by Ed McBain
“It never hurts to have buddies,” he said.
“No, it don’t, and that’s a fact,” Greg answered. “Especially when they’re on a hospital ward, eh, buddy?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing,” Greg said. He paused. “You passed sick call this morning, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t know I was taking an exam,” he said.
“Ah, but you were. Now come on, mate. You knew you were taking a big test, didn’t you? You must have known that.”
“I don’t follow.”
“How you like Miss Piel?”
“Who?”
“Your nurse,” Greg said. “The one come around with Dr. Melville.”
“She was all right.”
“Nice piece, wouldn’t you say?”
“So-so,” he answered.
“You didn’t look so-so, mate. You looked like you was gonna eat her up. What’s the matter? Ain’t there no women on your ship?” Greg burst out laughing. “Yeah, she’s a peacheroo, Miss Piel. Only thing, she’s engaged to a full commander. Now, that’s a damn shame, ain’t it?”
“Doesn’t bother me one way or the other,” he said.
“It don’t? Well, now, that’s mighty interesting to hear. Especially after the way your eyes was popping out of your head when she stuck that thermometer in your mouth. How’d you swing a fever, mate? A hundred and one, the chart reads. How’d you do it?”
“I’m a sick man,” he said.
“Sure, no question about it. I’ll bet you’re even sicker after what I told you about Miss Piel.”
“What’re you driving at, Greg?”
“Me? Hell, mate, I’m not driving at anything. I just notice you got an eye for the broads, that’s all. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“Nothing at all,” he answered tightly.
“Give you a few tips, in fact. Miss Lemmon, she’s on night duty tonight. Not a very pretty wench, but very dedicated to her profession. Hates to see anyone suffer. Tell her you’re burning up with fever, and she’ll give you an alcohol rub. She’s got very gentle hands, Miss Lemmon.” Greg was smiling broadly. “That appeal to you, mate?”
“What’s your game, Greg?”
“What’s yours?” Greg asked point-blank.
“I’ve got cat fever. That’s no game.”
“You’re not sore at me, are you, mate? After all the tips I’m giving you?”
“I don’t need any tips. I’m sick, and that’s it.”
“You’re sick like I’m sick.”
“Blow,” he said suddenly. “Get the hell out of here, Greg.”
“Sure. One more tip, though. Watch for the nurse comes on at twelve hundred. Now, she is really something, mate. Really something you should go for. And we do want to make your stay here a pleasant one, now don’t we?”
“I’m not looking for any nurses,” he said.
“No?” Greg’s eyes narrowed. “I remember you, mate. Maybe you was too busy to notice me the last time you was here, but I remember you. I remember you goddamn well. I got a memory like an elephant.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Greg said tersely.
“So?”
“Nothing. Just remember that I remember you.” He walked to the door. “I’ll be seeing you, mate.”
“Not if I see you first,” he called after Greg.
At 1223, Jean Dvorak walked into his room.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m Miss Dvorak.” She smiled professionally. “And how are you feeling today?”
“Pretty miserable,” he said, his eyes lighting. Greg hadn’t lied to him. This one was really something. This one made all the others look sick. This one was for him.
“Oh, really? Well, now, let’s see.” She walked to the foot of the bed and lifted his chart, her eye passing rapidly over his name and then dropping to the temperature recordings.
“I got cat fever,” he said.
“Yes, I see that. Well, your temperature hasn’t been too high.” She smiled again. “I think you’ll survive.”
“I’m sure I will,” he said. “Now that I’ve got something to live for.”
She looked at him curiously for a moment, and then she gave a tiny shrug. “You get all the rest you can,” she said.
“How does it feel?” he asked.
“How does what feel?”
“Being an ensign?”
“I never much think about it,” Jean said.
“Don’t you feel sort of silly when an enlisted man salutes you?”
She smiled and said, “As a matter of fact, I do.”
“I thought so.”
“Why’d you think so?”
