Over Her Dear Body (23 page)

“I know it. So was the other guy. How is he?”

“He's been taken to ... the morgue.”

I moved my shoulders a little, wiggled my fingers. Everything worked. “How bad is it?”

She smiled. “Not bad. You'll be all right, but the bullet is still in your chest. Nothing is seriously damaged, no bones broken. In a few days you'll be good as new.”

She was almost annoyingly cheerful about it. My bullet wound didn't hurt her a bit. But my case, I guessed, was in the festering hangnail class compared to many of the others here. I didn't mind her cheerfulness; but something else puzzled me. How had she known my name?

Before leaving the Spartan with Elaine, and heading for the
Red Rooster
, I'd cashed a check at the desk—but there hadn't been any kind of identification in my pockets. My private investigator's card, driver's license, the works, were at the bottom of Newport Harbor.

I asked the nurse, “How did you know who I was?”

“We reported the gunshot wound, naturally, and two officers came here to see you. One of them recognized you. They wanted to talk to you, but you were unconscious.”

That figured. The police investigate all gunshot cases; well, this was one I sure wanted them to investigate—and fast. “Good,” I said. “I want to talk to them, too. Right away.”

“They left a few minutes ago.” She looked at her watch. “They'll be back in an hour. By then you'll be out of surgery.”

Something nagged at me; there was something odd about what she'd just said. But the nurse was going on. “Perhaps I shouldn't even mention it, but there's another visitor waiting to see you, a young lady. The doctor will be ready for you in a few minutes, but she insisted on waiting.”

“Who is she?”

“She wouldn't give her name. But she said it was dreadfully important. She's beautiful.”

“Then it's important. Show her in, please.” I grinned at her. “Don't you want me to get well?”

It took some argument, but the nurse finally agreed. She went outside, and half a minute later my visitor came in.

It was Elaine.

She closed the door behind her and came to the bed. Her face was drawn, worried.

I said, “What in the name of sanity are you doing here? I told you to stay—”

“Don't, Shell. I heard a news broadcast that you were shot, and I didn't know how bad it was. For all I knew, you were dying. I had to come.”

“Anybody see you?”

“I ... don't know. I saw two policemen leaving when I arrived, but they didn't notice me.” She bit her lip. “Are you all right? The nurse told me what she could, but how do you really feel?”

“Like getting out of here. But first they have to separate me from this slug.”

I stopped. For the first time since the shooting I'd remembered that blue manila folder, remembered all I had learned there at Mitchell's place. Well, I didn't have that info any longer, but at least I remembered most of what I'd seen. Even if that file was by now destroyed, I knew where to look for the proof I was after.

It was going to be difficult to accomplish in the hospital, though. But maybe the police could do the job for me. Maybe, I thought, I could get in touch with Samson, try to convince him that now I really knew what I was talking about. Without the proof I'd had for a little while in my hands, I might have a tough job doing it; but I knew Sam would listen.

It did not, however, seem a good idea to have any law piling into the room here—not while Elaine was in it with me. Not only would she be in a pile of trouble, but I wouldn't be the fair-haired boy myself, under the circumstances. I could still clearly hear Samson saying, like rivets, “Five thousand dollars ... or
five years!
”

On the other hand, there was no telling what Mitchell—and Goss and Silverman—would be up to by this time. Time. That was the most important thing now.

I asked Elaine, “How long have I been here? What time is it?”

She looked at her watch. “A little after ten.”

Ten p.m. That would make it only an hour or so since the shooting. Time enough for those papers to be destroyed, of course; but if Mitchell still had them, he'd want to hang onto his paper club. There was still a chance that everything would work out.

And right then I realized what had been nagging me a minute ago. It had been when the nurse was talking about the bullet still being in me. If I'd been here for close to an hour, I wondered why that slug hadn't been taken out of my chest by now. The thought bothered me.

“Shell.” Elaine still looked worried. Scared, even.

“What's the matter?”

