won’t co-operate any more.”
“Exactly what do you mean by co-operate?” Dr Vukanich asked.
“All the guy needs is an occasional shot to calm him down. I thought maybe we could work something out. The money would be solid.”
“Sorry, Mr. Marlowe, It is not my sort of problem.” He stood up. “Rather a crude approach, if I may say so. Your friend may consult me, if he chooses. But he’d better have something wrong with him that requires treatment. That will be ten dollars, Mr. Marlowe.”
“Come off it, Doc. You’re on the list.”
Dr. Vukanich leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette. He was giving me time. He blew smoke and looked at it. I gave him one of my cards to look at instead. He looked at it.
“What list would that be?” he inquired.
“The barred-window boys. I figure you might know my friend already. His name’s Wade. I figure you might have him stashed away somewhere in little white room. The guy is missing from home.”
“You are an ass,” Dr. Vukanich told me. “I don’t go in for penny ante stuff like four-day liquor cures. They cure nothing in any case. I have no little white rooms and I am not acquainted with the friend you mention—even if he exists. That will be ten dollars—cash—right now. Or would you rather I called the police and make a complaint that you solicited me for narcotics?”
“That would be dandy,” I said. “Let’s.”
“Get out of here, you cheap grifter.”
I stood up off the chair. “I guess I made a mistake, Doctor. The last time the guy broke parole he holed up with a doctor whose name began with V. It was strictly an undercover operation. They fetched him late at night and brought him back the same way when he was over the jumps. Didn’t even wait long enough to see him go in the house. So when he hops the coop again and don’t come back for quite a piece, naturally we check over our files for a lead. We come up with three doctors whose names begin with V.”
“Interesting,” he said with a bleak smile. He was still giving me time. “What is the basis of your selection?”
I stared at him. His right hand was moving softly up and down the upper part of his left arm on the inside of it. His face was covered with a light sweat.
“Sorry, Doctor. We operate very confidential. ”
“Excuse me a moment. I have another patient that—”
He left the rest of it hanging in the air and went out. While he was gone a nurse poked her head through the doorway, looked at me briefly and withdrew.
Then Dr. Vukanich came back in strolling happily. He was smiling and relaxed. His eyes were bright.
“What? Are you still here?” He looked very surprised or pretended to. “I thought our little visit had been brought to an end.”
“I’m leaving. I thought you wanted me to wait.”
He chudded. “You know something, Mr. Marlowe? We live in extraordinary times. For a mere five hundred dollars I could have you put in the hospital with several broken bones. Comical, isn’t it?”
“Hilarious,” I said, “Shoot yourself in the vein, don’t you, Doc? Boy, do you brighten up!”
I started out. “Hasta luego, amigo,” he chirped. “Don’t forget my ten bucks. Pay the nurse.”
He moved to an intercom and was speaking into it as I left. In the waiting room the same twelve people or twelve just like them were being uncomfortable. The nurse was right on the job.
“That will be ten dollars, please, Mr. Marlowe. This office requires immediate cash payment.”
I stepped among the crowded feet to the door. She bounded out of her chair and ran around the desk. I pulled the door open.
“What happens when you don’t get it?” I asked her.
“You’ll find out what happens,” she said angrily.
“Sure. You’re just doing your job. So am I. Take a gander at the card I left and you’ll see what my job is.”
I went on out. The waiting patients looked at me with disapproving eyes. That was no way to treat Doctor.
18
Dr. Amos Varley was a very different proposition. He had a big old house in a big old garden with big old oak trees shading it. It was a massive frame structure with elaborate scrollwork along the overhang of the porches and the white porch railings had turned and fluted uprights like the legs of an old-fashioned grand piano. A few frail elderly people sat in long chairs on the porches with rugs tucked around them.
The entrance doors were double and had stained-glass panels. The hall inside was wide and cool and the parquetry floor was polished and without a single rug. Altadena is a hot place in summer. It is pushed back against the hills and the breeze jumps clear over it. Eighty years ago people knew how to build houses for this climate.
A nurse in crisp white took my card and after a wait Dr. Amos Varley condescended to see me. He was a big baldheaded guy with a cheery smile. His long white coat was spotless, he walked noiselessly on crepe rubber soles.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Marlowe?” He had a rich soft voice to soothe the pain and comfort the anxious heart. Doctor is here, there is nothing to worry about, everything will be fine. He had that bedside manner, thick, honeyed layers of it. He was wonderful—and he was as tough as armor plate.