“I don’t know. I just figured you for the kind of girl a uniform didn’t mean very much to. The stripe, I mean.”
“Mmm. Well, you’re very observant.”
“I try to be.”
“You’re also very talkative. You should be getting some sleep.”
“I’m not sleepy. Not any more.”
“Aren’t you? Well. Perhaps I’d best call the doctor and have you released. If you feel that well, I mean.”
“I’m still pretty sick,” he said, smiling.
She went to the bed and put her hand on his forehead.
“My mother used to do that,” he said.
“You don’t feel very warm.”
“I think maybe the fever is dropping. It’s supposed to drop after a while, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Well, we’ll see.”
She started from the bed, and he said, “Are you going so soon?”
“Why, yes,” she said, surprised.
“Why don’t you come back again? Later.”
She looked at him, her mouth and eyes curling in amused surprise. “What for?”
“We’ll … talk a little.”
“Well, maybe,” she said.
“It’ll help me get better,” he added hastily. “I’ve been very lonely.”
“Lonely? You were just admitted last night.”
“I know. But I get lonely in hospitals.”
“Well, I’ve got to see my other patients.”
“And afterward, will you come back?”
“You’re a persistent young man, aren’t you?”
“I’m just lonely,” he said.
“I’ll see.”
“Promise.”
“Now, really …”
“Or don’t you talk to enlisted men?”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Navy Regs,” he said.
“I don’t think Navy Regs apply to a nurse talking to her patient,” Jean said.
“Then you will be back?”
“I didn’t say that. You’re something of a seagoing lawyer, aren’t you?”
“Come on, Miss Dvorak,” he said. “Say you’ll come back.”
“I’m overwhelmed,” she said, smiling and shaking her head. “You get some sleep now.”
“I’ll see you later?”
“I might stop by. If I’m not too busy.”
“Promise,” he said.
“I never make promises I’m not sure I’ll keep.”
“Then promise, and keep the promise.”
“They ought to make you a recruiting officer,” she said.
“Then you’ll come back?”
“Yes, later. For just a few minutes.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
“Breathlessly, no doubt,” she said, and left the room.
She went back to him a little later, after she’d seen her other patients. He was propped up in bed, the pillow behind him, and he stared through the window, with the sun laying long golden bars across his face. He looked very weak and very pathetic that way, and she paused in the doorway for a moment before entering. She had always felt an enormous sympathy for anyone who was ill, and his pose when she entered was such a desolately lonely one that she felt a sudden wrench of her heart. He kept staring through the window, unaware of her presence, a
nd she wondered for a moment if she shouldn’t leave him with his thoughts. Instead, she walked crisply to the foot of his bed, and he turned when he heard the rustle of her uniform, and then a smile mushroomed on his face.
“Hi,” he said. “I thought you weren’t coming.”
“I promised, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did. Gee, I’m glad to see you.”
“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything. You looked so … so solemn.”
Pain seemed to stab his eyes, and he turned his head for a moment, the sun limning his profile. “Well, you know,” he said.
“No, I don’t. Is something wrong?”
He turned to face her again, studying her, studying her minutely, as if trying to memorize her features. “No, nothing,” he said at last. He smiled broadly. “Nothing to worry your pretty head about, anyway.”
Jean looked at him curiously. “If it’s anything I can help with …”
“No, no, nothing. It’s just … a fellow gets lonely sometimes.”
“How long have you been in the Navy?” Jean asked.
“Oh, a while.”
“Homesick?”
“A little.”
She raised her brows and looked at him again. There was a strange quality about him, a feeling of utter truth that was somehow submerged. She couldn’t tell whether or not he was being honest with her, or whether his tongue was in his cheek, and this inability to determine his motives annoyed her and piqued her interest at the same time. For no real reason, she asked, “Are you married?”
“No,” he answered quickly, without hesitation.
“Girl back home?”
“No,” he said. “That’s not it.”
“Just miss things in general, is that it? Your town, the people there?”
