The Expendable Man (34 page)

“I'll have to go tell her,” Hugh said. He didn't know what he was going to do. But the boy he was acting would have been no less uncertain about it. It was difficult to get up from the chair; movement activated his pain.

“Don't forget to bring the money. It won't do you no good coming back here unless you can put cash on the barrel.” The voice was good-natured.

“I'll bring it.” Hugh started to the door, clumsy-footed, but the doctor wouldn't figure it was from pain. He'd expect “boy” to walk that way. The dog raised a lazy head and growled.

Doc Jopher's voice chuckled. “Where'd you get that fat lip, boy?”

Hugh half turned. There was no evil knowledge on the sodden face. Simply amusement.

Hugh touched his hand to his swollen mouth. “I got in a little trouble,” he mumbled.

He went on out, closing the door on the doctor's wheezing laughter.

Hugh returned to the house by way of the kitchen door. He hadn't the strength to walk further. He went through to the living room. Ellen was alone in front of the fire, a book in her hands but she wasn't reading. There was coffee on the table. When she saw him, it was as if she were seeing a specter. The book dropped; she was on her feet. “What are you doing here? Where did you get those clothes?”

He just made it to the couch. “I borrowed them from Skye. I didn't have time to ask his permission.” He tried to light a cigarette; his hand fumbled.

She held her lighter. She asked, “Where have you been?”

The smoke made his head whir, but he needed it. “I've been to see Doc Jopher.”

She disbelieved, and then she accepted the truth. “He is the one?”

“I don't know yet. I'm to return. With my girl. And a hundred dollars.”

“He accepted you?” She indicated his appearance.

“To him I'm a poor colored boy who's got a girl in trouble. He doesn't do colored, but for a hundred dollars he'll forget his principles.” He said hopelessly, “Where can I get a hundred dollars at this time of night?” He'd expected Skye to be home; Skye could arrange it.

“I cashed a check yesterday. I could almost make it.”

“I have about twenty.” He hoped again.

“Won't he be suspicious of your producing that much tonight?”

“I've explained that. Work and a loan company.” He put out his hand. “Will you—”

“You can't go now.” She was appalled. “Not until you've rested.”

“I must get back. Before he's too drunk to answer questions.”

Her hand on his arm restrained him. “Wait until Skye returns. He can go with you to help.”

Hugh's mouth flicked a smile. “There are plenty of white Negroes but I'm afraid Doc Jopher doesn't know it.”

“Skye is as dark as I am,” she returned. “Sun glasses would take care of his eyes—if Doc Jopher doesn't know about blue-eyed Negroes. And he could darken his hair.”

“Skye is too well known. I can't take any chances now of Jopher getting suspicious.” He rejected the idea entirely. “I must do this myself, Ellen.” He tried to make her see it. “All I need is his admission that Iris was there, and the police can take over. They'll find the evidence. Not only of her presence but with luck of Fred O.'s as well.” If nowhere else, on the old screen door.

“Then why can't they do it without you?”

“Because they don't believe he's guilty.”

“But you think they'll believe you if you say he is?” There was a touch of scorn.

He didn't think they would, with no witnesses, only his word. But they wouldn't dare not check it out. He said, “It's the only hope left.”

Without further word, she left the room. He poured himself a cup of coffee and with it swallowed another capsule. He needed as much artificial energy as he could tolerate for this night's work.

He was drinking a second cup of coffee when she returned. Her handbag was held close to her; she didn't open it. She asked, “What about your girl?”

He had this planned. “I won't have to produce the girl. I'll tell him she's out in the car. I'm sure he'll answer questions when he sees the money. He needs that money.”

She said decisively, “I'm your girl.”

“No!” The tortured word sprang from him. To think of her in that foul room was inconceivable. “I don't want you there.”

“You need me,” she said.

“I don't. I won't take you there. You don't know—”

“I'm not milk and sugar,” she said. “I'm not afraid. I can play a part as well as you.”

He looked long at her and made the final decision. “No.”

“Then you aren't going, Hugh.” Her hands tightened on the closed purse. “Because I won't let you go alone. Not in your condition.”

