“I’ll give you somethin’!” The blade trembled and he grunted for emphasis. “I’ll give you all the time in the world and the next one, too, you rotten, chiseling, no-account son-of-a-bitch!”
He brought the knife up suddenly. Uncle Bud sort of moaned and sobbed. Then I threw the door back and went in.
Bert didn’t have time to turn around. I had one all set for him, a hard right hook, and he got it in the back of the neck.
The knife flew out of his hand. He pitched forward, striking his head on the stained iron urinal, then fell sprawling face-down to the floor.
Uncle Bud sagged against the wall, pawing the sweat from his white face. He looked down at Bert, straightened up suddenly and kicked him as hard as he could in the head.
“Going to give it to me, were you?” he spat. “Well, damn you, I’ll—!” He aimed another kick. I shoved him back against the wall, then grabbed him by the arm and hustled him toward the door.
“Come on! Come on, dammit! We’ve got to get out of here!”
“B-but—” He tried to hang back. “He was going to kill me! You saw him, Kid. H-he was goin’ to—” He took a deep shuddering breath, and the glaze went out of his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, sure, Kid.”
We got out of there. A few blocks away, we stopped at another bar and he put down a couple of fast drinks. He needed them. He had the shakes so bad that you could almost hear him rattle.
“Hell, Kid,” he said, as we drove away from the place, “I never got such a scare in my life! I didn’t dare turn my head to see if you were there. I was afraid maybe you’d stepped out for a few minutes.”
“Yeah. Where’d he pick you up, anyway?”
“That’s what I don’t know! That’s what gave me such a jolt! I’d parked my car and was just starting through the door of the joint, and there the murdering son-of-a-bitch was! Right behind me with that knife in my back. Hell, he seemed to come from nowhere! It was like he’d dropped down out of the sky!”
“Then he could have been tagging you around for quite a while.”
“He could have been, but it doesn’t seem likely. It looks like I’d have spotted him if he had. No, I figure he must have just been there in the neighborhood and he picked me up when I got out of the car.” He shook his head, stared frowning through the windshield. “I hope it was that way, anyhow. I mean, that he just happened to bump into me accidentally. I’d sure hate to think that…”
I nodded. I’d have hated to think it, too. I didn’t care about Uncle Bud particularly, because a guy like he was—a guy that had taken everyone he could, that had caused all the misery he must have caused—was long overdue for the cemetery. But this would be a bad time for him to go there; and he’d be going there pretty fast if things were like they might be.
“I wonder,” he said, worriedly. “I know a hell of a lot of people, and it could be that he’s buddies with some of the same ones. He might have someone keeping an eye on me—several people, maybe—tipping him off every time they run into me anywhere. Why, hell, it could be and I wouldn’t know it! All the people I’ve met, had dealings with, y’know, I don’t always remember ’em myself!”
He was getting the shakes all over again. I told him there was probably nothing to worry about. After all, Bert had been gunning for him for quite a while, but he hadn’t caught up with him until today.
“It was just an accident,” I said. “He just happened to be in that neighborhood at the same time you were. If he had any help, he’d’ve tagged you before this.”
“Well…” He hesitated. “Well, maybe. It kind of looks that way, don’t it? Of course, he may be just now deciding to crack down. It’s been quite a while since I skinned him—since we had this little misunderstanding, I mean.”
“What about that bar?” I said. “Are you in there every day?”
“Kind of on schedule, you mean? Uh-uh, not me, Kid. Not your old Uncle Bud.” He winked at me, grinning. “I don’t do things that way. I move around. Even with living quarters, I don’t keep any of ’em more than a few weeks.”
“No one knew you were going to be there at the bar today? You didn’t mention it to anyone?”
“Uh-uh. Not a soul. Well, I may have mentioned it to Fay, but no one else. Yeah, Kid,” he pushed his hat back, began to relax, “I guess it’s like you say. It was just one of them things, just an accident.”
