The Expendable Man

by Dorothy B. Hughes

  “Then why are you training for foreign service?”

  She laughed. “At heart I suppose I’m a crusader, like my father. I don’t intend to spend my life in the foreign service, Hugh. I can spare a few years. After that I shall get married, raise a family, and point out proudly to them how much better their lot is than mine when I was a girl. Now tell me your story.”

  “I’d like to stay in research.” He might have been talking about someone else. He couldn’t speak of his own future when there was to be none. “However, as I have to earn a living, and want to make a damn good one, I’ll doubtless end up in practice.”

  “You’ll specialize?”

  “You have to nowadays. Or so the doctors tell me. I’d be content to be a really good old-style family doctor like Edward. Not that I’d ever be the surgeon he is.”

  “Have you ever thought of a turn at Medico?”

  The telephone rang. Neither one of them had actually been free of fear, despite their efforts. Both started at the sound. But she pretended as she went to answer. “We might find ourselves in the same neighborhood overseas,” she said. After speaking, she turned, “It’s for you,” and before he could react, “I think it’s your grandfather.” She didn’t know that increased the decibels of his fear.

  The deep, soft voice said, “I’m sorry to bother you there, Hugh, but you’ve just received a telegram. I thought it might be too important to wait.”

  The Dean? Hugh said, “Thank you, Gramps. I’ll be over in a little.”

  “We’re going out but you know where the key is.” Everyone knew where the key was kept. Under the rambler roses on the trellis. He wondered how he could suggest a change of hiding place for the present.

  They said good-bye and he replaced the phone.

  “Bad news?”

  “I don’t think it will be. A wire. It must be from the university. I mailed a special to the Dean last night.” He sat down at the table. “Bad or good, I’m going to finish my lunch.”

  She poured more tea into his glass and her own. She’d led him to talk of this and that while they lunched as if there were no doom overshadowing him. Now that he would be leaving, she went directly to what must have been weighting her thoughts throughout the hour. “You were with the police this morning.”

  “How could you know that?” There was only one way. Skye must have told her.

  She said, “You only have that particular face when you’ve been up against Ringle and Venner.”

  He admitted, “Yes, they were there. And the marshal. And Iris’ father.”

  “And . . .?”

  “It wasn’t good. When he didn’t identify me, they told him I’d brought her to Phoenix. Then he called me the murderer.”

  “Are you afraid?”

  “I’m almost past fear. Unless Houston’s Meg gets the identity of that man, there’s no hope. I’ll be charged. Or unless I can find him.”

  “Did you tell the police about the call?”

  “Yes. They’re putting a prowl car in the neighborhood.”

  “That’s good.”

  “It’s not good,” he denied. “It all but ruins my chance of finding him. He’s not going to be active while they’re in the neighborhood.”

  “It may keep you from being hurt.” Her words went beyond the simple statement.

  He hadn’t thought before in terms of actual physical violence, only of facing up to the man, demanding the truth. He wasn’t a fighter; he’d never had to be and never wanted to be. As a student doctor he had seen the results of the cruelty of man when reduced to animal viciousness. In particular the cruelty unleashed in today’s juveniles, in the gang warfares of the city.

  Although he and the police had used “man” as terminology for the killer, Hugh realized at this moment that his mental picture had always been of someone of Iris’ generation, of the raucous, acned boys of the Indio experience. Teen marriages weren’t unusual. Somehow he had believed that out of the experience of his maturity, he could handle this boy. He had not remembered that boys tended to run in packs. He might not be facing a single adversary.

  And there was ever present the fact of color. If the man/boy attacked Hugh physically, after initial impact, he would be attacking the fact. The hatred of the fact, for him, would justify violence.

  Hugh shook the thoughts out of his head. He would not be afraid. If he could find a way to confront the man, he would not hesitate, whatever might come. He didn’t want the police there; he wanted it where he could force the truth. Alone, fact to fact. It was the only way he could hope to escape the net being woven by both the police and the killer.

