Sometimes you need a Doctor Make-Right
When you finish reading Len Koepsell’s novel, Three Strikes, You’re Dead, I’ll still be down here in Cartagena, Columbia, making things right but never talking about it.
I can’t tell you my real name. It’s about my reputation as a doctor here in Cartagena, Columbia. I don’t want to jeopardize it. When I’m not removing tonsils or stitching up gunshot wounds, sometimes I freelance for an uncle of yours named Sam. Usually, Sam asks me to do things I can’t talk about, sometimes even bad things, but always for a greater good.
When my friend, Diego, who also works for Sam, asked me to tend to the survivor of a bombing, I did it, no questions asked. Then later when he asked me how he might flavor a chimichanga with something that could induce severe indigestion, I knew just the thing. I even gave him a syringe.
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