Five Smooth Stones (136 page)

"David," he said gently, "if there was anything in God's world I could do, anything, I would." The other's eyes did not move, nor did the head turn, and Suds went on, hesitantly, slowly. "I remember, a long time ago, a real great character saying to me, 'Jesus have moicy! How can one sorry little piece of a guy have so much stupidness in him!' That was me, by God, Clifton Sutherland, the sorry little piece of a guy who's managed to prove the stupidity these last few years. It's been rough, finding that out this past week, David—"

Now the head turned slowly on the pillow, and Suds was looking down into eyes that carried the smile the swollen lips could not manage.

"What the hell you talking about, Stoopid! Go heal the sick, and tell 'em out there I want more than one lousy li'l ol' egg for lunch—"

Just as Suds was leaving, David said, "Brad?"

"Brad's in Cainsville. You'll see him as soon as he gets back. I'm ordering a shot for you now, for sleep. To be administered after an egg and a half for lunch."

"Bastard. Listen, Suds."

"No more talk now—"

"Damn it, listen. I've got something else wrong with me."

Hand on the doorknob, Sudsy turned. "You can't have—"

"The hell I can't. I've got a stomach ulcer."

Sudsy came to the foot of the bed, stood glaring down at his patient. "Why in the name of heaven didn't you tell—"

"Maybe it's duodenal. And how could I-—"

"We'll fix you, sonny boy; we'll fix you. My father's old-fashioned about handling ulcers. Graveyard stew—"

"What's—"

"Custards, pureed vegetables, no seasonings—I told you not to talk. See what it's got you."

"Double bastard. Gumbo tomorrow? Tell Peg."

"Maybe, pal. Maybe. As a special treat. Now shut up before I find out you've got coccidioidomycosis or something—"

CHAPTER 85

The Drs. Sutherland, father and son, remained chary of visitor privileges for their patient, and it was not until the day after Sudsy's disclosure of his many injuries that David woke

from a fitful, image-filled nap to find Brad standing quietly at the foot of the bed, looking down at him.

"Hi, Chief!" His lips were manageable now, almost normal, and his eyes no longer near-slits surrounded by puffed flesh.

"Hi, brat." Brad's smile was gentle. "Don't get up. I'll find a chair."

"Jokes, yet. Practically at a guy's deathbed. Damn, I'm glad to see you.'"

"Must have been like solitary confinement." Brad pulled the room's one armchair close to the bed and sat, stretching long legs. "You're not to talk much. Sudsy's orders. You feel pretty tough?"

"Not too bad. I hurt like hell, if that's what you mean."

Brad winced. "God! I can imagine."

"Keep it there, in your imagination. Damn it, I'm glad to see you. I've already said that, haven't I?"

"I can do with hearing it a hell of a lot of times, son. Peg's acting up rough because she can't hear it, too. She's down the line a way on the waiting list. Suds said I could come and ease your mind about all that happened. If—"

"You didn't upset me. F'cris'sake, tell me all there is and upset the hell out of me. Now I'm getting better I'm getting curious. At first I didn't give a damn."

"Just being alive was probably enough—"

"And that wasn't such a much, brother, believe me."

"Did Suds tell you Luke's going to be O.K.?"

"Yes. Couple of years ago, it seems like. I was sort of coming in and out of the fog every so often and I heard him say, 'Brad says to tell you Luke's all right.' "

"He's in New York Medical Center. Wait. You've used up your quota of talk. I'll start at the beginning. Do you have any amnesia for what preceded the attack?"

"I wish to God I did. The last I remember they set the dogs on me when I was lying on the ground."

"No, they didn't. Now, once and for all, be quiet You can ask questions another time. First, the U.S. Army was damned near breathtaking in its efficiency. They had an ambulance— the one that took Fred Winters to Veterans Hospital—at Dr. Anderson's right after you left. You were headed for Tether's End, and there wasn't any telephone there anymore. Just after I finished talking to Anderson, we got word that there were two or three cars prowling around the outskirts of the town with three or four whites in each car with rifles. I got the wind up and notified the Army, and asked them to check Tether's End while they were scouting and send you the hell back to town. You were a damned fool to go—never mind. I'll bawl you out when you're better. We come now to the dogs."

"Now? So soon?"