  He put out his cigarette. He said, “That wouldn’t be very important if it saved my facing trial for abortion and murder.” He moved to the door, not wanting to leave this oasis, not wanting to leave Ellen. But there were other things which must be done while he was yet free to do them.

  He said, “I’ll call you later.”

  Hugh drove to the Jefferson Street house and climbed the porch steps. Venner was in the swing. Hugh turned to stone. “What do you want?”

  The detective’s lips were mocking. “I been waiting to see you, Doctor Densmore.”

  He couldn’t have arrived while the grandparents were at home, he’d have been inside the house.

  “Yes?” When you were arrested you were allowed to make one telephone call. To your lawyer? Houston couldn’t be reached; he was in court. To a friend? Edward couldn’t be reached. Again the burden would be Ellen’s.

  Venner gave the old wooden swing a backward push as he got out of it. “You going to ask me inside? I’ve always been curious as to how you folks live.”

  It was meant to be insulting but Hugh ignored it. He repeated, “What do you want?”

  Venner ceased baiting. “I want your medicine bag.” Before Hugh’s outrage could become vocal, Venner fumbled a fold of paper from his back pocket. “I got the order here. Signed by the marshal. All perfectly legal.”

  Hugh accepted the paper. Perfectly legal. He returned it to the detective. The sharp little eyes watched as he took the key from under the roses. The place must be changed. Hugh opened the door. He must be rid of the man before his grandparents returned to face the malice.

  Venner gawked around the living room. “Looks right nice.” It looked exactly like the living room of anyone’s grandparents.

  Hugh said curtly, “I’ll get the bag.”

  “Mind if I follow along? I wouldn’t want you deciding to remove maybe a knife or a forceps.”

  Hugh said, “If I’d had any reason to remove anything from my kit, I’d scarcely have waited two days to do it.” He started up the stairs, resenting the footfalls behind him.

  The yellow envelope of Western Union was propped on the bureau in his room. He didn’t touch it; it didn’t matter if Venner did see it there. Venner was in the room as Hugh opened the closet door and reached down the black bag. He could not bring himself to pass it over to the detective. A doctor’s bag was sacred to medicine, it didn’t belong in lay hands.

  He said, “My instruments are sterilized after every use. If I had used them, there’d be nothing to prove it.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Venner said. “We got a laboratory that can find a lot of things that aren’t there.” He held out his hand. “Might be you wouldn’t have much of a chance to sterilize stuff, just being a visitor in Phoenix.”

  He sensed Hugh’s resistance, he was enjoying it. He reached further and took hold of the handle. Hugh didn’t relinquish it. For a moment they stood there, both clutching the small black kit. Hugh could have jerked it away from him, he was taller and younger and perhaps stronger than the detective. But he didn’t dare worsen his position by force. Even if the idea of commandeering the bag had been initiated by Venner, the order was plain. It might be an extra-legal move, but it was legal.

  Hugh released his hold, hating the smirk of triumph on Venner’s mouth. “Now you got to sign the receipt.” He pushed the bag
under his arm, deliberately careless, while he pulled the paper from his pocket again. “Sign on the dotted line.” He thrust it at Hugh. As Hugh took his pen from the desk, Venner continued, “We wouldn’t want that high-toned lawyer of yours to say we done anything illegal.”

  Silently Hugh returned the signed paper. He started to lead out of his room but Venner didn’t follow.

  “You’re forgetting your telegram,” he said. He stood between Hugh and the bureau. He was greedy for the overt act, for one movement from Hugh which he could repulse out of pious legal violence. It had been a near thing when both clutched the black bag. If there had been more space, if they had not been penned in the small aperture between the bed table and the closet door, Venner might have created the excuse.

  This was his last chance. When he saw Hugh would not advance, he dangled the kit carelessly from his fingers and with his other hand lifted the envelope. If he dared to open it, Hugh knew he would lose control. He waited, hoping his trembling rage was hidden.

