Part 24 (1/2)

Outside, a steady rain was streaming down the gla.s.s.

I was on a cot set up near one wall, on top of a bedsheet on top of a layer of my earth. It felt much more comfortable and civilized than lumpy bags inside a cramped trunk. My stained clothes had been stripped away and most of the blood on my skin cleaned off. Modesty had been preserved by a blanket tucked up to my chin.

He came back and sat down. Instead of the handkerchief, there was a neat padding of bandage circling his wrist. The skin on his face was tight, with dark smudges under his eyes from no sleep. Last night and the following day had been no picnic for him, either.

”I'm glad you're better. You looked quite ghastly earlier.”

”How bad was it?”

”Bad enough. The blood loss was ma.s.sive-it was as though your death a month ago had caught up with you.” His eyes s.h.i.+fted uneasily away from the memory.I dimly recalled my hand clutching the stair rail and noting its thinness. In retrospect, it was not so much thin as skeletal. I looked at my hands now. They were normal.

The movement caused a tugging at my cheek. ”What's all this?” There was tape on my face and a rubber tube leading into my nose. The other end of it was connected to an upside-down gla.s.s bottle hanging from a metal stand. The bottle was half-full of some recognizable red liquid.

He stopped looking so grim. ”It began as an experiment and proved successful. I borrowed the equipment from Dr. Clarson-remember the fellow who st.i.tched me up-then made a visit to the Stockyards to obtain six quarts of animal blood. I daresay they thought I was more than a little mad, but they humored me and I returned here to set it up. You looked awful and I couldn't tell if you were alive or not, but thought it all worth a try. It did help you that time you were sun-blind...”

I was astonished.

”You needed it. The first bottle was empty within a quarter hour and the others with decreasing slowness throughout the day, and each one filled you out a little more. With the lack of normal vital signs it was extremely encouraging. I originally considered trying a needle and tube in your arm, but decided against it. Your body, I suppose, has been adjusted to absorb and process blood through the stomach walls, and I was reluctant to tamper with the system by putting it directly into the veins.

I'm still very much mystified by your condition. It really shouldn't work-not without a heart to pump and lungs to oxygenate, it really shouldn't.”

He looked as though I should have an answer for him. I shrugged and shook my head, just as puzzled. ”Beats me, but as long as it does work I'm not complaining.

Where'd you learn to do all this?” I tugged at the tube, which itched where I couldn't scratch.

”Please, allow me.” He began gently pulling the tube out; there seemed to be a lot of it. ”I learned in a hospital when I was very young. I once thought I wanted to be a doctor, so one of my father's friends got me a job there, but it never worked out.”

”Why not?”

He rolled up the tubing and unhooked the bottle. ”Too squeamish,” he said with a perfectly straight face, and carried the stuff off to the kitchen.

I sat up cautiously, my chest still aching. Some leftover fluid in the lung s.h.i.+fted and burbled with the position change.

When I didn't collapse into a coughing fit, I stood and followed him, but slowly, wrapped in the blanket like a refugee.

Near the sink were a number of similar gla.s.s containers, all empty.

”All that went into me?”He turned on the tap, upended the bottle, and rinsed it out. The beef blood gurgled around the drain, and rus.h.i.+ng water diluted it and carried it down.

Involuntarily I thought of the walls in the stairwell and looked away.

”Nearly five out of six,” he said. ”There's one left in there if you need it.” With his elbow he indicated the refrigerator. He'd been through a lot setting this up and then waiting to see if it worked. Faced with the same grim task and my inert and unpromising carca.s.s, I might have given up before starting.

”Are you all right?” I asked him in turn.

He knew just what I meant. ”A little light-headed when I move too fast, but otherwise there are no ill effects.” Charles... I...”

He could see it coming and grimaced. ”Please don't be an embarra.s.sing a.s.s about this. I only did what was necessary.”

I nearly said something anyway, but held it back. He acted as though he'd done nothing more than loan me a book, and wanted to keep it that way. All right, my very good friend, if you insist. But thank you for my life, all the same.

The phone rang, and he answered.

”Escott.”

The voice on the other end was familiar and not one I expected.

”Yes, he's up now... He seems to be. What have you heard? Very well. We'll talk and I'll let you know.” He put the earpiece back on the hook.

”Gordy?”

”You're surprised.”

”The last time you saw him he was poking a gun at you.”

”Forgive and forget. Besides, he never really wanted to kill me.” Unconcerned, he crossed back with the bottles and busily loaded them into a cardboard box on the table. ”From whut you told me about him, I decided we needed his a.s.sistance. He has a large organization of eyes and ears and is more than willing to help us locate Miss Smythe. I called and told him everything that happened and he's been tearing this city apart since dawn. He just called now to inquire after your health, but unfortunately has no news for us.”

Next to the box on the table were some of my things-watch, pencil, keys, wallet, and notebook. He'd made an attempt to clean it all but the notebook was a loss. The pages were rusty brown and stuck together. If he were so squeamish, how the h.e.l.l had he been able to- ”Charles.”He paused, following my hand as I peeled a page open.

It was still legible. ”There, I wrote it down and forgot it. Can you trace license plates this late? Can Gordy?”

”Is it Gaylen's?”

”No, her bullyboy. That blond crazy, Malcolm.”

He remembered. ”Yes, Gordy and I went to his office, but could trace him no farther. He was very careful about his personal papers; the place was cleaned out.”

”This was to his Ford, the one he was in outside her hotel. Maybe there's an address other than his office.”

”We can try.” His voice was level, but charged with hope as he got back on the phone, relayed the numbers to Gordy. then quickly hung up. ”Now we must wait.

He'll call as soon as he has anything.”

There was someone else waiting. ”What about Marza?”

”She's still at Miss Smythe's hotel with Mr. Pruitt. She is upset, but in control, as when I talked with her last night. You'd left for the warehouse quite some time before I arrived, and I got only her version of things. I would be most interested if you could tell me what events led up to your being impaled in a stairwell in such a disreputable neighborhood.”

It was the way he said it that made it seem funny. I started to laugh. It was probably just a normal release of pent-up emotion, but it turned into a coughing fit.

I forced it all back, holding on to my aching chest.

”You should lie down, you're not nearly recovered yet.”

”Nah, I'll be all right. Lemme get some clothes on and I'll tell you what happened.”

I wandered up to the bathroom and tried not to think about Bobbi while I bathed, shaved, and hacked out the last of the junk in my lung. In less than thirty minutes I was dressed and in his parlor, finis.h.i.+ng my story to him about last night's events. I stuck to the bare facts and left out the emotions. The earlier laughter was long gone by now, and my hands were trembling when I'd finished.

With a pipe clenched in his teeth, Escott listened, with closed eyes, stretched out on the sofa. The only sign he was awake was an occasional puff of smoke from his lips. It drifted up to get lost in the dusk of the ceiling. Only one lamp was on in the room, a stiff bra.s.s thing on a table by the window. The rain had slacked off a little, but in the distance, the sky rumbled with the promise of more.

”Your turn,” I said. ”Why did you leave for New York so suddenly, and what were you doing up in Kingsburg?”He removed the pipe to talk. ”It wasn't sudden to me. I was here digesting Herr Braungardt's excellent meal and thinking over our interview with Gaylen. The more I thought, the more my eye kept drifting to my packed bag. There was a night train leaving for New York and I simply saw no reason to delay.”