(Continued from CC2; Free Agent Physical)
"What the hell is that thing?"
Vic Caleca took a step back from the bed where recently signed free agent Mitch Dalrymple was strapped and under the effects of anesthesia. He just witnessed California's consulting team physician, Dr. Fritzenham Kocherschmeltz, make a small incision behind Dalrymple's left ear and pull out a small metallic chip with a tweezer.
"A chip? How'd it get there? I don't understand." Vic said, placing his trembling hands over his mask-covered mouth. His eyes went wide behind fogged surgical glasses. "What does this have to do with me?"
Vic took another step back. "I don't understand anything. How can I be your ground man for something I don't understand -- something like this?"
"Suture and bandage the incision. Inform me when he's coherent," the doctor said to the green-eyed woman, ignoring Vic's question. The doctor stood, removed his mask, and walked out of the room. From the hallway, he said, "Come, Victor."
Vic stumbled from the room like a drunkard, consumed by the thoughts and questions racing through his head. Who are these people? What did the chip do? I don't get why that's the reason I'm here. Is there more to the Brewster than I'm aware?
He followed the doctor down several long hallways through the underbelly of South Pacific Field. Finally, the doctor came to an unmarked wooden door and placed his finger on a scanner embedded in the nob, unlocking the door.
"Please, come in, Victor," the doctor said, entering the office. "Do you need a drink? Water? Juice?"
"I'm good," was all Vic could muster. He just wanted out of this place, regretting his decision agreeing to come to Sacramento early instead of spending a couple weeks clearing his head on a beach somewhere. Looking around Dr. Kocherschmeltz's office confused him even more. Shelves covered all four walls from floor to ceiling, creating a feeling of being surrounded and crushed. The shelves were cluttered with books and papers, jars with unrecognizable specimens floating in amber fluid, and countless mechanical gadgets and parts.
The doctor took a seat behind his U-shaped desk, which also overflowed with odds and ends Vic didn't understand. With a quick gesture, the doctor instructed Vic to sit in the metal folding chair opposite him.
Vic grabbed the back of the chair. It's harsh coldness jolted him, causing him to hesitate. He could run, he thought. From this office, from this organization, from this whole situation. Then, the image of Mitch Dalrymple lying helpless on the table came into his mind. He closed his eyes, remembering the chip being pulled from the incision. After several moments, he took a deep breath and sat down.
Dr. Kocherschmeltz smiled and said, "The chip is an invention of my estranged brother."