“I suppose,” he said, and his voice was lonely and forlorn again, and she felt once more an enormous sympathy sweeping over her.
“I feel like that sometimes, too,” she said. “It’s a normal thing.” She paused. “It’s hard to pick up your roots. The Navy asks you to do that, but it’s very hard, I know.”
“Do you like the Navy, Miss Dvorak?” he asked.
“Yes. Very much.”
“Good.” He paused. “I do, too.”
“Well, good. That makes two of us.”
“Except … well, never mind.”
“No, what is it?” she asked.
“Well, the regulations. Sometimes they bother me.”
“The regulations bother everyone. You have to have regulations, or you wouldn’t have a navy.”
“Oh, don’t misunderstand me, Jean—” He cut himself short. “Say, is it all right to call you Jean?”
“Well …”
“See, that’s what I mean about regulations. Isn’t it natural for a guy and a girl to call each other by their first names? Well, sure it is. But I have to be careful about calling you Jean. Now that’s silly, isn’t it?”
“Well …” She smiled. “I guess it is silly, when you consider it.”
“May I call you Jean?”
She hesitated. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Well, regulations …”
“Sure,” he said, the sadness back in his voice again.
“Oh, now don’t look so desolate.”
“No, it’s all right.”
“Really, it’s not that important.”
“It is important to me,” he said. His eyes sought hers. “It’s very important that I call you Jean.”
“Well, if it’s that important …” She smiled mischievously. “Suppose you call me Jean, then. But only in this room, all right?”
“And will you call me by my first name?”
“I don’t even know your first name,” she said. “In fact, I’m not even sure of your last name.”
“You’re kidding me. I thought surely you’d memorized the chart by now.”
“No, I’m afraid I haven’t,” she said, still smiling. “In fact, I have a confession. To me, you’re just One-o-seven.”
“One-o-seven?”
“The room number,” she said, gesturing toward the door with her head.
“One-o-seven,” he repeated, wagging his head. “The Navy’s finally reduced me to a cipher. Look, will you do me a favor?”
“That depends.”
“You won’t even have to look at the chart, how’s that? I mean, I’ll make it real easy for you, no fuss, no muss. O.K.?”
“It still depends.”
“I’ll give you my name. No work involved. No walking around to the foot of the bed, no eyestrain. How about it? All you have to do is promise you’ll call me by it.”
She thought about this for several moments. Then she said, “No.”
“Why not?” he said plaintively.
“It’s better this way.” She nodded her head. “It’s better if you remain One-o-seven.”
He looked crestfallen. “You engaged or something?”
“No,” she said slowly.
“Going steady?”
“No.”
“A guy?”
“Maybe a guy,” she admitted.
“Would he object to your calling me by my first name? Gee, is that a lot to ask? It’s not as if I’m … Well, I’m only asking you to …” He spread his hands in frustration.
“Orie-o-seven,” she said again, smiling.
“Well, I guess I know when I’m licked. That’s a nice name when you get down to it, I suppose. Has a good ring, and it’s sure individual. Oh, yes. I knew a guy named One-o-eight once, but I never met anybody named One-o-seven.”
She burst out laughing and then stopped abruptly, still unable to keep the smile off her face.
“You’re really very beautiful when you smile, did you know that?” he asked.
His statement surprised her, and her thoughts fled back to that night in the Officers’ Club, when Chuck had used almost the exact words. She thought of Chuck now, and a blush rose on her throat, spread into her face.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Jean.”
“It’s just … never mind. Thank you for your compliment.”
“With love, from One-o-seven,” he said, smiling.
She rose abruptly, glancing at her watch. “I’ve got to go. This has been very nice.”
“I enjoyed it,” he said. “Will you come back again?”
“Oh, you’ll see me around. You’ll get to hate me.”
His face grew suddenly serious. “I’ll never get to hate you, Jean,” he said, and his eyes were so penetrating that she knew she would blush again unless she got out of the room immediately.
