The dizziness rose almost to engulf me as I breathed deeply, closed my eyes tight, then forced them open and wide. Someone was yelling in the street. I pushed away from the wall and started to run again.
I staggered, nearly fell. Sobbing breaths seared my lungs. I ran on, without direction, without plan, unable to think but I had to get away.
At the end of the block I made a jog and a couple of blocks later turned into another alley and shook my head to clear it as on my left I saw a white board fence with a large gate. I fell against the gate, rested for a moment, and waited for things to straighten out before I fumbled for the catch. It released suddenly and the gate gave beneath my weight, swung inward and I fell face forward on a stretch of cool, green lawn as the gate swung to and snapped shut behind me.
I was in someone’s back yard. The house was a white, standard California bungalow. I lay there soaking up the coolness, glad not to be on my feet any longer, glad not to be running.
I waited there for some sign of life, waited for someone to open the screen door and come out. Everything stayed quiet. There was no one home. I struggled to my feet again and started toward the house.
On the porch I noticed a set of keys hanging on a nail by the door. Household keys and car keys. I took them.
At the bottom of the concrete steps I paused to quiet my shaking before I continued on to the garage.
There was still a car in the two-car garage, or at least what would have to pass for a car—a ’32 Ford coupe; probably a kid’s piece of junk. In the driver’s seat I wrestled with unconsciousness. I had to get help, had to get my arm fixed. A number floated up through my jumbled thoughts—the number of the doctor’s address that Haggart had given me.
I started the engine and backed out, pulled into the street and banked around to the right as I glanced up and down the street in both directions. Nothing. I drove to the end of the block and turned the corner.
Now the slightest move hurt like hell. The street ahead began to blur before my eyes. I shook my head and kept on going.
* * * *
It was a rough trip to the ninety-one hundred block on Wilshire.
There was a dress shop on the corner. After that there was an interior decorator’s salon, a health food place, a notary public and public stenographer. After that was an empty store and a ladies’ shoe store. I couldn’t read the numbers, but all the places looked strictly legitimate; not a front in the lot. Then I saw the walkup entrance to the offices above.
I pulled the heap around the corner, took the alley at the rear, found a loading area behind one of the shops, and headed in for a stop. The blackness began to swell up inside me again, but I held it down.
Many things went through my head as I made the trip around the block to the stairs leading to the second floor. I was putting myself out in the open, dealing with people I didn’t know. My only protection was money. I could manage that somehow. Anyway the doctor was unethical—I hoped—which would keep him from calling the cops. Maybe not, but what the hell did it matter now?
The glassed-in directory listed Deitrich as a plastic surgeon.
Getting up those steps was like climbing Everest. Each one was a deal all in itself and halfway to the top I had to stop and hang onto the rail to keep from passing out as the blackness reached for me again.
When the spell passed I kept going by trying to count the steps ahead, but they moved away from me into a mist. I boosted myself up, one at a time, and after a couple of years got to the top.
The floor was waxed and slick, which didn’t help any but by moving along the wall I found Dr. Deitrich’s office door, grasped its frame for support and hung there, gasping, running my hand over the glass panel. I tried to call out, but there wasn’t any sound left in my throat. I reached for the doorknob, managed to grasp it and push, but the door was locked. I jammed my fingers on the bell and somewhere inside a buzzer sounded. There was the sound of a latch being turned back and the door opened wide.
It was all I could do to hold my head up to look at her. She was blonde and as beautiful as an angel. From the quick change in her expression it was obvious that I looked pretty grim.
I saw her lips part and move, but I couldn’t hear a word of what she was saying; the darkness was corning too fast now. In the next instant I felt myself going and I welcomed it.
Chapter Fourteen
Returning to consciousness was like pushing up from the bottom of the ocean with lead shoes. Opening my eyes was even tougher.
I don’t know what I expected, or if I expected anything at all, but I wasn’t surprised at what I saw. The room was light and clean and antiseptic. Sunlight filtered in thin beams through the slats of a Venetian blind and made a thin pattern on the floor. Somewhere outside was the sound of traffic.
I was lying in a hospital bed, one of the tall ones with cranks and wheels, lying between clean white sheets and wearing a white linen nightgown. I attempted to turn on my side to have a better look around, but the pain in my left arm acted as a brake.
I’d been fixed up; the bandages proved that. Gingerly my right hand felt the left side of my face which was covered with gauze. All in all, the more I came awake, the more I decided I was going to live.
There was a door to my right, but it was closed, and I didn’t see a service bell.
By now I was beginning to remember in detail the awful trip up the steps to Dr. Deitrich’s office and I wondered if I was still under the auspices of the good doctor or had been passed along to other authorities. The place didn’t look like a prison ward. I gave the bell notion another try, still couldn’t find anything to make a noise with, and was just about to yell when there were footsteps outside the door. My head swiveled around just as the door opened.
It wasn’t the blonde angel of the night before but a big, ripe redhead with a wide crimson mouth and large brown eyes who entered the room with a loose, forward glide that is most often seen on a runway.
