The Expendable Man

by Dorothy B. Hughes

  “The police believe his story?”

  “They don’t reject it.”

  Because part of it was true. Because he had driven her from the abortionist’s, had stopped on the Indian School Road. But she wouldn’t have died of the operation, not that soon. Not unless her heart gave out.

  “They came here to arrest me.”

  “To take you in for questioning,” Skye amended.

  “Has Othy been arrested?”

  “He’s out on bail. His part was minor; he could get merely a suspended sentence.”

  “He killed her!” Hugh cried hoarsely. “Don’t you see, that’s why he’s made this confession. He’s running scared.”

  Skye said, “Don’t despair. The police are checking and double-checking and looking for witnesses—”

  “When are they coming back for me?”

  “Not until the doctor lets you out of bed. I hope that won’t be for several days. I need the time.”

  It was essential he talk to Edward alone. He closed his eyes. “I’m awfully tired.” The reaction was what he wanted.

  Ellen released his hand. “We’d better go, let him rest.” She was, of course, speaking to Skye.

  “Yes, it’s almost dinnertime anyway. Would you join us, Dr. Willis?”

  Hugh narrowed his eyes. Edward was moving to the doorway where the others were standing. “I wish I could but I haven’t seen my family since yesterday. They’re sort of expecting me at home.”

  Hugh waited, timing it for Skye and Ellen to step out of the room, the doctor on the threshold. It hurt to raise his voice, “Edward, before you go . . .”

  But it worked. Edward excused himself and returned. The others went on down the corridor.

  Hugh whispered, “Close the door.” Edward gave him a dubious glance. “Close it. As if you’re going to do another examination or are getting me the bedpan.”

  Silently Edward walked back, closed the door. He returned to the bedside.

  “How bad is the damage?”

  “Not bad.”

  “Level with me. I’m in the business myself.”

  “I’m leveling, Hugh. You have a couple of cracked ribs. I’ve bound them. You’re badly bruised but no bones broken.”

  “Kidney damage?”

  “Nothing that shows up. I took a couple of stitches in your lower lip.”

  Hugh scowled. “He kicked me. Bastard.” No wonder he couldn’t talk right. He was afraid to ask the main question but he did, watching Edward with care. “What about skull damage?”

  “None.” Edward sighed soft relief. “None at all.”

  Was he leveling? Hugh pressed it. “My eyes. They blur.”

  Edward grinned. “With the dope I’ve pumped into you, it’s a wonder you can see your hand in front of your face.”

  Hugh lifted his swollen hand. He could see it plain. “Steady too.”

  Edward said, “Fortunately, when you keeled over on them, they didn’t try first aid. They got you to me at the hospital without delay.”

  “Skye was there.”

  “That was a bit of luck. Ellen couldn’t have managed alone.”

  And why was Skye there at that hour? He didn’t ask Edward. “Does the family know?”

  “You’re bunking with an old friend for a day or so. Reunion celebration.”

  “They believe it?”

  “Why not? I’m quite good at dissembling.” Edward touched his shoulder. “Don’t worry about that part of it. I’ll cover. You’re in good shape considering everything, Hugh. Another day in bed—”

  Hugh interrupted bluntly. “I need some medicine.”

  The suggestion confused Edward.

  “I want you to shoot me full of B-12. And I want some biphetamine. Strong.”

  Edward wasn’t slow to understand. “You can’t—”

  “I have to. I haven’t seen Doc Jopher yet.”

  “Someone else can go.”

  He remembered not to shake his head but he made it emphatic. “I have to do it myself.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow may be too late.”

  Edward knew this was true, but refusal was on his face. “I can’t let you do this—”

  Hugh interrupted factually. “I’m going to do it. With or without help.”

  Edward capitulated. “When do you want these things?”

  “As soon as you can make it back here.”

  On reluctant feet, Edward started to the door. “I can probably get the supplies in Scottsdale.”

  “I’m trusting you to say nothing.”

  “You can trust me.” Edward closed the door after him.

  The medication was wearing off and his strength was returning. He ached in every bone and muscle but he was no longer in danger of fading out. He had a terrific thirst. He managed slowly to turn himself and raise onto his left elbow. It was a bit more difficult to reach across with his right hand and lift the water glass on the bed table, but he did it. He drank a little water, slowly. When he’d finished and put down the glass, he didn’t sink back onto the pillow as he wanted to do. Modern medicine taught you to try your strength, to get on your feet as soon as possible; to get on them even when you couldn’t believe it was possible. There was no head injury. Medically, it wouldn’t hurt him to try to get up.

