CHAPTER 12
Christian Fenger went in search of Alastair Ransom . . . knowing one, that he could not possibly understand his relationship with this lowlife Tewes, and two, knowing that Ransom’s respect was something he needed. He had also seen the look of hurt and betrayal on Ransom’s face, and he somehow sensed that Alastair had an animosity toward Tewes all out of proportion, and he wanted to get to the bottom of it. What did Alastair know of the strange little man’s background, and what, if anything, might Ransom be willing to do for Christian to end this sordid fellow’s stay in Chicago?
He knew Alastair like a brother, a younger brother to be sure, but a brother; Ransom was one of the few genuine and sincere people Christian knew. With Alastair you knew where you stood. A man of action, he let you know what he thought by what he did. In his every action resided his inner self, and he made no excuses for living as he did, whereas Dr.
Christian Fenger lived in a world of duplicity at every turn.
Being a physician, Christian could seldom say or do anything without fear of repercussions, so staid and stodgy was the Chicago medical community. Although he got away with what other medical professionals in the city called “murder,” there was no way around the politics that’d embedded itself 116
ROBERT W. WALKER
in every aspect of Cook County Hospital and every medical school in the city. Graft and greed proved rampant even here, in the field of healing, and when he’d told his story to Ransom’s British journalist friend—Stead—about how things were in Chicago with regard to the growing indigent problem and its effect on medicine in the city, the reporter listened transfixed at the callous disregard for human life and limb shown the homeless by city fathers and merchants.
Stead had promised an expose, which hadn’t come. No doubt finding a gutsy enough publisher for the work had proven impossible.
Conditions the Spanish would call
He spied him in his favorite corner, the dark one at the back. Hinky waved to Christian and shouted, “Good to see you, Doctor. Your usual?”
“Yes, thank you.” He headed straight for Ransom, and as he neared, he saw the familiar scowl.
“What was that little fruitcake doing in your office, Christian?”
“We were engaged in private conversation till you tram-pled over the man.”
“Private is it? And you’re hoping to keep it private?
What’s the creep got on you, Christian? I’ll wring his scrawny neck, and if it snaps like the twig I think it is, then he’ll bother you no more.”
“And how much is your fee?”
“Fee? For doing that skunk? You’ve no idea how he’s turned Mere against me.”
Hinky hefted a huge beer glass before Dr. Fenger. “Your usual, Doctor, and how’re we tonight? You know me ailing
CITY FOR RANSOM
117
“I’d call Dr. Hale on Adams, Hinky,” replied Fenger.
“He’s a good GP. I’m a surgeon.”
It was a dance he and Hinky did each time Fenger entered this swamp, and for this reason, he’d stopped coming. He imagined Ransom had specifically chosen this place, believing that Christian wouldn’t follow him in.
“Well . . . all the same, for a medical man such as yourself, the draft is on the house, sir.” Hinky moved off, waving a hand at the bill Dr. Fenger held out.
“Please, take payment for the beer, my good man.”
Hinky ignored this, returning to his work behind the bar.
“So what
“It’s a big lake out there.”
“I see.”
“No, you don’t see. I’d do nothing of the kind without sound reason, and you’ve give’ me none. Why didn’t you tell me that this was going on?”
“It’s a recent problem. I’ve wrestled with it. I’ve never had such evil thoughts as this man’s created in me . . .”
“Ahhh . . . thoughts of the darkest order are due every man.”
“Not me . . . never before now.”
“So you’ve fantasized the man’s death?”
“Appears we both have.”
“Some would call this a conspiracy to commit murder, Doctor.”
“Goddamn you, Alastair, I know that, and it turns my stomach what my mind is juggling.”
“The little man maddens people.”
“And how has he got your ire up with Merielle?”
“Has to do with Polly, actually.”
“Polly, Merielle . . . I can’t keep her straight. But tell me more.”
“She fell for his flier . . . went to see him. Sat under his hands, and soon she’s telling her life’s story, and he tells her she needs to save herself—”
“From you, of course.”
118
ROBERT W. WALKER
“He advised her to leave me!”
“Hey, friend, I’ve advised the two of you do exactly that for how long?”
“That’s different. You . . . you’re a friend.”
They drank more.
“It’s worse than his having insinuated himself on my investigation.”
They ordered more drink.
“What about you, Christian? What does this . . . this
“He had some creep with a camera get photos of me in . . . well, let us say that if these photos come to light, my enemies would have a field day, and my time at the university and Cook County’ll come to an abrupt end.” Christian believed Ransom would more easily believe this lie than he would the truth—that the mere accusation that he’d compromised the safety of his patients by performing surgery while under the influence was enough to end his career.
“Blackmailing little weasel.” Ransom downed the re-mainder of his ale. “Certainly enough reason to plot a man’s demise.”
“You could, I suppose, arrest me for all I’ve said.”
“Yes, I could, but I won’t.” Stepping up his drinks, Ransom signaled Hinky for another red Irish.
“You’re a good friend, Alastair.”
“I need you precisely where you are, close to the Haymarket records.”
“Damn it, Alastair, are you now blackmailing me for those damnable records?”
“Hey, a favor for a favor.”
“The Chicago way, yes.”
“Hardly blackmail.”
“