I had a hunch that it wasn’t—that someone had tipped Bert off, and that someone would tip him off again. That they’d keep doing it until Bert managed to nail him. But it was only a hunch; Uncle Bud was jumpy enough already, and we still had things to do.
It was almost five o’clock when we stopped at a drug store a few blocks from Doc Goldman’s house. I sat down at the counter and bought a coke, while he put in the phony call from a booth phone.
He came out of the booth, paused at my side a moment. “Okay, Kid. He fell for it. I’ll be back for you as soon as he leaves.”
He drove off. About ten minutes later, when I was finishing my second coke, he pulled up in front again.
He gave me a sharp-eyed look as I climbed into the car. “You look pretty peaked, Kid. How you holding up with all this, anyway?”
“All right. I’m all right.”
“Well, uh, isn’t all this nervous strain and excitement pretty hard on you? I know you’re not really cra—I mean, you’ve just got a little nervous trouble. But—”
“Don’t count on it.” I turned around in the seat and stared at him. “Don’t try to force me into it. Because if I do crack up, it won’t be nice for anyone around me.”
“Aah, now, Kid.” He looked hurt. “Ain’t we pals? Didn’t you save my life today?”
“I’m all right. I’m going to go right on being all right, and no one had better try to trim me or double-cross me.”
“Sure. Sure, Kid,” he said hastily. “I was just concerned for you was all.”
He let me out in front of Doc’s place, and headed back to the drug store to wait for me. I took a quick glance around, and started up the walk.
The house was on the outskirts of the city—I guess I mentioned that before. There were two vacant lots between his house and the next one, and there were no houses at all on the other side of the street. I could be seen, of course. The people in that nearest place could see me if they happened to look that way. But if they did, I guessed they wouldn’t think anything of it. They’d be used to seeing people come and go from Doc’s house. I’d be just one more, another patient.
I went up the steps and across the porch. Then I opened the door and went in. That was the reception room there, the room the door opened into. The living quarters were on through to the rear, and his office and lab were on the right.
I looked around, and everything looked just as I remembered it. The chairs sitting around the walls. The little table stacked with magazines. The rug in the middle of the carpet to cover up a worn spot. The dime-store ash trays. The—
I couldn’t go any further for a minute. I just had to stand there looking, feeling kind of good—safe and comforted—in one way, and pretty lousy in another. It was like coming home and pulling some dirty trick.
But I had to do it. I was doing it for the boy, not myself. So I crossed the reception room, and opened the office door.
And bumped smack into Doc Goldman.
15
He had his hat on. He’d been coming through the door from the other side, and he was just about as startled as I was. Which was plenty, believe me.
I tried to speak, to smile, but my mouth seemed to be in a knot. I didn’t know what in the hell to do, and all I could think of was that he’d caught me red-handed, right in the act of breaking in on him.
I backed up a step. I mumbled something, God only knows what, and I was just about to turn and run.
But by then he was over his start.
“Collie! Collie, my friend!” He grabbed my hand and wrung it. “I’m sorry I didn’t hear you come in. I got a flat
on my car right around the corner, and I just ran back to call a cab.”
“Oh.” I began to breathe easier. For a moment I’d thought that Uncle Bud had tried to trick me. “Well, if you’re going out—”
“No, no. It’ll take a few minutes for the cab to get here. How have you been anyway? Come on in the lab and let me get a look at you.”
He herded me into the laboratory, made me lie down on the examination table. He went on talking, asking questions, as he took my pulse and rested his hand on my forehead.
I said that I was still living at Mrs. Anderson’s. She’d got over the shock of finding out about me, and now things were just like they had been.
“Well, that’s fine, wonderful. I know how it must have seemed to you at the time, Collie. I can’t tell you how blue I felt after you’d called me.”
“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean any of that stuff I said.”
“Of course, you didn’t. Not that there wasn’t a certain amount of truth in it. But you understand, now, don’t you, Collie? You see that she had to be told?”
“She had to all right. But it would have been a lot better if I’d told her right in the beginning.”