"Or almost now. Early in the evening Abraham Towers called his nephew and told him to get Miz Towers down to their house if they had to carry her. Now, one doesn't take Miz Towers anywhere that Tinker doesn't go too. I'd hate to be the one to argue the point with him. Once she's safe inside and bedded down, he relaxes and gets reacquainted with his daughter."

"His what?"

"Daughter. Half red-bone hound, half Tinker. A noble beast, if strange and fearful looking. Jim's wife won't have dogs in the house, so Tinker sleeps on the porch. Every time the old lady's been there—not many—he waits till everything's quiet and then takes off for a quick run home and a look-see that everything's all right there. Then comes back. He's got sense enough to know the old lady's safe. The night you got it, his daughter, Sheba, decided to go along."

"Man! This is doing me more good than every damned pill they've given me—"

"I rather thought it would. The men in the Army jeep said they heard the shots. They were headed put Calhoun. The dogs went by them like a couple of hares. Then they saw the headlights of the car just west of Tether's End. When they were close enough, just at the top of that little rise in the road, they saw what was going on. Dogs, men, yells, shouts, then men running and dogs after them and you lying on the ground, a bloody mess. They literally, for a minute, didn't know whom to rescue."

"Wait, Brad. The hell with what Suds said. They didn't hurt Tinker, did they? Those sons of bitches that jumped me?"

"They didn't have time. Calhoun Road isn't exactly the Indianapolis Speedway, but the jeep was doing a good job, I gather. Shots were fired, but the men made their car and took off, and Tinker was back waiting for the jeep. Then Sheba was back, and they gave the troops a bad time at first. One of the soldiers was colored, and he says he 'gentled' them. Also, Jim Towers got there about then. He'd heard the shots. He helped with the dogs."

"You mean that dog saved my life?"

"I won't go that far, but he helped. The Army would have busted them up anyhow. But Tinker helped. And both dogs left their marks. There was blood on the road between you and their car, and the grapevine has it that a white man was treated for a badly torn arm and another for a chewed-up leg at the hospital on the other side of town."

"Lawd!" said David. "Lawd! Lawd! You sho' been good to me—"

Brad looked closely at the man on the bed, put his hands on the arm of the chair, and started to rise. "My time's about up. You're beginning to look tired—"

"No, for God's sake! You've got to get me off the ground. You left me there a bloody mess—"

"So I did. The Army handled the immediate medical work. You were in shock, and they did what was necessary so that when you got to the hospital it wouldn't be a dead-on-arrival. Plasma, control of bleeding, antibiotics, that sort of thing. You made the plane with Luke eventually. Mrs. Anderson went with you along with Chuck. She kept up the treatment—"

"How'd Anderson manage?"

"He traded her in temporarily for a couple of Army corps-men. They touched down in New York, where Luke's magazine had everything set up at the Medical Center. Chuck says he doesn't think the landing-gear wheels even stopped rolling. Then they brought you here. Suds met the plane. Incidentally, they operated on Luke. Blood clot. The only after-effect so far is amnesia covering about an hour before it happened."

"Brad." David was quiet for a moment. "Brad, it's not right. Luke and I. If we'd been someone like Jim Haskin or Abr'am, we'd be dead now. But just because we knew the right people—or something. That's just too damned much luck, Brad, too damned much—"

"Is that all you've got to worry about? It just happened that way. My grandmother used to say if you're born to be hanged you'll never drown."

The door opened, and a nurse with red hair and freckles and an obvious effort to look stern came in and said, "Time's up—"

"Please," said David. "Please, he's doing me good. Just a few more minutes, huh?"

Brad covered his mouth with a quick hand to hide a smile

at the expression of warm indulgence on her face as she said hesitantly, "We-e-ell—"

"Be sweet, now—"

"Just a few minutes. And don't tell Dr. Sutherland—"

"No, ma'am. God forbid—"

She left, and Brad shook his head. "How do you do it? How the hell do you do it? Eating out of your hand. Shot, beaten half to death, and spoiled rotten all at once. You could ask for the moon here, and I have not the slightest doubt you'd get it. With butter and jam."

David did not look at him, kept his eyes on the screen in front of the door. "Know something, Chief? I'd trade it in, whatever the hell it is you're talking about, for something I'll never have again. One good leg. Just one."

Brad said. "Hell, I know—" and David turned his head to face him. "Forget it, Chief. Look—you and Chuck away, Fred, I suppose, still out of the picture, and Hummer—he's gone. Who in hell's minding the store?"