“Hello, lover,” she said breezily. “Awake?”
“Where am I?” I asked.
“In the back room.”
“Whose back room”
She looked surprised. “Don’t you know?” she approached the bed. From where I lay I could hardly see her face for the overhang. “What’s the matter, did they let you off at the wrong stop?” She raised my head and did something with the pillow. “You’re in Dr. Deitrich’s offices,” she stood back. “Feel better?”
“I’m hungry,” I said.
“That can be taken care of,” she said. “Anything you want in particular?”
“Surprise me,” I said. I wondered if all of Dr. Deitrich’s patients got this royal treatment. “Is Dr. Deitrich around? I’m beginning to worry about the bill.”
“Don’t worry,” the redhead said with considerable dryness, “Deitrich wouldn’t let you cross the door if he didn’t know all your references or you didn’t come with cash in your hand.” She started back toward the door. “I’ll tell him you want to see him.”
She left with a hip switch that should have melted the hinges on the door. Dr. Deitrich went in for fancy help, which was no complaint on my part.
I tried moving again. My arm felt raw as hell but the rest of me seemed in pretty good shape; still, it was a struggle until I got myself into a sitting position.
It was really a change of atmosphere, and I was thinking what a shame it was to have to cut this short when the door opened and a handsome, tanned gentleman of distinguished appearance with a long, thin, well-proportioned face, keen grey eyes and greying hair entered my room. He wore a tan flannel suit that had been stitched together by one of the better tailors, sartorial proof that the illegal meat and abortion racket was thriving.
Deitrich crossed to the window and adjusted the slats for more light. It was afternoon outside.
He turned back to me and smiled a professional smile. “Well, how do you feel, Walters?” he asked.
“Okay,” I said. “How should I feel?”
&
nbsp; “Not too bad.” His accent was very genteel but slightly phony. “That scratch on your arm was in pretty critical condition. However these wonder drugs are miracles.”
He was a hard one to gauge; his face was too right, too typical. I had the feeling he’d had it worked over.
“You’re taking a risk, having me around, aren’t you?” I asked.
He gazed at me a moment. “Maybe not.”
“You’ve notified the cops?”
He shook his head.
“You’re going to?”
“I’d have done it before now, wouldn’t I?”
“I guess so,” I said. “Just what do I owe you for your services, doc?”
He crossed over and had himself a look at the bandage on my arm. “Not a cent,” he said. “Your bill’s been paid.”
I couldn’t figure it. “What do you mean?” I asked.
“Sometimes,” he stood erect, “when I get a very hot patient I find it very profitable to check around for an offer.” He gave it the smile again. “You turned out to be quite valuable to me.”
“You got a price on me?” I asked.
His expression didn’t change. “That’s right. To some people, Walters, you’re worth a lot.”
“For instance—to what people?”
He shrugged and didn’t answer.
“What if you hadn’t gotten an offer?”
“I suppose I’d have had to call the authorities,” he said with some sadness.
I stared at him for a moment and decided he was too damned handsome. “Who do I belong to—at so much a pound?”
“I’m instructed not to say.”
I let it go. “I’ll bet you’re one of those guys you’ve got to know to really dislike,” I said.
It didn’t bother him. “Possibly,” he said. “You might like to know that the car you arrived in was removed to another part of the city.”
“Thanks. Where can I collect my clothes and get out of here?”
There was a pause. “You can’t,” he said finally. “You’re to remain here until I have word.”
“You’ve just had it,” I said. “I’m leaving.”
“Inasmuch as I’m being paid to prevent your doing so,” he said, “it would be inadvisable.” That was as far as he went with it, though the inference was plain enough. “Meanwhile, as much as I’d like to remain here chatting with you—”
“You’re excused,” I snapped.
He nodded with the phony smile. “Your clothes are locked up for safekeeping. With them is your gun, a small black book, and a wallet belonging to someone named Haggart.”
“I’d like to see the book and the wallet,” I said.
“I’ll have the nurse bring them along to you,” he said.
“I hope you found them interesting when you went through them,” I said.
“I didn’t go through them, Mr. Walters,” he said. “My business is strictly medical.”
“It’s strictly playing both ends for the middle,” I said.
“I have to go now,” he started for the door. “I haven’t had much sleep.”
“Sorry I kept you up,” I snapped again.
At the door he turned back. That smile of his could have been a tattoo. “It was worth it,” he said. “I’ll send the daily papers in. There’s much on the front pages that should interest you.”
When he was gone I found myself staring at the door; there really was the smell of sulphur and brimstone in the air.
From where I lay there wasn’t much to see outside the window: a gap of space that must have been the alley and a stretch of rooftops. The windows were the narrow kind with steel frames that open and shut with a crank.
For a moment I lay with my eyes closed and debated if I really had the strength to get out of the place, for I was as weak as a whore’s protest, and there was the strong possibility that I might have to break my way out.
