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malpractice claim?"  Mitch looked surprised.
    "Sure.  Even more disturbing than the actual malpractice actions is the amount of publicity they receive, and how that publicity impacts the image and reputation of a hospital.  I predict those hospitals in Boston and Florida will lose millions in revenues in the next couple of years.  Times are tough. Many smaller and less powerful hospitals will be bought and closed by big corporations to decrease competition and costs.  Others'll be forced out of business.   We're already seeing that in New Orleans."  
    Mitch s e t his coffee cup down and pondered her remarks.  "Many people think physicians make too much money anyway."  He looked at Alex sheepishly.  "Of course, people say the same thing about lawyers.  You think the Obama Care will remedy any of these problems?"
    Alex was quick to reply.  "Nope.  It will make it worse.  CCMC is currently in pretty good shape financially because of our large international population.  They represent a significant portion of our revenues."
    "How do you think CCMC will do in the long run?  You think anyone will buy them?"   Mitch looked at her intently.
    "Don't know.  Someone tried a few months ago, but our board of trustees voted it down.  They're adamant we remain independent.   I know we're in for a long haul."  Alex sighed, "I can't even predict what'l l happen tomorrow.  Another huge problem is the loss of Charity Hospital during Katrina.  The city and hospital community has been struggling with how to care for Louisiana’s poor, and disenfranchised population.  It’s gonna be a bumpy ride, no question about it.”
    Mitch stifled a yawn and looked as his watch.  "It's getting late. Best be getting home.  I don't want to keep you out too late." Mitch stood and helped her with her chair.  Then the handsome couple walked hand-in-hand through the balmy New Orleans night.
    At her door Mitch tentatively kissed Alex good night.  "Call you soon.  Sweet dreams." 
    "Thanks, Mitch.  It was a lovely evening."   Alex entered her flat and returned to the living room to clear away the wine glasses and cheese tray.  After straightening the kitchen, she returned to the living room to close the French doors leading to the roofed balcony.  She stepped outside again to enjoy the fragrant New Orleans night. 
    Once outside, she was surprised when she noticed Mitch on the opposite side of the street talking to a short stocky man with a cigar in him mouth. Strange, she thought to herself.  It's after midnight.  I'll have to ask him who that was.  She watched the pair several minutes.  After a few minutes the men parted ways, and Mitch headed towards his car.
    ***
    Congressman Adam Patrick Lee sat impatiently in his room at the Palm Court Hotel.  For the tenth time, he dialed Alex's number.  No answer.  Where in the hell is she, he thought to himself.  It's almost midnight.  Damn, I wish she didn't live here.  This city's full of creeps and perverts.  He had hated New Orleans for years, and was convinced that the city had robbed Alex’s mother of her youth and her sanity. He still blamed New Orleans for her final, anguished mental break and the silence she had lived in for over 30 years.
    Fucking nasty city, he thought as he impatiently redialed Alex’s home phone.  His hand still stung from where he'd cold-cocked some kid trying to pick his pocket several hours earlier.  He's been right outside his hotel, for God's sake.  The most expensive hotel in New Orleans, and it was worse that Washington DC. It was even worse than the pickpockets in Rome and Sicily, and they were supposed to be the worst on the planet.  Was nothing sacred in this underwater swamp town? Congressman Lee had not been in favor of rebuilding the city after Katrina but had kept his thoughts to himself.  Screw the levies.  No amount of patching and reengineering could ever guarantee what could happen in a Category 5 hurricane.  He shook