The Daisy Ducks (16 page)

"Don't play dumb with me. I know you're not
telling because I'm your wife's brother. Who in hell is she and where
did you run into her? San Antonio?"

"Huh?"

"Okay, clam up. I'll find out eventually. And so
will Mary. You can't keep it secret forever, you know. After all,
this Mystery Lady is the one who sprung you and your friend."

I stretched my feet out to relieve the numbness and
cramping brought on by the plane ride, the scuffle in the baggage
room, and sitting under the hot light at the BPD. I let out a weary
sigh. The recent events had all the earmarks of a Kafka novel. I
wasn't having much fun.

"Joe, what the hell are you talking about? You
know there's no woman in my life except Mary."

"And that blonde you were glomping on to at your
party the other night."

"No, not even her. Now, who's this other lady?"

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you. She
looked Mexican a little bit, so I guessed maybe you met her in San
Antonio. But actually, I thought she looked more Japanese or Chinese.
But she was too tall for any of them."

I stared ahead and saw light at the end of the
tunnel. I remembered the tall, gorgeous, sandalwood-scented woman in
the ski parka who had glided by me on the hospital stairs. But it
couldn't be.

"Did she, uh, have her hair back in a bun?"

"Naw. In a single thick braid down one side of
her head. God, those eyes! So where did you meet her?"

"I've never met her. But I have seen her. Once.
And that's a face I'll never forget."

"Haw-haw-haw!" roared Summers from the back
seat. I turned and looked at him. He wore a big grin, and the laugh
was genuine. It was the first time I'd seen him even smile. I turned
around again and stared at the tunnel exit. Summers seemed to know
something I didn't.

"Well, this woman, whoever she is, showed up at
the station ten minutes after I got there. She waltzed in there and
snagged Captain Catardi. They were in the next room for maybe twenty
minutes. Then Catardi comes back in alone and says let them go. He
wouldn't tell me doodily-squat. So who the hell is she, Doc?"

"I wish I knew, Joe. I wish I knew . . ."
 

11

FOR SOME STRANGE REASON, Mary was not overjoyed that
I had brought Mike Summers home with me.

"You've got to be kidding, Charlie! " was
all she managed to say as Mike clomped around above us in the guest
room, a double Scotch in his huge mitt, unpacking his duffel.

"I tried to call from Chicago and tell you my
plans. By the way, where were you this afternoon?"

"Since when do I have to report to you?"
she snapped as she stormed off. Ten minutes later, after a brief
phone call to Janice DeGroot, she left to go shopping. I wanted to
ask her when she planned to return, but I didn't push it. It was a
hell of a way to treat a war hero like Mike Summers. But I could see
her point. One doesn't exactly expect one's spouse, who's blown a
sizable wad of the family savings on rehabilitating an ex-mercenary,
to bring another one home. I knew that Mike couldn't stay at the
Adams homestead longer than a day or two without disastrous
consequences. I sat down in my study and thought for a few minutes.
Why had I volunteered to bring Mike Summers home with me? What had
gotten into me that I would take this man, one step away from the
gutter—or jail—and whom I'd met only minutes before, under my
wing? Why?

Because he needed help, that's why. And he had
nowhere else to turn. And I knew who was really behind it: Morris
Abramson. Dammit! I'd been hanging around Moe too much; I was
becoming a bleeding heart sap, just like him. Moe Abramson, the
sucker who'd let a grizzly take his leg off and then stop to lecture
the critter because eating meat was bad for its health.

There was only one course of action at this point: I
was going to take Mike up the road to Carlisle and put him in
Glendale Hospital, a posh detox clinic. Lord only knew what Mary was
going to say when she heard this plan; the cost was astronomical. But
I solved that problem: I decided I wasn't going to tell her. But
another difficulty loomed. What if he didn't want to go? A man of
Mike's background and disposition wouldn't want to be confined or
restricted, even if it was for his own good. And if he didn't, how
could I persuade him? It'd be like telling King Kong to get off that
building right this instant—or else.

There were only two men I knew who would even have a
chance at handling Mike Summers. One was Roantis, of course. But
although he'd returned to work, he was still disabled. The other was
the giant affable Irishman, Tommy Desmond. But I liked Tommy too much
to send him on a suicide mission. There was only one answer: I had to
persuade him myself.

I went upstairs and knocked on the guest room door.
No answer. I opened it; Summers was asleep on the bed. The
clock-radio was playing loud soul music. I turned it off, drew down
the blinds, and tiptoed out. He slept through the night. After Mary
got back from shopping, at nine, I promised her Mike would not stay
long. We had a late snack together and watched part of an old movie
before she said she was tired and went up to go to sleep. I followed,
and we snuggled for a bit. I thought I was going to get lucky and
have a chance to put all the disagreements in the past. But then she
rolled over to her side of the sack and froze there in a fetal
position. I reached over and stroked her flank.

"Don't, Charlie. I'm tired and . . . and
confused. I want to sleep now."

"Sorry about Mike Summers being here. He's
leaving tomorrow."

"Charlie, I need to get out of this place for a
while. I need to get away."

"We'll talk about it later," I said.

"It won't change,"
she said.

* * *

The next morning, Mary was up and out of the house
early for hospital duty. As a relief RN, she works two or three days
a week. I wasn't hungry, but I ate a small breakfast and called
Glendale Hospital. The director, Mr. Clarence Featherstone, answered.

"Now let me get this straight, Dr. Adams, you
say the patient is from out of state, has no health insurance plan or
means of payment, and you want to have him admitted at Glendale?"

"That's correct. I am prepared to pay the full
week's charges in cash, in advance." This changed his attitude
considerably.