  He waited until he had become accustomed to the half-reclining position and then, using the palms of his swollen hands for leverage, he pushed up until his shoulders rested against the headboard. The effort set his head to spinning like a phonograph record.

  When he had rested a little, he would try to swing his legs out of the bed. If he could stand upright, he could stagger into the adjoining bathroom. There was a soft rap on the door. It had been too much to hope that he would be left alone.

  It was Ellen who looked in. When she saw his position she rushed across the room. “You shouldn’t be sitting up.”

  “I was just changing position.” He tried to smile. “To see if I could.”

  “Why didn’t you ring?” She indicated the small china bell on the bed table.

  “I didn’t need help,” he assured her.

  She was settling him with her lovely, strong hands. Scolding as his mother would have. He let her arrange the pillows, tuck him in. “I just came to see if you needed anything. Are you hungry?”

  “I couldn’t eat. And I don’t need a thing.” He thanked her.

  “If you want anything, please ring,” she urged. “You know I’m staying here tonight.” There were circles under her eyes. She probably hadn’t slept at all.

  “Edward’s coming back to give me another shot. After that I’ll get settled for the night,” he told her. She started back across the room. “If you sit up waiting for that bell to ring, you’ll be the one in the hospital. Promise me you’ll go to bed soon.”

  “I’ll sleep if you will,” she smiled.

  “Skye too.”

  “He has to go back to town. He’s interviewing more of the bus drivers.”

  Hugh asked point-blank, “Have either of you slept today?”

  She said, “I rested a bit when the police were here.” Her hand turned the doorknob. “If you want anything—”

  “Good night,” he said firmly.

  Once they got to bed, they wouldn’t wake easily. They’d be too worn out to be checking on him all evening. After her footsteps could no longer be heard in the corridor, Hugh managed to push out of bed and get to his feet. Once the dizziness had cleared, he was able to make it to the bathroom. He hurt all over, he was weak; however, it wasn’t too much of an ordeal. He didn’t stay up long. He was only too glad to return to the bed. But next time it would be easier.

  He was too impatient to rest for long. Edward wouldn’t let him down, not Edward, but he should have returned by now. Again Hugh forced himself up and out of the bed. By slow stages he walked the length of the room, to the door. He rested briefly against it before starting his tedious return. Halfway, he stopped before the mirror and forced hims
elf to look into it. The gargoyle who gazed back at him was uglier than he had imagined. Well, Ellen had Skye for company.

  He heard the doorknob turn, and moved too quickly. The room tilted, the Navajo rug at his feet quivered like sand. Quickly he clutched the bureau, held tight. It was Edward who opened the door.

  Hugh groaned. “I was afraid Ellen had caught me out again.” He let go too soon and swayed like a metronome.

  “Here, let me help you.”

  “No.” Hugh grimaced. “I’ve got to learn.” Slowly but with increasing confidence, he covered the space to the bed, sank down on it.

  Edward prepared the shot. “Double dose?”

  “Yes, please.” The needle connected. It hurt.

  “It won’t help too much tonight. But you’ll be in better shape tomorrow.”

  “It’ll help some. The bennies?”

  The doctor handed him a glassine container of capsules. “Go easy on them.”

  “I only want one. To keep me on my feet.”

  Edward put away his materials. “I can’t dissuade you?”

  Hugh sat up again. “I don’t want to do this. I have to.” He touched Edward’s arm. “One more favor. Give orders outside that I’m not to be disturbed for several hours. I need that much time.”

  “I’ll tell Ellen. Skye has gone out.”

  “Thanks for everything. And say a prayer this is it.”

  “I’ve been on my knees all week,” Edward said.

  When Edward was gone, Hugh got up again and walked to the closet. They had taken his clothes away. For the ragbag, or perhaps Skye kept them as evidence.

  He couldn’t go to Jopher’s in pajamas. He’d have to borrow from Skye. If Ellen should catch him at this, it would be necessary to tell her of his plan. He didn’t want to add that trouble, but if it happened, he could handle it. The capsule had already begun to work; he felt capable of handling any problem.

