usual gall stones talk it won't matter too much.'
'Bloody cheek!'
So that's who they were, thought Avedissian, doctors here for the convention. Laughter broke out among them as one of the Americans in the party suggested what they might do for their night out.
'She picks it up with what?' exclaimed one of the party.
'As a gynaecologist I suppose I should display a professional interest!' said another.
‘I'm a married man!' protested one of the Englishmen, provoking another round of laughter.
Avedissian thought of a risky idea, but he was desperate and if the hotel was full of out-of-town doctors it might work. He straightened his tie, brushed himself down briefly with his hands and walked in through the door of the Rainbow Inn, to find the lobby as crowded as he had hoped. He gave himself a few moments to acquaint himself with the geography of the place then approached the desk.
'How may I help you, sir?' said a middle-aged woman, with spectacles hanging round her neck from a heavy gold chain. Her smile looked as if it had been applied with her make-up.
'I'd like my room key,' said Avedissian sheepishly.
‘The number, sir?'
'You're going to think this awfully silly,’ said Avedissian with an embarrassed shrug and some emphasis on the Englishness of his speech, 'I feel so stupid but the fact is… I've forgotten.'
The smile did not waver. 'Your name, sir?'
'Miller. Dr Miller,' replied Avedissian with an attempt at a smile. Please, God, Miller was not one of the delegates that she knew.
A scarlet nail traced a line down the room register and the woman said, 'You are in room 293, sir.' She handed him the key.
'Of course, how stupid of me,' exclaimed Avedissian. 'Thank you so much.'
'You are welcome.'
Avedissian headed for the stairs, half euphoric, half terrified that at any second the woman would call out behind him. His pulse continued to race as he let himself into room 293 and switched on the light. He found what he was looking for almost immediately: Miller's medical bag. It was under the dressing-table beside his suitcase, and a slim plastic document case that bore the logo of the convention. Avedissian opened the bag and examined the contents. 'God bless you, Miller,' he muttered. It contained everything that he needed.
The boy had come round when Avedissian got back to the restaurant. He was cuddling into Kathleen who was soothing him, but Avedissian saw him go rigid as he approached. There was terror in his eyes and Avedissian knew that he was the cause of it. He felt angry and impotent for there seemed to be no quick way to convince the child that he had done what he had done out of concern for his welfare. No child had ever looked at him like that before. It was something that he would remember.
'Where have you been? I thought something had happened to you,' whispered Kathleen anxiously. 'Did you get the car?'
Avedissian told her why he had not got the car and saw her go pale. 'I don't understand,' she said. 'Why?'
'I suppose we were expendable, to use your word.'
Kathleen looked at the case that Avedissian had returned with.
'Medical. I borrowed it,' said Avedissian. He put his hand out gently to touch the boy's head but the child shrank from him and Kathleen had to reassure him again. 'I can't say I blame you, old son,' said Avedissian quietly.
'What do we do?' asked Kathleen with an air of hopelessness.
'We'll have to find somewhere for the night. I'll have to dress the boy's neck properly then we will have to make plans,’ replied Avedissian. 'Let's get started.'
The boy, still terrified of Avedissian, would not come to him when he tried to take him from Kathleen. 'Just leave him,’ said Kathleen.
'But he's too heavy,’ said Avedissian.
'I can manage.’
Tension grew as they failed to find a cab until, in desperation, Avedissian said, ‘There's a bus coming. We'll take it.’
The doors of the bus opened with a hydraulic hiss and they climbed on board. The driver was black; all the passengers were black. They regarded the three white interlopers with indifference.
'Kid's out late,’ said the driver as Avedissian fumbled in his pocket for change. He ignored the comment and said, 'We want to go to the main bus depot.’
‘Transfer at point four,’ said the driver.
'Will you tell us?'
'Sure.’
The seats were hard, the lights were dim and there was an almost overpowering smell of diesel fuel. Overhead, advertising placards were interspersed with warnings spelling out the penalties for armed robbery. A notice near the driver declared that he personally carried no money; all fares were deposited automatically in a locked compartment to which he had no access.
The mention of money made Avedissian consider his own financial position. How much cash did he have? The answer did nothing to raise his spirits. But he did have a credit card.
They got off the bus and watched it draw away from the kerb.
'What was all that about the bus station?' asked Kathleen.
'A red herring,’ replied Avedissian. 'Three white faces on an all-black bus. Just too easy to trace.'
They headed off in the opposite direction from the bus station and found the Blue Ranch Motel. It had seen better days, either that or it had always been seedy, but it had a 'Vacancies' sign above the entrance and all three of them were exhausted. The proprietor, attired in a vest that faithfully followed the rolls of flab about his middle, did not move as they entered but simply raised his eyes, giving the impression that their arrival was only going to be a very temporary interruption to his magazine reading. Avedissian could see that the lady on the cover was wearing a football helmet but little else.
'Number twelve, thirty dollars, pay in advance,' said the man, slapping down a key on the desk in front of him.
Avedissian paid and asked, 'Where do we find number twelve?’
The man stabbed a forefinger to his right without looking up from the magazine.
'God, what a place,' sighed Avedissian when they had left the office and were making their way along the row of chalets. Kathleen could not argue. The smell of barbecue sauce, which seemed to pervade Kansas City, gave way to the scent of cheap perfume when they finally found number twelve and stepped inside.
They looked around, expecting the worst, but found it better than they had feared. Kathleen turned down one of the bed covers and looked at the linen. 'Good,' she said. 'I half expected to find it still warm.'
Avedissian drew the curtains and opened the medical case that he had taken from the Inn. He took out what he needed and laid it out in order on a bedside table. 'I have to look at the boy's neck,' he said quietly to Kathleen.
'It's not going to be easy,' she replied. 'But we'll try.' She smiled at the child and spoke to him all the time as she gently teased away the temporary dressing from his neck. At first he was uncertain but confidence started to grow in him. It lasted until it became clear that Avedissian was going to touch him again, then fear returned to his eyes and he drew close to Kathleen. She cuddled him and whispered yet more reassurance.
'It will have to be done,' whispered Avedissian.
Kathleen laid the boy gently back on the bed and took Avedissian's hand. She held it to her cheek in a gesture of trust for the child's benefit. The boy looked puzzled so she repeated the gesture, nodding as she did so.
It took some little time but the child eventually decided to give Avedissian another chance. He did not draw away when Avedissian made to examine his neck but his small body was rigid with uncertainty.
'Is it bad?' asked Kathleen.
'No,' replied Avedissian. The implant was just under the skin but I'll have to put in a couple of stitches to keep the edges together.'
'More pain?'
