closed.
You're damn right it's not. I believe
you may be guilty of medical malpractice.
And I intend to pursue the matter
to its conclusion.
Ross, I understand she was your patient.
Your only patient.
Why don't you come by the gym
tomorrow at 3.00?
It's a mile up the road from you.
I'll throw some business your way.
Thank you, Henry.
I appreciate that.
That was nice of him.
Think he could have said it a little louder?
A little young, isn't it?
The wine?
No, Margaret. To die at 68.
That's ten years below the life expectancy
of a Caucasian female. Did you know that?
Ross, you're a fine doctor.
I'm sure you knew exactly what you were
doing when you took her off those pills.
Like I knew what I was doing
when I chose this town?
With the country doctor from hell.
Or this fine house,
which is rotting from the ground up.
I'm gonna take care of that in the morning.
Well, Margaret's still
gonna be dead in the morning.
I still want to know what killed her.
He was nailing something in the cellar
and the wood just disintegrated.
Termites, huh?
That's what my husband thought.
- And he's an expert in these matters?
- Well... no.
Didn't think so.
I'm glad you called me.
No room for amateurs in this game.
Thank you.
What is it?
It's hard to say.
Would anybody object
if I tore this floor out?
- I would.
- False alarm, then. Lead on.
How bad is it?
I didn't find a thing. Go figure.
Then why is all the wood rotting?
I'll tell you why.
Bad wood.
So... what do we do?
Tear out bad wood.
Put in good wood.
My husband thought
this would make a good wine cellar.
I collect beer cans myself.
I got a rare '74 of Miller Lite
with a misprint on the label.
Only a hundred or so cans in circulation.
The husband just might want to
take a gander.
No hard shoes on the court.
Sorry.
Look, I know what a blow
losing Margaret was for you.
People keep score.
You're only as good as your last game.
- Hell, I ought to know.
- I appreciate your concern, Henry.
I want you to enjoy Canaima.
Clean water, fresh air.
Got no police sirens wailing all night.
Just crickets.
We have crickets up the wazoo.
Actually, I haven't heard any crickets lately,
now that you mention it.
Actually, I haven't either.
Okay, Broncos, the doc's here!
Get ready to drop 'em.
The doc wants to hear you cough.
You call yourself Broncos?
You look like a bunch of babies.
Come on!
You're moving in slow motion here.
That's supposed to be a banana out.
Looks like a banana split!
- Shitty pass.
- I heard that!
What are you, a garbage mouth?
Hit the showers.
Wash that mouth out. Miller!
- You know the patterns?
- Like the back of my hand.
Get in here. Run the same thing again.
Hurry up.
Come on, Miller.
We're waiting on you, let's go!
Come on! Move it! You wanna play?
Come on, run. Let's go.
Thanks.
Run it.
Up. Let's go.
Miller, you all right?
- Coach!
- What's wrong with Miller?
Back up, let him breathe.
What's wrong? What is it?
Come on, give us some air.
Let's get his helmet off.
Real easy. Support his head, coach.
Real gentle.
From what I hear,
it wasn't a very hard tackle.
I only wish I knew, you see
Dr Jennings examined him last.
Why so gloomy?
Bunny Beechwood says that
everybody's calling you Dr Death.
That's just silly, Shelley.
And they say you want to
cut people up into little pieces.
Tom, look...
It's called an autopsy.
It's not a very pleasant thing,
but sometimes it's the only way to find out
what really happened to a person.
But some doctors who should know better
won't accept that.
But some doctors who should know better
just won't accept
that their big-city methods
don't sit well in a small town.
Both Margaret and that poor boy
did seem to be quite healthy.
It's a bit odd, don't you think, Sam?
If I autopsied everyone
who ever died of a heart attack
I'd be run out of Canaima so fast...
Poor Sam. You still think life is
a popularity contest.
You're not