“Yes? Well, anyway, we’ve got it all over with now, haven’t we? Now, if you’ll just relax, just let yourself go limp…”
He dug his fingers into my biceps. He raised one of my arms and shook it, watching the movement of my hand. Then, he slid a light refractor onto his head and bent over me, pulling the lids back from my eyes.
“Uh-uh. Not that way, Collie. Look straight at me…”
He stared into first one eye, then the other. My eyes began to water and he let me rest them for a moment, and then he went on staring. At last, he straightened and took off the refractor. He stood frowning down at me, slapping the shiny metal disc against the palm of his hand.
“Not good, Collie. Not good at all. You’re a lot more tense than you were the first night I met you.”
“Yeah? I mean, I am? I feel fine.”
“Like hell you do. What’s bothering you? And don’t tell me there isn’t anything.”
“Well, I—there isn’t anything now, but there was. Mrs. Anderson took what you told her pretty hard. She’s all right now, but I guess I’m still kind of upset.”
“Kind of is hardly the phrase for it. And it doesn’t quite add up for me, Collie. You were very far down in the dumps; the pendulum was right at its lowest point. Even without the situation ending reasonably happy—as you indicate it did—you should have been on the upswing by this time.”
“Well, anyway it’s like I told you. Everything is all right.”
A horn honked in the street. His taxi. He hesitated, fidgeting.
“I guess I’ll have to run, Collie, but—Can you wait here for me? I shouldn’t be gone more than an hour.”
“I don’t know. I’d sure like to, but, well, Mrs. Anderson drove me into town tonight. There was some friends she had to see, and I guess I’ll have to leave whenever she stops back by.”
“You tell her to wait for you, Collie.” He put his hat back on. “Tell her I’d like to see her, too. Will you do that?”
The horn honked again. I told him I didn’t think she could wait; she’d probably be in a hurry.
“Well, wait by yourself then. I’ll drive you home myself.”
“I can’t. I mean—well, I don’t think I can. You see, I—I—”
“Yes?” he said. “Yes, Collie?” And then his expression changed, became kind of a no-expression, and he turned and started for the door. “I’ll have to run now. You stay if you can, Collie.”
He hurried out. The front door slammed, and a moment later I heard the cab drive off.
I eased a hand under my right hip. I turned carefully, grabbing the gun just as it fell to the table. The damned thing had slipped when I’d laid down. If Doc had shifted me around any, he’d’ve seen it.
I shoved it back into my pocket. I boosted myself off the table and went to work on the medicine chest. It was a tall steel cabinet with six big drawers and about a dozen little drawers inside of each of the six. They were all unlocked. The only thing Doc locked up was his narcotics, and they were in the office safe.
I took a two-c.c. syringe and a couple of hypodermic needles—two in case one got broken. I went on looking, working fast, jerking the drawers in and out, until I found the insulin. It was the regular type, but there were only two vials of it, two of those glass, 400-unit, 10-c.c. tear-drop tubes. I hesitated, staring down at the little crystal-clear tubes. Then I laid them on the table with the hypodermic syringe and the needles and went back to the cabinet. The drawer labels might be haywire. Doc had a pretty big practice and no one to help him. And sometimes he mixed things up.
I started at the top of the cabinet again, and worked down. Taking it slower this time, looking carefully through each drawer. I worked from the top to the bottom, not missing a bet. And then, well, that was it. There was just the twenty c.c.’s. There wasn’t any more, and this would have to do. It didn’t look like it, but it could be more than enough to get the boy out of it and keep him going awhile. Actually, I really didn’t know. I didn’t know a lot of things.
I got a paper towel from the sink and wrapped the stuff up. I left the house, worried about getting what seemed so little and worried about taking that little. Doc was sure to miss it—his entire supply. All I could hope was that he wouldn’t need it any time soon.
Uncle Bud was waiting in front of the drug store. We started for the house, and I told him my doubts. It didn’t seem to exactly break his heart.
“Might not be enough, huh? Well, that’s sure a shame. But you did your best, Kid. We all did our best.”
