Read Race for the Dying Online
Authors: Steven F Havill
Race for the Dying (31 page)
“Saying it is one thing, proving it is another,” Carlisle said easily.
“I suppose that's my job,” Aldrich said, and the extra voice intruding on the tension was electric in its effect. Both Carlisle and Riggs turned, and Thomas slipped his hand into his coat pocket, gripping the corked scalpel. “So, I see it's a good thing I happened by,” Aldrich continued pleasantly. Happened by? Thomas looked past him, searching for Bertha Auerbach.
“What do you want?” Carlisle said. His tone dripped with disdain.
“If the saw broke, that's one thing,” Aldrich said. “But when it breaks and kills two men, that's another. Don't you think so?”
“This is absurd,” Carlisle said. “Zachary, if there's nothing else you need from me today, I'll be on my way. I'm not about to remain here and listen to all this.”
“Oh, I don't think so,” Aldrich said, his manner still so calm that Thomas marveled at his nerve. Physically, the constable was no match for Efrim Carlisle, and certainly not for Zachary Riggs. Carlisle shook his head in disgust, turning toward the door. With a sideways step that would have done credit to a dancer, Aldrich moved to block his way.
“You will stay out of my business,” Carlisle snapped. “I don't know who you think you are, but this is none of your affair.” Aldrich cocked his head quizzically.
“Is that so then?”
“Get out of my way.”
“I think what we need to do is talk with Mr. Pedersen,” Aldrich said. “He'll be interested in all this.”
“Pedersen?” Carlisle said.
“The county prosecutor,” Aldrich said. “He'll want to talk with you.”
“Get out of my way,” Carlisle whispered again. His hands rested on his belt. “Mr. Riggs,” he said, and turned toward his partner. The turn was a feint, Thomas saw. The hand blocked by his twisting body from the constable's view manipulated a stubby revolver from his waistband.
Thomas drove hard on the right wheel of the chair, spinning it toward Carlisle, several strides away. At the same time, he heard Zachary Riggs bellow, “No!” and with astonishing speed, the burly fellow dove at Carlisle. The two crashed into the wall and then went down, Carlisle's shoulder hitting Thomas' chair and upending him against the office door. Inside, Prince erupted in a maniacal frenzy, and for a moment, as his face hit the floor, Thomas was sure the dog would charge right through the door.
Carlisle cursed, and the flail of limbs included an elbow in Thomas' face, smashing the bridge of his nose so hard that he saw stars and then tasted copper. Nothing was more important than gaining a grip on the revolver, but Thomas could no longer see to do so. Carlisle cursed again and then the explosion was so shatteringly loud that it produced an instant ringing in the ears, the cloud of smoke thick and acrid.
Riggs let out an oddly high-pitched little yelp and rolled to one side. Carlisle pursued his advantage, lunging to his feet before Thomas could grab him. He still held the revolver, but now he swung it toward Aldrich. The constable moved with measured determination, as if he were lining up for an Austrian sporting shoot. Carlisle's gun roared again, and Thomas saw the slug tug at the constable's coat sleeve. Aldrich didn't flinch. He fired five times with rapid but methodical precision. The heavy slugs smacked loudly as they connected, driving Carlisle back with a cry of surprise. The final three were unnecessary, since the first slug caught Carlisle squarely in the center of the chest, with the second striking an inch above. The shots battered the man against the wall, and with a final gurgling sigh he slid to the floor and slumped over on his left side, eyes staring into the distance.
For a moment Thomas lay still, tangled in his chair. A sea of blood grew around Carlisle's left elbow. A light ticking sound drew Thomas' attention, and he turned his head to see Aldrich, still rooted in his shooting stance, shucking the empty cartridges out of his revolver. With the five empties on the floor, the constable thumbed in fresh rounds, then with the gun casually at his side, he advanced across the waiting room. He didn't bother to inspect his target, but instead walked directly to Riggs.
“You had enough?” he asked.
“My knee,” Riggs whispered.
“I see that,” Aldrich said. “You have a gun?”
“Just this,” Riggs said, pulling the little over-and-under derringer from his pocket.
“I'll take that,” Aldrich said. He slipped the derringer into his own coat. “Until we see what's what. So, you can walk, you think?”
“I don't know,” Riggs said. “Iâ¦I don't think so.”
“Then maybe we find a doctor,” Aldrich said, and chuckled at his own joke.
In an ungainly, uncollected gait, his back feet six inches out of line from his front, Prince trotted ahead a short distance and then turned to face the water, nose working. More than once, he gingerly waded out until the dark water lapped at his belly, soaking his hip. No matter how the gulls dived at him, or how curious the sea otters became, the dog never extended his explorations, staying always on the invisible thirty-foot leash that connected him with Thomas.