He could wait for Houston. Wait for how long? For Doc Jopher to open another bottle of wine, to be too fuddled to speak? Ellen would not change her decision. He knew her strength too well to hope for that. He was defeated.

She saw it without his admission. “It won't take me five minutes to get ready.” She handed the purse to him. “You'll wait for me?”

He took it. “I'll wait.” It was his word.

He put the money together, crumpling the bills, some into one pocket, some into another. He kept out three twenties for her to carry. He might need to play for time.

She returned in little more than the five minutes. She hadn't disguised herself; she wore the same dress but had changed her pumps for beach sandals. With her lipstick rubbed away and her hair pulled back from her face into a rubber band, she didn't look the same girl. “I'm ready,” she said. She put on a dark plaid coat. It was too big for her. “I found it in the hall closet.”

He gave her the twenties and explained why. She divided them, two in the pocket of the coat, another in her handbag.

“The car is out back,” he said. It took a little time to get to his feet but he was all right, no feeling of blackout, only the constant aching pains.

Half across the room she said, “Let me make sure I have the house key. Skye lent me one.” She opened the purse, resting it on the back of the couch.

“The kitchen door was unlocked.” He was impatient to get on with it.

“Marcia must have forgotten it when she left. We mustn't leave the house open.”

While she searched, the portable bar caught his attention and with it a half-formed idea. He went to it and found among the bottles one of bourbon, half filled. Winos drank wine because wine was cheap. The promise of a real drink might make Jopher more talkative than the money.

“I found it,” Ellen said.

Hugh shoved the bottle into his jacket pocket. It was very visible.

When they reached the car, she asked, “Shall I drive?”

“I can manage it.” Physically it would have helped but he didn't want the effort of giving directions. He knew the way.

As they covered the now seemingly brief miles, neither of them tried to make conversation. The roads were lonely, only occasionally did the lights of a car flash in the rear-view mirror and disappear. He wished Ellen a million and one miles away, yet he knew his chances of success were better with her along. After they had turned into the country lane, he asked, “Can you talk southern?”

She shrugged. “I've been told not too well, northern comes through. If I have to speak I'll stay with ‘Yes, suh' and ‘No, suh'—” She saw the lonely house ahead. “That's it?”

“Yes. Don't be afraid, he won't touch you.” But he was the one who was afraid.

As before, he put the car where it would be partially hidden at the far side of the house. He didn't dare add a drink to his medication but he opened the bottle and rinsed his mouth with the bourbon. Then he spilled a little on his hand and rubbed it on his shirt. He wanted Jopher to thirst. When he and Ellen approached the house, the dog set up his noisy barking. Under his breath, Hugh said, “He barks but he doesn't leave his easy chair.”

They climbed the broken steps to the porch. Again Hugh rattled the screen. This time the porch light did not go on. The door opened its cautious slit, revealing the blurred eyes and big nose.

“So you're back,” Doc Jopher said. He unhooked the screen. “Come in, come in, don't stand there.”

Hugh pushed Ellen ahead, keeping himself between her and the doctor. While Jopher locked the door, Hugh pointed her toward the side windows where she could breathe a little fresh air. The dog muttered sleepily from his easy chair.

“You got the money?” Jopher demanded.

“Sure, I got it,” Hugh answered, somewhat truculantly.

The doctor poked his eyes at Ellen. “You sit down and keep quiet, girl.” His voice was thick. “We'll take care of you after we get our business out of the way.”

He saw Hugh's bottle as he passed. “You been celebrating, boy?” he asked slyly. “I might join you for a little drink when I'm through working.” He shambled to the table and drained the last traces of wine from his glass. For some reason the dog lifted his head and growled. “You be quiet, Duke.” The doctor nodded at Ellen. “He won't hurt you. He's a good old dog. I don't know what I'd do without old Duke.” As if the sip had revived him, he turned to Hugh with sharp eyes. “Now, boy, you give me that hundred dollars and we'll get this over with.”

