He said nothing.
I started thinking of that other man, the one who had been with Rand at Columbia, the one Cornel Wilde said he could identify from his hands, the one who had maybe killed Rand, called me at Rand’s apartment, and moved the body to Ott’s living room. I was wondering who and why.
When I got back to the office, Phil was at his desk.
“Kids okay?” I asked.
He nodded. I told him what had happened and then got on the phone. I couldn’t reach Wilde on the Columbia lot, and I didn’t have a home phone for him. I asked Phil if he could get one for me. He got on the phone and, two minutes later, hung it up and gave me a number.
I called it. A woman answered, and I asked for Wilde, who came on almost immediately.
“This is Peters,” I said.
“I remember you.”
“The man you crossed blades with at Columbia. He’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He was murdered,” I said. “Maybe by that guy who was with him when he came to blackmail you. Still think you could identify him from his hands?”
“I’m certain.”
I asked him if he could be at the Roosevelt for Blackstone’s party later. He said he would make it.
I hung up and looked at my brother.
“I think I know who it is,” he said.
“The other guy?”
He told me. I said, “We’ll see in a few hours.”
I started to reach for the telephone to call Gunther, and then it hit me. It hit me violently in my tooth, like the stab of a long needle. I think I made a less than manly sound and closed my eyes.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Phil asked.
My eyes were watering. I reached into my pocket for the oil of cloves and pointed at my mouth. I couldn’t talk. Phil watched as I dabbed the liquid onto my tooth with my finger. The pain was still there, sharp, and getting sharper.
“Toothache?” asked Phil, getting out of his chair.
I nodded.
“Open your mouth,” he said, coming over to me.
I opened my mouth. It wasn’t easy.
“What the hell did you do?” Phil asked.
“Taco,” I managed.
He didn’t ask me to explain.
“You need a dentist,” he said. “I’ve got one.”
I pulled the slip of paper with Frank the pharmacist’s brother’s name and number out of my pocket. My hand was shaking.
Phil dialed his dentist’s number. I groaned.
“When did this happen?” Phil asked.
I pointed over my shoulder to indicate that it had been a while. He’s my brother. He understood. He shook his head.
He held the phone to his ear and waited.
“Is Doctor Clough in? I’ve got an emergency…. Okay.”
He hung up.
“Clough is in Denver.”
I handed him the slip of paper with Frank’s brother’s phone number. He looked at it and dialed.
“Tell him I’m a friend of Frank,” I managed to get out, putting my head forward, wondering if what was left of the bottle of oil of cloves would knock me out if I drank it or if it would just kill me. I would have settled for either one.
Phil dialed and waited.
“Dr. Block?”
Phil listened and then said, “When?”
Phil hung up.
“He’ll be back in a few hours.”
I lifted my head and met Phil’s eyes.
“No,” I said.
“How much does it hurt?”
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling.
“You see a choice here?” he asked.
Defenestration seemed a reasonable solution, but I shook my head.
“You want me to help you?” he asked as I started to get up, steadying myself with my hands on the desk.
I shook my head “no” and managed to stagger toward the door. Phil got there first and opened it.
In the hall, I took a step back, but the pain got me. Phil put a hand on my shoulder, guiding me where I didn’t want to go, to the door of Sheldon Minck, the devil’s dentist.
My brother opened the door, and Violet looked up from the telephone. She hung up the phone and said,
“What happened?”
Violet is a dark beauty who regularly took my money on bets I made with her about a variety of sporting events, mostly boxing. Until I met Violet, I had thought I was a near expert on the fight game.
“Someone in there with Minck?” Phil asked.
“No,” said Violet. “Tooth?”
“Yeah,” said Phil, moving to the inner door.
“You sure you want to see Dr. Minck?” she said.
“Emergency,” said Phil.
“It’d have to be,” said Violet.
We went in. Shelly was sitting in his chair, listening to the radio. Something classical was playing, and Shelly was eating a sandwich with his left hand and conducting the orchestra on the radio with his right, which also held a half-finished cigar.
He looked up, got up, and Phil put me in the chair.
“What happened?” Shelly asked.
“Tooth,” said Phil. “Fix him up enough so we can get him to a real dentist.”
“I am a …” Shelly began indignantly.
“Fix him,” said Phil softly, looking at Shelly who nodded.
“Get rid of the sandwich,” said Phil. “Get rid of the cigar. Go wash your hands.”
Shelly adjusted his glasses and waddled over to the sink where he dropped the sandwich and cigar in the trash.
“Soap,” said Phil.
Shelly turned on the water and picked up a bar of soap, showing it to Phil.
I think I groaned. The door was about ten feet away. I knew I could make it that far. I didn’t know how much further. I closed my eyes and heard the water running.
“Those instruments clean?” Phil asked.
“Violet cleaned them this morning,” Shelly said, his voice quivering.
“Move,” said Phil.
I considered opening my eyes and decided not to. I could smell garlic and tobacco as Shelly leaned over me.
“Open your mouth, Toby,” he said.
I refused.
“Open up,” Phil said.