Sometime later the door opened and the big redhead entered with a tray which she put down on a side table. She made several skilled passes at the sheets to straighten them out, then put the tray across my middle, and I looked down at a man-sized breakfast of oatmeal, bacon, eggs, toast and coffee. I looked again at the redhead, who, busy arranging things, gave me a sightline through the neck of her dress clear down to her navel, an interesting and fulsome view.
“Cook this yourself?” I asked as an opener.
“Not a snack, Jack,” she said and started to leave.
I wanted to talk to her. “Stick around,” I suggested. “Keep me company while I eat.”
“I’ll be back,” she gave me a glance. “The doctor wants you to have some reading material.”
She took off and I was finishing off the toast when she came back with the morning papers, Ann’s diary, and Haggart’s wallet and put them on the table within my reach.
I picked up the first of the papers. My reputation was growing, for within a space of hours I was credited with killing a cop, then threatening a streetcar full of passengers with wholesale slaughter.
The redhead pulled a chair over to the bed and sat down. “It’s hard to believe a guy could find the time for all the things you’re supposed to have done,” she observed.
“I work nights,” I told her. “Aren’t you scared to be shut up here with me?”
She smiled and shook her head. “I’ve never run into the guy I couldn’t handle yet,” she said. “Besides, the guy sitting out there by the door knows how to use the gun he’s packing.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “More valuable than I thought.” I looked at her slantwise. “Has it crossed your mind yet what a heroine you’d be if you called the cops?”
“Dying with a bullet in your head is easy, too,” she said. “Besides, this is one of those jobs where you’re paid to be stupid.”
“What about the blonde who let me in last night?”
“Nancy Wood? She’s okay. She’s been with the doctor longer than I have.”
“Is she as beautiful as I thought she was?”
She shrugged. “She’s beautiful all right.”
There was something in the way she said it. “She looked great to me.”
“She did what she was here to do, that’s all.” She gave me a grin. “She passed a few pertinent remarks about you.”
“How do you mean?”
“She seemed to admire your moles. One in particular.”
I knew the one she meant. “Let’s skip it,” I suggested. “Okay with me,” she said, “but you wanted to know about Nancy. She likes men. Period. As a matter of fact that’s how she got here. She went to work for the doctor to pay him back for services rendered.”
“Let’s cut the personal histories,” I said. “How about handing me the little black book?”
She picked up the book and handed it to me. “Diary, huh?” she commented. “You’ve got to be dumb to keep a diary.”
“Not always,” I said. “Sometimes it’s smart.”
She stood up to replace her chair. “Finish your coffee so I can clear up,” she said. “I’m going off duty in a few minutes. Then you’ll have Nancy.”
I downed the coffee in a fast gulp and the redhead gave me another unobstructed view of the equator, looking toward the tropics as she picked up the tray. She was certainly upholstered for comfort.
“And so we bid farewell to the majestic slopes of lovely Indoor Chestonia,” I murmured.
She straightened, but not too fast. “You’re not half as sick as you should be,” she grinned.
“Never hit a patient while he’s down,” I said. “It’s in the Nurse’s Guide.”
“Okay,” she said, “I’ll see you later.”
She left and I opened Ann’s diary. The story, as set down, coincided with the story Vicki had told me. Somehow Ann’s straightforward, simple style only made the story all the more tragic: the poor kid hadn’t been equipped to struggle against the situation she’d got herself into.
There was one thing that even Vicki hadn’t known. Ann had
really taken a tumble for Mike. That made her a two-time loser in the love racket. At first she’d been terrified at what had happened to her, then—probably through some trick of rationalization—she had decided it was love. She had gone overboard for the biggest wrong number in town. I closed my eyes for a moment. Something was stirring in the back of my mind—a dark room—a path of moonlight. Something was trying hard to take shape.
I returned to the diary and read it clear through to where she was pushing dope in the hawk-and-spit joints and didn’t care whether she was alive or dead. She didn’t pull any punches on herself. It was all there.
Toward the end of the book she began to call names a hell of a lot plainer and her concentration switched from Mike French to Sam Talmadge. The writing became looser and more sprawling, but the information was more explicit. There were names and dates, enough information on Talmadge and his operations to send him up for the rest of his days—all stuff that would be easy to prove.
I stared at the book, riffled the pages, slowly, watching the scrawled words appear and vanish under my hand. The thing at the back of my mind began to come forward from the shadows. Then suddenly it hit me with sharper than bullet impact. Suddenly the story behind the story began to take shape.
I put the book down, reached for Haggart’s wallet, fished out the plane ticket, and stared at the date again. More things began to group in my mind. It was like looking into a kaleidoscope, watching the pieces shift and fall into place as they formed a pattern. Suddenly it all came together in a design that was both perfect and fantastic. I boosted myself erect with my good arm. I had to get out of there, had to extricate myself from the deadly pattern while there was still time. And at this moment the door opened and the blonde angel entered my room.
In the last quarter hour the sun had gone down and until she switched on the light I had to wait for a good look at her. It was worth it, for as she turned from the switch and came toward me I saw that she was just as beautiful as I had imagined, green-eyed like a cat, and with a figure that did wonders for a nurse’s uniform.
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