  “You haven’t even opened it. Don’t you want to know who’s it from?” His eyes peered as if he could read through the protective cover. “You must be a mighty important boy to be getting telegrams you don’t even open.”

  Hugh refused to speak.

  “Catch,” Venner said suddenly. He tossed it short toward Hugh. It fell on the rug between them.

  Cautiously Hugh bent to pick it up. At once Venner thumped across the room, his heel coming dangerously close to Hugh’s hand. But Hugh was quicker. He straightened with the envelope in his hand as Venner passed. He waited for the detective to precede him down the staircase.

  Venner wasn’t afraid of his rage. He moved lightly, not looking back. It could be he himself recognized how near he had come to his aim, and how damaging it could be to him as well as to Hugh. He had a last word as he went out the front door. “Fresh air sure smells good.”

  Hugh stood at the door until the car was driven away. Then he moved quickly. He didn’t even stop to read the wire. If his grandparents should see him now, they would know something was terribly wrong. He locked the house, replaced the key, and drove away. He didn’t know where he was going, he only needed to get out of the neighborhood, to find a place where Venner could not reappear.

  He was on North Central when he saw the big drive-in and remembered its objectiveness from previous visits. At this hour it was not crowded. He pulled in, and as soon as his order was taken, he opened the envelope.

  It was from the Dean. A day letter in clipped telegram shorthand, but the expanded meaning was plain. There was disbelief that Hugh could be subjected to this misunderstanding, an offer to help in any way possible, and the Dean’s assurance that he would arrange things at the hospital for Hugh to be absent as long as was necessary.

  Hugh was moved. It was good to know that there was a friend who trusted him. When his Coke came, he drank it slowly and afterwards finished the ice. He was cooled in mind and body when he paid the tab and drove the few blocks to Edward’s office. It was about three-thirty. The doctor would be in, and it might be possible to see him for a moment. With every new police move, Hugh knew how necessary it was for him to get on with the search. When he was arrested, there was no one he could ask to continue it. The abortionist would then be safe, not caring that an innocent man was in his stead.

  Edward’s office was off McDowell, a one-story yellow stucco building housing two doctors, a dentist, an architect, and a pharmacy. All Negro. The white tenants had moved out when the pioneer, the architect, moved in. He hadn’t been a crusader; it wasn’t easy then or now for a Negro to find good office space.

  Hugh drove into the parking lot at the rear and entered the building by the back door. Edward’s office was in the front. There were several patients waiting, idling over the magazines. Hugh had met the young secretary-nurse at the wedding reception, but he identified himself and said, “If it’s possible to see the doctor for a half minute, I’ll wait.”

  “I’ll find out, Dr. Densmore.” The patients wouldn’t resent a brief conference between doctors. The girl returned almost immediately. “If you’ll go into his office, Dr. Densmore, he’ll see you when he can. The far door.”

  He walked into the inner corridor, passed two closed doors, and entered the private office. He sat down across from the desk and waited. The air conditioning made waiting a pleasure. He was tense with hope. It wasn’t long before Edward joined him.

  “I’m sorry to barge in during office hours,” Hugh told him. “But I haven’t been able to reach you. Were you able to get any more names?”

  Edward lighted a cigarette before taking a key ring from his pocket. “Only two and I must have talked to a dozen people.” He fitted the key into the lock of a narrow desk drawer and opened it. He took out a folded prescription blank from his wallet and relocked the drawer. As secretly as if there were other persons in the room, he passed the paper to Hugh.

  “The first is a number to call. No name. I had word of it from a nurse, a doctor, and an intern. All professed ignorance of the number; they’d heard of its existence, that was all. I won’t tell you which one of them tucked a slip of paper into my hand just as I was leaving the hospital.” He gave a muffled sigh. “Somehow I feel that no one I spoke to believed my cover story. They thought I personally wanted to know how to get in touch with an abortionist. My only solace is that I will be able to tell them the truth later. Or so I hope.”