"Les, Haskin, Abraham. And doing a fine job. If, on next Monday morning, more than fifteen Negroes cross Main Street to go to work I'll join the Klan. I'm going back there tonight. I'm just up for a day or so. Mainly to check on you."

"The kids?"

"Fifty-dollar fines. That's all."

"You're lying for sure!"

"No. I stayed down until the next noon, and if you think that was any fun with you and Luke possibly listening to harp tune-ups, you're crazy. As it turned out, I didn't need to stay. I stood by and let Les handle the defense, and nicely he did it. But I am quite certain that the interested spectators in the courtroom accounted for the moderate fines. Army, press, and two United States marshals. It was all over in an hour and a half, and I made the one o'clock plane from Capitol City and arrived here while you were in surgery."

Brad came closer to the bed, hand outstretched, and David grasped it with his free left hand.

"If I behave and go now, perhaps they'll give both Chuck and me a chance to see you tomorrow before I leave. And any fool can tell you're tired."

"So I'm tired. It's something different anyhow. At least it doesn't hurt. And thanks, Chief."

"What for?"

"Damned if I know. I'll study about it and tell you tomorrow. Ask 'em to push Peg's name up on the list so I can see her soon."

"Right." Brad released David's hand and started for the door. Before he reached the screen he stopped at the low voice behind him.

"I thought you'd break down and tell me before you left What're you holding back, Chief?"

He turned. "Nothing. What's eating you? Nothing. You're getting fanciful."

"Think so? After watching you hold out on surprise testimony as often as I have? I don't know when you're holding back?"

"If I am, I don't know it. It's in my subconscious and I'll have to rout it out in my sleep and tell you tomorrow. Is that O.K.?"

"No. But I'll settle for it for now."

***

Ten days later Brad Willis and Suds Sutherland had coffee in the hospital coffee shop while they waited for Chuck Martin.

"Do they give this coffee to the patients, Doctor?" asked Brad.

"No. Theirs is better."

"I was just thinking of our boy. This stuff could set him back where he was when they scraped him off the road."

He stirred his coffee, then looked at the entrance door with obvious relief. "Here's Chuck—"

Chuck, looking no more dignified and ministerial in his clericals than he had when he was in duffel coat and corduroys at Pengard, but with his hair slicked down in temporary subjection, sat beside Brad and said, "How's it going?"

"So far, very well," said Suds.

"I would say he's as well taken care of and spoiled a patient as Endicott Memorial has ever had," said Brad.

"Everyone loves the guy," said Suds. Chuck's eyebrows rose slowly, and Suds added, "That is a gross exaggeration, of course. There must be a million or so who hate him. Obviously. Thank God only three or four of them caught up with him." He added cream and sugar to his second cup of coffee, sipped it, and said morosely: "It must be hell. Day and night, not knowing anything for sure except that you're surrounded by hate and disgust and that somewhere near you, always, there are those who would kill you without even calling it murder. And go scot-free." He pushed his cup away from

him, plump face grim. "Can you keep him out of there, Brad, after this? You, Chuck?"

"No," said Brad quietly. "I can't and Chuck can't. He may elect to stay out of there, but it will be David Champlin who's staying out by his own decision. Hell, Suds, he was all set to come back here two weeks ago. And stay. At least for a good while. The next thing I knew he was walking through the door of our headquarters in Cainsville. Something had triggered him off."

"We haven't had a chance yet to find out what," said Chuck.

Brad said, "His nerves—" and Suds interrupted him. "You think I don't know? Thin as a damned scarecrow. Probably an ulcer, although it hasn't bothered him here, but from what he says it's been giving him a bad time for quite a while. Now this. I don't think he can take another bout of it after this."

"He'll try," said Chuck. "Sure as I'm sitting here, he'll try, eventually."

"We have months, perhaps a year or more to worry about that in," said Brad. "He's not so quixotic that he'll leave here as long as he's under treatment. Or, poor devil, having periodic surgery. I've a more pressing problem at the moment."

"Concerning David?" asked Suds.

"Very much so. And Sara. I think you're going to have to let her see him, Suds. This business of not letting him get emotionally upset is fine, but he's definitely aware of something. He accused me yesterday of holding out on him. I denied it. And how much longer can you hold the lid on Sara?"