journals would fight to publish it."