I looked straight ahead, not saying anything. He took his hand off the wheel and gave me a little pat on the back.
“Now, don’t you take it to heart, Kid. It’s too bad, sure, but these things always work out for the best. It’s like we were saying this morning, you know. We sure don’t want that nice little boy to die, but it might not be too bad for us if he did.”
“Yeah, that’s right, isn’t it? I guess that kind of slipped my mind.”
“Why, sure. So cheer up, huh?” He gave me a nudge. “This may be a good break. Of course, we’ll hope this’ll be enough.”
“Well, we can’t be sure that it won’t be,” I said. “It might just do it. It might keep him alive for another couple of days, anyway, maybe a lot longer. I don’t know.”
“Yeah? But you said—”
“I said he’d probably need more. In his condition, I’m not sure this’ll even halfway put him back on his feet. But it could keep him alive until after we get the money.”
“Well…” He shrugged. “So we got nothing to worry about either way, have we?”
I nodded, shook my head. And it looked to me like he’d said a lot in that last sentence. Fay might want the boy dead, or she might want him to live. I didn’t know which. But Uncle Bud—he’d given himself away. He wanted to keep Fay and me satisfied, to keep us from doing anything that would upset the apple cart. Aside from that, he didn’t care what happened to the boy. And there was just one reason why he didn’t.
He was going to skip with the money. When the storm broke, he’d be a long way off.
Or, anyway, he thought he would.
16
The boy was conscious, but he was awfully weak. His kidneys had been moving all day, trying to get rid of the sugar that his system couldn’t burn. He was too weak to even whisper. I asked him how he felt, and his lips moved a little but no words came out.
Uncle Bud had left. He just couldn’t be around anything like this, he said; anyone getting a needle stuck in them. It made him sick to his stomach, and anyway he had things to do in town.
Using a fork, I lifted a needle from the pan of water boiling on the stove. Then I fitted it to the hypodermic syringe and jabbed it into the rubber-capped tip of one of the 10-c.c. vials. I pulled back the plunger carefully. The sy
ringe held two c.c.’s, and I wasn’t sure of the minimum dosage for a seven-year-old child, a mighty sick one at that. But I figured he needed a good jolt.
Still, giving him too much at one time could be bad—even fatal. I remembered from the mental hospitals that one cubic centimeter was equal to 80 units. The label on the tubes said this was 400-unit, regular insulin; I knew this had to do with the concentration, but—Well, I had to admit it. I was scared and confused, but I had to go through with it and hope for the best.
I lifted the boy’s limp arm and Fay, who had been watching from the doorway, frowned. “That’s not right, is it? I’ve always gotten shots in the left arm.”
I shook my head, not answering her; concentrating on the boy. He gave a little jump when the needle went in. Fay jumped, too, standing right behind me, and of course that gave me a start. I gave him the full two centimeters, more than I’d meant to, but then I’d been startled. I took out the needle and waited. I watched his face carefully for a reaction, but there was none. So I refilled the syringe with another two c.c.’s, inserted the needle into his arm, and gave him more.
He jumped and she jumped and I jumped. I put the needle down, looked at the boy, and now there was a definite reaction. He shuddered suddenly, took a long, shivering breath. His face turned red, and he burst out all over with sweat. He really felt that one.
I was elated that he’d come out of it, overcome with doubts that I’d given him an overdose, and then suddenly confident that I knew what I was doing. It was like it should have been, like it often was as I remembered, and I knew just what to do about it. But I didn’t get the chance. I’d just snatched up the bowl of thick sugar-water and started to spoon it down the boy, when Fay yelled and knocked it out of my hand.
“You don’t know what you’re doing! You’re crazy! You—you—!”
I jumped up, and grabbed her by the shoulders. “But I know what you’re doing! And now you’re through doing it!” I shoved her out of the room. I ran her backwards through the doorway, and slammed her down hard in a chair. “Now, stay there! If you foul me up again, I’ll—I’ll—”