“I—when I arrived, I parked in front of the hospital. While I was waiting to see you, I saw another car arrive with some men in it. One of them looked over my car, then went to it and opened the door. I think he read the registration thing.” She paused, hands clasped tightly together. Then she went on, “It was the man who did that bird act at the
Red Rooster
. The one you followed last night.”

Joe Navarro.

Hell yes, Navarro—and more. Every hood who'd ever been after me would know I was here in Martin's. If Elaine had heard a broadcast about Shell Scott getting shot up, then the hoods would have heard it too or heard about it—Goss and Silverman included. I lifted my arms up a little way and let them flop back onto the bed.

It wasn't a gesture of hopelessness, though the outlook appeared dim at this point, but a trapped feeling combined with a sort of futile fury. I'd have liked getting my fingers around Navarro's throat now more than ever before, and I couldn't even squeeze my left hand into a fist without pain.

I said, “Navarro and how many other men? And how long ago was this?”

“Two others were with him. Ten or fifteen minutes ago.”

“Yeah. He must have recognized your car. They know you were on the
Srinagar
with Belden, left with him. If they didn't know what your car looked like before, you can bet they found out in a hurry, certainly, since today's broadcast.”

I grunted to a sitting position, holding the sheet in front of me with my right hand. Beneath the sheet was just me. They'd taken my clothes—and I had to have something to wear, even if it was only this big diaper here.

Elaine said, “What are you doing?”

Dizziness swept over me and for a moment the room turned gray. But not black. In a few seconds my vision cleared, and I said, “When I told you I felt like getting out of here, it was a gag. It isn't any longer. Somehow, we're leaving.”

“But Shell, you've got a
bullet
in you! You've got to—”

“And one is enough. They'll have to probe for the next one in my head.”

She was still wringing her hands together. “I—after what happened last night, and now, I suppose you're right.”

“I know I'm right.”

She swallowed. “I'll help. If I can. But—”

“I'm not as bad off as I look. I always look this way. I keeled over mainly from shock—I was really shocked to see those guys shooting at me—and because I was physically and emotionally depleted. I could have keeled over
without
getting shot. I've had about six hours sleep in the last sixty, I've had knives and saps swung at me, been half drowned and steamed practically to death—”

“Steamed? When did ... Steamed?” She looked puzzled.

I shuddered and went on rapidly, “Besides, I've just had an hour's rest. I can navigate all right. If you could get out of here and—”

I groaned. The fat was
really
in the fire. I couldn't even let Elaine leave this room without me, not with Navarro maybe right outside, and no telling who else.

She said, “Maybe I could drive my car around to the side entrance—”

“No, baby. They've spotted it now. Not only do they know we're both here, they'll have an eye on your buggy. We've got to stay away from it.”

“What—will we do, Shell?”

I didn't answer her. I was thinking. Or at least what passes for thinking in my set. Any man who got himself—and a lovely woman—into the mess we were in had to have mental processes about on the level of the armor-plated rhinoceros. The armor-plated rhinoceros, incidentally, is not noted for its brilliance. I was starting to sweat again.

Elaine was saying, “Surely nobody can come in here and shoot you or anything, can they? If that's what you're thinking. Not here.”

“Maybe you're right. But the odds are you're wrong. And the hell of it is, honey, there're two of us to shoot if there's any shooting. All sorts of accidents can happen, even in a hospital—I know.”

“Well, but—shouldn't you wait until they get the bullet out of you at least? It might poison you or do something awful. By now Doctor Fischer must be almost ready for you.”

“We can't wait. And, honey, I'm not on my death bed. I've seen Marines shot clear through their bodies with rifle slugs and go on fighting for an hour before they...”

Then what she'd said got through to me. I looked dully at Elaine. “Who did you say?”

“Doctor Fischer, whoever he is. The nurse told me he'd be ready any minute, so I couldn't stay long. What's the matter?”

I was staring blankly at the wall. Her words brought me back. “Doctor Fischer, huh?” I said. “That's great. That's all I need. That guy should operate in the morgue.”