  “I’m sorry.” It didn’t help to say it. It didn’t relieve Edward’s shame or Hugh’s own disgust at involving his brother-in-law.

  Edward’s voice was more muted. “The second is old Doc. Jopher. He lost his medical license years ago, criminal negligence. Operated once too often when drunk. He was a natural to turn to illegal operation. He’s served time twice for abortion, but as soon as he got out, he went back to work. No one seems to know if he’s in the business currently, there have been no rumors that he is. He’s getting pretty old. But somewhere he’s finding the money to buy booze. He’s usually drunk.” Almost apologetically, Edward said, “I don’t think he’s your man. The police know all about him. He’s always questioned if an abortion case is made public.”

  “And swears he’s innocent,” Hugh said. “A man like that won’t tell the police anything.”

  “Do you think he’d tell you?”

  Hugh shook his head. “But if he’s the one, I’ll have to find some way to get him to talk. Where does he live?”

  “In a little farmhouse north of Scottsdale.”

  “Scottsdale?” Hugh reacted.

  “Yes.” Edward was aware of the pertinence. “The directions are on that paper. There’s no telephone. But they say he’s easy to find, he seldom leaves the place.” He put out the cigarette, ready to resume practice. “What about Mahm Gitty?”

  “She’s out of it. She’s been in the hospital for two weeks. I won’t keep you longer. I want to get at these.”

  “Don’t be disappointed if they lead nowhere. There may be others no one has mentioned. I may get more information.”

  “In Phoenix would there be more?”

  “There might be dozens.” Edward wasn’t optimistic. “Destroy that paper when you’ve done with it. I wouldn’t want it to be seen. Did you get a lawyer?”

  He realized he hadn’t seen Edward since. “Skye Houston.”

  Edward opened the door. “He’s the top man here.”

  “Ellen’s father arranged it.”

  Edward stopped in the doorway. “Understand one thing, Hugh. We’ll all help on the fee. Your father won’t have to shoulder all of it.”

  Hugh faced him firmly. “I’m going to pay every penny of that fee. I’ll have to borrow the money but not you or my father or anyone else is going to be out one dime. I’m no longer little Hughie, Edward, this is my responsibility.”

  Together they walked the corridor, Edward leaving him at the first closed door. Hugh went out through the office, followed by the curiosity of the waiting patients. He�
�d kept Edward too long from his appointments; it would mean overtime again for an already overworked doctor. Some day he’d make it up to Edward, he didn’t know how, but he would.

  Again in the car, weighted by the immediate afternoon heat, he took time to reread the information on the prescription blank. Doc Jopher should be the one, but if the police had already questioned him, why should Hugh even dream that he could bring the man to confess? He’d start with the number. If it was so well known in town that three persons had mentioned it to Edward, it would seem the sort of information that Iris’ friend could be expected to pick up.

  It was not until he’d driven away that it occurred to him to wonder where it might be safe to make this telephone call. Not at his grandmother’s or his sister’s, they’d be sure to overhear. Not at Ellen’s, for she must not know of his activity until it was successfully concluded. He’d have to find a public phone booth, and one where there was no chance of his being observed by either family or friends or police or the unknown man. It eliminated the neighborhoods he knew, and in others he might be intrusive.

  He decided to cruise until he spotted a likely booth. He found what he needed at one of the new shopping centers north-east of town. The development was large enough to give him anonymity, but not so large that the phone booth might be in constant demand. Actually there was little reason why the women, darting from one air-conditioned store to another, would need the telephone. They were within a few blocks of their neighborhood homes.

  He left the car sandwiched between other cars near the variety store, and went in it, buying a pack of gum to add to the small change in his pocket. Under the arcade he sauntered on to the drugstore, buying a roll of mints, to add more change. Keeping under the arcade, he window-shopped his way to where it ended, and then, as if it were something that had only then entered his head, he walked out into the sun, crossing the sandy expanse to the booth.