<strong>THE FAT MAN</strong><br/><br/>Sure enough, the old reverse stethoscope wake up call worked as always. The Fat Man grinned at Mox, took his stethoscope back and noticed the nosebleed Jane Doe had sprung.<br/><br/><strong>"We don't know much more than you do, missy,"</strong>he shrugged, dabbing at her nose and gesturing for Paul to stop the bleeding,<strong>"but we're here to find out who you are, and what's wrong with you. Do you mind if we call you Jane, for now at least?"</strong><br/><br/>He took the charts from Bob, crossed out 'possible substance OD' and added 'concussion?'. She gave the impression she'd had quite a knock on the head that had gone unnoticed, and, gently slipping his gloved hand in her hair, he felt quite a lump on her scalp. The X rays showed her skull wasn't cracked or anything, and there didn't seem to be any major bleeding.<em>Hang on...</em><br/><br/><strong>"Mox, interns, take a look at this,"</strong>he said softly, pointing at one of the X rays.<br/><div align="center">(http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/b/b8/MRI_toxic_encephalopathy.gif)</div><strong>"See this little circular area in the prefrontal lobe? Doesn't look like a tumor to me, but I'm pretty sure it's not meant to be that shade of gray. Mox?"</strong>He cleared his throat and raised a sardonic eyebrow at him as Kate Frost distracted him for a moment.<strong>"Real doctor needed for a moment here. You remember old man Schiabetta, crazy Italian, died just before Christmas? That turned out to be CJD, and it looked a little like this spot here, except all over the poor bastard's brain. Except Schiabetta got his from fried calf brains, and that takes longer to grow than our patient's been alive. And there's the nosebleed. Jane, can you count down from 132 for me please?" </strong>he asked.<br/><br/><strong>"Terns? Cliff, Adams, you especially? What looks like Creutzfeldt Jakob, talks like Creutzfeldt Jakob, but walks twenty years faster?"</strong>The Fat Man's gaze eyed the layer of lipstick on Jane's lips, smirked cryptically at his team and took a piece of cotton wool from Paul's nursing trolley, with which he wiped off the dark red pigment. Then, with another piece of cotton, he took a sample of her mascara.<strong>"Thanks honey,"</strong>he smiled at the patient. Putting the swabs in a clear plastic pill bottle, he handed it to Paul.<strong>"Get this to the lab, stat. I've given you clues, team. Got any smart ideas?"</strong>After theatrically cupping his hand to his ear for a moment and waiting patiently for an answer:<br/><br/><strong>"That's right, make up poisoning. Specifically, lead, with all the nasty effects it has on the brain. Causes mysterious bleeding, too! Shit, my pager."</strong>It was beeping fast and vibrating, and when the doctor took it out, the little screen read "14-6-02". He held it up and pointed at the code.<br/><br/><strong>"Know what this means? Have you read your pager manuals and memorized the codes yet? Of course not. It means two admissions from the emergency room, coming right up. I can't hold your hands any longer for now, it's time to save some lives. Mox, keep an eye on the ward, no knocking off and <em>shtupping</em> your colleagues till lunchtime at least. Markum and Bob? Take a look at the junkie chick over by the window. Be doctors and play nice. Montero and Cliff! Take good care of Jane here, see if you can't find out her name or anything else, and perform a lumbar puncture. Mox, supervise and make sure they don't kill anyone. Rogers and Adams, I want you to find out what's wrong with Bambi, the blonde to your left. Action stations! If Dan Ryan wants to smoke a cigarette, let him, he's already dying, <em>nebbuch</em>. Make sure the nurses top up his morphine and Do Nothing to the poor bastard. If I need any of you for the new admissions, I'll grab you." </strong><br/><br/>He hurried out of the ward and to the elevators, expecting one seriously ill patient to come out of both at any moment.<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>