"This, uh, man is a relative, then?"

"No."

"He is then a—harrrumph—a friend, I
presume?"

"No, not exactly. I just met him."

He cleared his throat again a couple of times and
made sucking mouth noises.

"Are you trying to ask me why I'm bringing him
in?"

"Uhhh. Yes."

"Because I can't let him die. Does that sound
reasonable?"

"Oh, of course, Dr. Adams. Do you have him on
medication now?"

"No. But he should be on something for
hypertension, and soon. I assume your attending physician will
probably prescribe it."

"Of course, doctor. Now, when can we expect you
both?"

"That's a good question. Whenever we get there."

I hung up and heard a heavy tread on the front
stairs. I met Mike in the dining room. I thought I might as well get
it over with, even if it meant a knee drop to my kidney and a broken
spine.

"Mike, I'm taking you to a hospital, a private
clinic, for you to rest and recover for a week. After you're sprung,
you can do whatever you want. But for the next seven days you're
going to rest in bed, eat good food, take the right medicine, and get
sober."

He raised his head and stared at me.

"It's a nice place," I continued. "It's
just up the road, in the country, and peaceful. You won't have to pay
anything."

"What's the gig, Doc? Why you doin' this?"

"Somebody's got to. It might as well be me."

"This gotta be some kinda bullshit."

"The only thing bullshit is the way you've been
treating yourself. Roantis says you've got great potential. You're
not living up to it."

"Where the hell I gonna use my potential on the
South Side?"

"You're in New England now, the Home of
Potential."

"Hmmmph! Who said that?"

"I just did. You think the governor's office
will go for it?"

"Dayum! I want a Scotch."

"The last thing you need. Okay, Mike, you can
have a Scotch. I hope you enjoy it. It'll be the last one you'll have
for a while." I said this half expecting a left hook to the jaw.
But Mike said nothing, and thanked me softly when I handed him the
drink and told him to pack what he'd need for the next week or so in
the small grip I gave him. He could leave the rest of his gear in the
guest room.

We arrived at Glendale at ten-thirty. Poor Clarence
Featherstone almost slumped through the floor when he saw Summers. He
waited until Mike was being escorted to his room before he spoke to
me, making nervous throat noises and wringing his hands.

"You—uh, harrumph!—didn't say he was black."

"I assumed you'd figure it out sooner or later."

I signed a check for four figures. The man stood
twitching before me. Cheap hairpiece, pale skin, watery eyes, yellow
polyester necktie. Definitely not my type.

"This, uh, certainly is a first for us. Harmmph!
We've never had a, uh, black person stay here before."

"Life is full of surprises. just remember: Dr.
King would be proud of you."

"Oh, yes indeed. Yes indeed. He, uh, will behave
himself, won't he? I mean, he seems awfully big . . ."

"Yes and no, Mr. Featherstone. Yes, he is
awfully big. But not as big as he is mean. And no, he will not behave
himself, not if he feels slighted. Do you follow me?"

He stiffened at this.

"It is Glendale's right to refuse admittance to
anyone who might threaten —"

"I see. Why don't you walk down the corridor and
tell that to Mr. Summers? Now do you want this check?"

He took it, handed me a receipt, and returned to his
office. No doubt he wished he'd never gotten out of bed. I walked
down the hallway to say good-bye to Mike. They'd put him at the end
of the wing, in a corner room with two exposures. Outside, the ground
was covered with patches of snow. It was sunny and cold, and Mike
could look out his windows and see groves of birch trees. Cardinals
and goldfinches perched in the trees and called to each other.
Summers was in bed. He looked tired and peaceful.

"I'll be back this evening with a tape player
and some jazz and blues, okay?"

He nodded. He hadn't said ten words to me all
morning.

Finally he rolled up on one elbow and seemed to stare
at me.

"Thanks Doc," he said softly, and fell back
onto the pillow. His eyes were shiny. I crept out of the room. For
some strange reason, I felt happier than I had in weeks. Moe was
right after all. Hell, I would've signed a five-figure check.

I arrived at the Concord Professional Building in
time for my first patient. While I was waiting for the local to take
hold, I had Susan get Brian Hannon on the phone. I explained to him I
had an idea for determining who shot Roantis. Could the department
get in touch with all the nearby airports catering to small private
aircraft and find out which planes had arrived and departed in the
four-day period two days before and after the shooting?

"That's a lot of work, Doc. I also kind of doubt
they'd cooperate. Can you narrow it a bit further?"

"Then ask for info on all small planes arriving
from and returning to points west of the Mississippi. That'll
eliminate three fourths of the aircraft at least."

"Well, maybe. But don't expect this as a regular
thing."

"Course not, Brian. I know how busy you are.
What are you working on now? Eight down, or three across?"

"That's not funny."

* * *

"Gin," said Mike Summers, and laid down his
hand. "Haw! Caught you with a boodle, didn't I?"

He raked up the cards and began to shuffle them. I
poured him another hot cocoa out of my steel thermos. We were sitting
in his tiny room at Glendale Hospital listening to vintage Duke
Ellington on the portable recorder.

"So you say it wasn't a week after the first
visit to the village, but only four days later that you returned
there?"

"Right. Roantis could speak their lingo pretty
good. He also can speak French real good too. A lot of the Vietnamese
still spoke French, you know. He could always talk to them. I don't
know how he learned Khmer, or whatever it was. I knew Larry Jenkins
could speak it. He was the best of all of us."

"That's what everybody says, Mike. So Roantis
was the only one to speak to old Siu Lok?"

"Uh·huh. Don't know all of what they said,
either. But the old chief did give us a big share of the community
loot."

"And what was that loot?"