This particular section of shoreline had become a favorite of the young physician. Thomas remained on the narrow strip of damp, firm sand just above low water, where the footing required no effort. He avoided the jumbled rocks and tree stumps, picking his way deliberately, enjoying the smells, the show of wildlife, the soft language of the water. Although he could not kneel with either grace or comfort, he could walk, and walk he did, extending his explorations of Port McKinney and the water's edge.
On this particular day, he had left the clinic to find some relief from the incessant noise of the eager carpenters, who, led by Jake Tate, were transforming the building on Gambel and Grant. The new ambulance, driven by either Horace James or the gimpy Howard Deaton, could now drive under a protective portico on the Grant Street side of the building.
Inside, carpenters worked to create a clean, spacious surgery, a generously equipped kitchen, a second-floor ward for women and four private rooms for children. A laboratory and pharmacy had taken over several rooms on the Grant Street side of the first floor, not far from the most remarkable acquisitionâa clanking, squeaking Otis elevator that Horace felt the continual need to “adjust” even though it had been in operation for less than a week.
Leaving the beehive of activity behind for a few moments was a relief, and with Prince always eager for a jaunt, Thomas had extended his walk long enough that he knew Bertha Auerbach would grow fretful. He continued to his goal for the dayâthe giant spruce log that lay beached and graying in the dark sand just before the shoreline started to curve out to the spit of land beyond Schmidt's mill.
He sat on the log for a moment, watching an otter tease Prince, then arose to set out for home. He did not need to call the dog. Prince immediately charged back and followed from in front, as Alvi was fond of saying. Leaving the shore, Thomas strolled up Lincoln Street that now, after a week of blazing sunshine, was baked to burnished bronze. He was exhilarated at being able to push up the incline of the street, the ache in his ribs settled now to a minor nagging.
The step up to Lindeman's porch was effortless, but the dog remained in the street, first visiting the horse trough for a noisy drink, and then sitting carefully in a patch of shade. Lindeman's new boy was busy with two women customers, and Thomas paused only long enough to purchase the latest newspaper newly arrived from New York, only three weeks past its publication date.
Eager for news from the East, Thomas settled in one of the rockers on the porch of 101 Lincoln, Prince in attendance. He had been engrossed in the newspaper for a few minutes when Alvi joined him.
“You need to see this,” he said, and folded the paper so she could read it. The advertisement was enormous, printed in such a way that it resembled an actual newspaper article. “Oxypathy!” the headline trumpeted, and then proceeded to introduce the reader, in half a dozen different ways and by impressive testimony from physicians and patients alike, to the Oxypathy Electrical System, absolutely guaranteed to return vital oxygen to the body's fluids by a “continuous, soothing application of electrical current from the most natural of all sourcesâ¦the earth's own carbon.” By connecting the patient to two “comfortably applied” electrical leads, the article exalted, the system sped the gentle electromagnetic current to the body's ailing system. Even diphtheria, the scourge of children, was not immune to the power of Oxypathy. “Nothing can relieve the choking child as can the process of Oxypathy!” the article proclaimed, and then quoted numerous testimonials from patients, physicians, and research scientists.
“That's Father,” Alvi said softly. Sure enough, the engraving that was captioned as representing the eminent Dr. Claude Lucier, recently returned to Philadelphia from Paris, was the same engraving that appeared in the frontispiece of the
Advisor
â¦Dr. John Haines.
“Indeed it is,” Thomas agreed. “And Dr. Tessier is back as well.” He reached across and tapped one of the sidebar articles.
Alvi's brow furrowed as she roamed the half-page advertisement until she had found what she sought. “He's in San Francisco now,” she said, “and for only thirty dollars, you can have this device to heal all your patients, Thomas.”
“I'd like to order one as a curiosity,” Thomas said with a laugh. To have in my office for impossible cases.” He took the paper offered by Alvi. “In a way, I'm not surprised that Zachary is thriving. No doubt he's even turned his limp into elegant effect. I can see him with his fine suit, patent boots, and a silver-headed cane.”
“I saw Mrs. Beautard on the schedule for this afternoon,” Alvi said, eager for another topic of conversation.
“Yes,” Thomas said, pushing himself to his feet. “I've asked Jake and his crew to go away this afternoon. We need some peace and quiet.”
“Ovariotomy?”
“Yes. I'm afraid so. There's a tumor the size of an orange.”
“Will there be trouble with her new fiancé? I met him yesterday, and I'm not sure she's any better off than she was with Lawrence.”
“No,” Thomas said. “I suppose not, but believe it or not, Howard Deaton spent a few minutes with him. I'm not sure what he told the man, but he does have an emphatic way of explaining things.” He grinned at Alvi. “Both Bertha and Helvina are assisting, but I can always use more help.”
“Maybe,” she said, stretching back languorously. She rubbed her belly. “I was thinking I might go for a walk myself.”
Thomas reached over and placed his hand on her abdomen, feeling only the slightest, most graceful curve. “Take Prince with you,” he said. “He's going to have a lot to get used to, Mrs. Parks.”
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