Hugh didn't move. He let his voice be laden with doubt. “You're sure you'll do a good job on my girl? I wouldn't want nothing to happen to her.”

Doc Jopher didn't take offense. “I'll do a good job.” He held out his shaking hand for the money.

“I wouldn't want nothing to happen to her,” Hugh repeated with hesitation. “Like what happened to that little white girl who got drowned in the canal.”

“It wasn't my fault what happened to that girl,” Doc Jopher said amiably. “She was all right when she left here.”

Hugh began shaking as if with a chill. Fearful that the import of what he'd said would trickle through the doctor's sodden brain. And then he realized the doctor didn't care; this poor colored couple couldn't give him away without involving themselves. That business was over and done, and he couldn't wait too long between drinks.

“If you want me to take care of your girl, you just put up your money.” The doc was losing patience. “Stop worrying about what don't concern you.”

Hugh reached into his pocket. He began bringing out the crumpled bills, one at a time. “Fred O. says it's your fault,” he whined. “He says you killed Bonnie Lee.”

Ellen gave a little moan in the background. He didn't know if it was she or the assumed character giving way.

“Then he's lying to you, boy. He knows that girl walked out of here on her own two feet.” Doc Jopher's palsied hand stretched out greedily.

Hugh fed it with a few bills. “That's what you say.” He made his distrust evident by withdrawing, holding fast to the money in his fist. “But I don't see no operating table here. How you going to operate on somebody without no place to do it?”

The doctor's arm swept toward the battered couch. “Right there's where I'm going to do it. Like I always do. If it's a hospital you want, what'd you come here for?”

He mustn't let the doctor reject him, not this near to success. Hugh was quickly obsequious, the way he should be. “Oh, nossuh, nossuh.” He made the accent strong. “I don't want no hospital, nossuh!”

“Then let's get this over with.” The outstretched hand quivered across the table.

Hugh began to smooth a bill, and again he hesitated. “Don't you have no”—not instruments—“no tools?”

Doc Jopher's face twisted into a mammoth scowl. “Of course I got instruments,” he thundered. “I'm a doctor, not a damn hatpin quack!” He lifted his glass to drink but it was empty. He slammed it on the table; it didn't break. The money was there in plain view, the money he evidently needed so desperately. For he made the great effort, erasing the wrath, putting on the kindly-old-man demeanor he wore for all the world to see. “Come here, you.”

Unsure, Hugh followed him across to the couch.

“Stoop down, boy, you're younger'n I am. Stoop down and hand me that bag you find underneath there.”

Hugh went to one knee. From the lint and dust he brought out the doctor's bag. Like his own but so old, so very old.

“Hand it here,” Jopher said.

Hugh passed it up. He started to rise but the doctor halted him.

“Reach under again. There's a washbasin there. Feel it? Bring it out. That's right.”

Hugh stood up, holding the chipped basin. Folded into it was a rubber sheet.

The doctor's forefinger indicated it. “Shake it out, spread it over the couch.” There were old stains on the fabric but it wasn't dirty. It had been scrubbed. “That's right. Set that washbasin down, at the foot. There. Now, come over here.”

Doc Jopher returned to the table, plumped his instrument bag in the center, under the pool of light. Hugh edged himself to a place across from him.

“Now, you look here.” Jopher opened the bag. It wasn't locked. “You see this ‘tool'?” He mocked the word. He was humoring a dumb, ignorant colored boy. Because he must have that money. Now. Tonight. Not when another case turned up. “And this?” He laid the clean, worn instruments in a row on the wine-mucked table. His hands were tender, fondling them. “Doctor's tools,” he said, but this was to himself. “The finest you can buy.” He straightened up tall; his watery eyes prodded Hugh. “You satisfied, boy?” He took silence for assent. “Then pay up and we'll get this job done. You can stay right here and watch I don't make no mistakes.”

Hugh had more than he needed to go to the police. He passed across the rest of the money.

Doc Jopher counted in a monotone. The dog growled. “Keep quiet, Duke.” He finished counting, not quite believing his tally. “There ain't but forty dollars here.”