“Get some sleep,” she said, and then she whirled on her heel and walked out of the room.
From the end of the corridor, Greg saw her leaving 107. His eyes followed her until she rounded the bend in the corridor, and then he turned back to the report he was filling out, annoyed when he found his concentration had been destroyed.
What was it about that bastard in 107? What was it?
Something, that was for sure. Something you just sensed. When you’d been around hospitals long enough, you automatically knew who was goofing off and who was really sick. And 107 was goofing, Greg would bet his bottom dollar on that.
Cat fever, the old standby. Don’t know what else to call it? Cat fever. Greg was even willing to bet they’d diagnosed poor Guibert as cat fever when he first came aboard. So 107 was pulling a switch on the old routine. He was a shrewd bastard, all right, no getting away from that. He was shrewd, and the shrewdness annoyed the hell out of Greg, especially now, especially after he’d seen Miss Dvorak leaving the room. She’d been in there for close to twenty minutes, and that’s too long for any nurse to spend with any patient, especially an innocent doll like Miss Dvorak and especially with a shrewd bastard like 107.
What was his game? That was the big question, all right. The guy in 107 had a game, as sure as God made little green apples. Just malingerin
g? Yeah, maybe. Was he bucking for a medical discharge? No, he’d have chosen something stronger than cat fever if that’s what he was up to. So what then? Maybe he was going to pull a psycho routine, maybe that was it. Start foaming at the mouth, falling down on the floor, brushing bedbugs off him, things like that. Well, don’t brush them on me, pal.
Damnit, why don’t I like the poor sonofabitch? Greg wondered. He may be really sick, when you get down to it.
The hell he is.
O.K., so he ain’t sick.
Damn right, he ain’t.
Then what’s his game?
I don’t know, Greg admitted. But I’m sure as hell going to find out!
11
Chuck Masters tried to make his head comfortable against the coarsely padded back of the seat.
In all his experience with trains, he had never achieved that simple goal of making himself comfortable, and this experience, he silently reflected, was no different from any of the others. The people who designed trains, he was sure, were the same people who designed such things as electric chairs and subterranean torture chambers. If you put your head this way, he thought, it’s no good. And if you put your head the other way, it’s still no good. What I really need is a Pullman. But he’d been in Pullmans, too, and he’d never been able to sleep, and oh, hell, he should have joined the Air Force.
He achieved some measure of comfort, finally, by sort of twisting his head a little to starboard and tilting it back slightly just a smidgin, just about maybe three degrees. He didn’t dare move his head because he’d been striving for this position ever since the train had begun its laborious journey, and he was certainly not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Outside the window, he could see the countryside falling away, the bland Southern sky imperceptibly changing to the harsher, bleaker Northern sky. He began counting telephone poles. The poles were regularly spaced, set into the ground at slightly different depths, so that the wires plunged and rose, plunged and rose again.
Jesus, I’m getting seasick.
He turned his attention from the telephone poles and the scenery beyond the window, and he concentrated on the window directly before him, in which the aisle and the seats opposite were reflected. A girl was sitting in one of the seats. She was a redhead, and she was wearing a tight green woolen suit and a short topper, and her legs were crossed, and there was a gold ankle bracelet around one ankle. The crossed legs exposed a goodly amount of white, fleshy thigh, and the girl seemed cognizant of this fact, proud of it, for that matter, and for a moment Masters wanted to turn his head from the reflection and enjoy the splendor of the real image. He balanced the desirability of viewing an expanse of thigh against the desirability of keeping the comfortable position he had finally found. And into his reasoning came the coldly logical fact that he was on a Navy mission, and even if the young lady proved to be as interesting as her interesting thigh promised, she’d probably get off the train in Washington, and he’d go on to Atlantic City, and where would that leave him? Of course, there was a portion of night travel ahead, and heaven only knew what could happen on a dimly lighted train speeding through the night with a redhead who looked the way this one did, and who went around flashing comfortably padded white-winking thighs all over the place.