Smell You Later

                

"Mister, buy me something to eat?" a woman asks me as I pass her in the street.

I inspect her - young, mid-twenties, in worn jeans and an old Rolling Stones tee. She smells clean although she does look seedy and run down. Typical, I suppose, for someone living in hard circumstances. Such a contrast to me in my light grey suit, white shirt, and baby blue tie. But, we are close in age and do share close cropped black hair.

There is something else, a familiar odor... yes, I recognize it now, one exclusive to women.

I nod to her and tilt my head to my left, "There a food truck over there. Is that OK?"

She nods back.

We walk over in silence and there, I say, "Get what you like."

She orders Number Three, roast chicken over rice with salad and diet coke. I pay. Holding the plastic carry bag of food, she says, "Thank you," turning to go.

"Do you know you are pregnant," I blurt out.

"What?"

"You are pregnant, about two weeks or so."

She glares and shakes her head, "People say shitty things to me on the street all the time. I picked you because you looked safe but this is really weird."

"Nonetheless, you are pregnant." I hand her my card and softly tell her, "Come see me when you are ready."

She takes the card and drops it into her food bag without looking at it. "You're weird but I thank you for the food."

My card, if she ever reads it, proclaims me to be, John Chalmers, MD. What it does not say is, John Chalmers, Werewolf.

I watch her walk down the street shaking her head. She reacted rather well to my revelation considering she was caught off guard.

I board the train to work and get off at the St. Mary's Hospital stop. I work at an out patient clinic run by The Catholic Charities.

My first patient of the day is Charlene Wriston. As she enters my exam room, I know immediately why she is here. I can smell it.

Bodies give off odors. Any human can tell you that. What normal humans lack is an ability to relate scents to health, at least with any finesse. Any werewolf can smell illness but it takes training to distinguish the odors associated with a particular illness.

And yes, a woman smells differently as her body changes during her pregnancy.

Charlene Wriston suffers from Acid Reflux, stomach acids backing up into the esophagus. I can smell it on her breath. Still, I will do the expected tests. The test comforts the patient that all effort is made to help them and it will confirm what my nose tells me.

My examination of Charlene Wriston is interrupted by a knock on the door, "Doctor Chalmers?"

I look up at the door, "Yes Nurse."

Nurse Janes enters and crosses the room. Nurse Janes is one of the better nurses here. She leans in whispering, "Doctor, there is a very pretty, nicely dressed black woman, a walk-in, insisting to see you."

I whisper back, "Thank you nurse. I will see her in ten minutes."

Nurse Janes remains standing silently next to me.

"What is it Nurse?"

"Doctor," she says, a scowl appearing on her face, "just to remind you, this is a clinic, not a dating parlor."

"Nurse Janes," I say, "in our profession, jumping to conclusions can be hazardous. The woman in question is a police detective."

"She did not show her badge."

I nod, "Please tell her I will see her shortly. Thank you."

I watch her leave. Sometimes, you have to allow a face-saving moment to pass unimpeded. Nurse Janes reminds me of one of my aunts, curmudgeons both. I shake my head to clear Nurse Janes from my thoughts. 

So, Lieutenant Lescot is here. Murder has its smells too.