“What?”

“Honey, he will go in for that bullet by way of my gizzard. He may even start at my left toe, and just rip his way up.”

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“Never mind. There's no time to tell you now. But it's settled. We're leaving.”

A thought struck me then. I had little doubt about what Dr. Fischer would do to me when and if he got me anesthetized on an operating table. But if I were right, and Fischer was supposed to take care of me, that also meant Navarro wouldn't be pulling anything unless the operation was a failure—and I lived. So maybe this was a break.

I felt pretty good, weak, but I'd be able to move around okay, I thought. The pain didn't bother me, and I had been given emergency treatment by the ambulance boys. A bandage was taped to my chest, gauze wound around my body. I got to my feet, wrapped in the sheet, walked across the room and back. The legs were wobbly, but usable.

Then I sat down and racked my brain for a way out.

A minute passed, then I said to Elaine, “Where's this room located?”

“Near the end of the east wing. The door at the end of the hallway comes out on the east side of the building.”

That meant from the door it would be only a few steps up the side street to Maplewood, and then two blocks to Mitchell's place. “Okay. Another thing—”

I didn't have time to finish. The door opened, and the nurse came in. “I'm sorry,” she said to Elaine, “but you'll have to leave now.” Then to me, “Oh, you shouldn't be sitting up.”

“I'm all right. Bring a phone in here, will you?”

She blinked. “I can't do that. There's no place to connect one, anyway.”

“Well ... show me where a phone is.”

“That's out of the question! You can't be walking around. And I'd be discharged if I—”

“Okay, never mind. It probably wouldn't work anyway.” I thought a moment and said, “This Dr. Fischer who's going to help me. He a resident surgeon here or something?”

“No, somebody phoned the Director and requested special attention for you and said not to worry about the expense. He wanted Dr. Fischer—he's
very
expensive—to handle your case.” She smiled. “You must have some extremely influential friends.”

“Yeah. They'd do anything to me. That's why the slug's still in me, huh? You had to wait for the special doctor?” She nodded and I said, “That's nice. I've got to see Dr. Fischer. Immediately.”

“Oh, but he won't be in to see you. He's already in surgery. You're to be taken—”

“I think he'll come. If you'll do me the favor of telling him something for me. Okay?”

She nodded.

“Tell Dr. Fischer it's important to
him
that I see him. It's about a dead man in the
showcase
, and a man named Lime. That's all.”

She frowned but said she'd do it. I asked her if she knew where my car was, and she said she supposed it was wherever I'd left it. It hadn't been brought into the lot.

“Would you tell Dr. Fischer right now, please?”

She went out, closing the door. I said to Elaine, “Honey, we're in this together, whether we like it or not. If I leave, we leave together.”

“You couldn't get rid of me anyway, Shell. That's why I came here, you know. Maybe I can help.”

“You're the damnedest woman.”

“At least I'm not shot in the chest.”

“Not yet, at least.” I grinned at her, and it was to be the last grin for quite a while. “Besides, if anybody shot
that
chest, I'd live long enough, even with bullets rattling in my ears, to strangle him.”

She smiled and said something very nice.

Then the interlude was over. I stood up and looked around the room. I needed a heavy object that I could manage with one hand, and a satisfactory item was on the little table across the room. It was a water pitcher, big enough and heavy, the bottom about an inch thick. I picked it up, hefted it, and decided to leave the water in it to make it even heavier.

Then I turned to Elaine. “I guess you know what I'm going to do.”

“Well, nearly every time I see you, you hit somebody, so I suppose—”

“Exactly. Stay out of sight, and if anything goes wrong run down the corridor screaming and just keep screaming till there's about a hundred people around you. Then stay with the hundred people. Yell for cops. If you can, get to a phone and call Captain Samson at Homicide, have him send some men here. With luck, maybe I can do that myself, but just in case—you do it.”

She didn't say anything. In another minute the nurse came in and said Dr. Fischer would be here in a few moments. She went back into the corridor again. I moved to the door, and waited.