  Soundlessly he opened the door to the corridor. The light had been left on. From the living room he could hear music; Ellen was there. Using the wall for support he padded in the opposite direction, until halfway along he found what must be Skye’s room. He entered, put on a light, and closed the door behind him. In the dressing room, there was a king-size walk-in closet. He leafed through the clothes with growing concern at their immaculate tailored condition. But he found what he wanted on a hook, a pair of worn Levis, bleached to a mottled blue. With them over his arm he stepped over to the shoe cabinet and easily found a pair of old tennis shoes, stained beyond repair, fraying at the seams. Skye was human, he didn’t discard his old shoes. Against all his upbringing, Hugh forced himself to open drawers. He collected a faded-blue sports shirt, its freshness would be gone by the time he struggled into it, a pair of shorts, and a pair of heavy white tennis socks. The latter would take up some of the extra space in the tennis shoes. Skye was bigger than he. He remembered a belt as he started away. He didn’t select the oldest one of well-rubbed leather, it could be a cherished relic. There was a fairly old black one which could be replaced. He’d have to punch some extra holes in it.

  He was weaker now, not alone from the exertion but from the tension of haste, the fear of discovery. He retraced his faltering way to his own room, closed the door and locked it. He didn’t stop to rest but crossed to the patio doors, drawing the curtains across them, after they too were locked. Dressing wasn’t easy. Each move awakened a fresh vise of pain. That Skye was several inches taller didn’t matter with Levis, he could roll the legs above his ankles. The belt took care of the waistline inches. That the shoes were oversize helped give him the appearance he needed, that of a poor lout wearing hand-me-downs.

  It was essential that he find the keys to the Cadillac. He would have to drive it, notorious as it was; he couldn’t borrow. His personal belongings should be here in the bedroom. At the hospital the nurses always stashed them in the top bureau drawer, the natural place. He found them there, the wallet, the keys, as well as all the peddler’s pack from his pockets, loose silver, the half roll of mints and the open pack of gum, his cigarettes and lighter. He transferred them to his pockets. He could go.

  Quietly he unlocked the corridor door. On his way back across the room, he noted the glassine bottle and put that into his pocket. He left by way of the patio. The car was parked where he expected, in the rear, shielded by the whitewashed walls from the road.

  Hugh edged himself under the wheel, careful not to wrench his battered bones. He drove without lights out of the grounds. The gate was ajar; he left it open after he’d nosed through. He put on the lights as he started over the meandering lane back to Tatum, and found the jog which would carry him to Camel-back Road. He slowed here to a standstill. There were no other cars to harry him. From his wallet he took the precious scrap of paper and in the dash lights read again the directions to Doc Jopher’s house.

  Camelback was long and dark and sparsely traveled at this hour. Hugh held a steady pace, not too fast, not too slow, to Scottsdale Road. At the intersection of lights, he turned north. Within moments, he had left all town traffic behind. One pickup truck rattled past him, otherwise he saw no cars as he proceeded.

  He continued on, as slowly now as he felt he might without attracting stray attention, until the speedometer showed he had covered the designated miles. With the moon low on the horizon, it was difficult to recognize the turn-off lanes until you were upon them. Not that there were many. He turned on mileage alone, and wasn’t sure he had the right lane until he reached the venerable cottonwood growing undisturbed in the middle of it.

  As all travelers must over this road, he circled the tree and crept on along the bumpy, narrowing way. Over a rise, down a decline, on into rural darkness until he saw far ahead a prick of light. It could have been a distant firefly. But as he came closer, it became a miniature green-glow square of a shaded window. Soon the house took shape, a kindergarten scrawl against the night sky. It was away from the road, on a rise, across a neglected field.

  Before he reached its gate his wheels clattered across the warped boards of a bridge spanning a dry stream. Within that house, the sound would give warning of an approaching car. A few yards and he had reached the gate, never mended, the paint peeling from the white palings.

  There was no need to dismount to open the gate. It swung loosely, nudged by how many cars over the years? Hugh’s headlights picked out no driveway, only the choice of crisscrossing tire tracks on the stubble. Hugh made his own as had those who had come before him, in slow approach over the beaten field toward the knoll. His pulses were beating too fast, not in fear but in desperate hope.

  Close up the house was frame, once white, built country style, a box with a pointed roof set atop it. The small porch and the front door faced to the west, overlooking the lane he had traveled after leaving the highway. Someone could have watched his lights from the time he first turned into it. Yet the place was so motionless, it was impossible to believe that there was anyone within.

  He drove past the porch and parked at the far side, where his car would not be seen. As he silenced the motor, the drone of crickets seemed to increase sharply. Hugh climbed the three sagging steps to the porch. The moment he set foot there, the barking of a dog sounded in fury from inside the house.

  Hugh did not stop moving. He crossed to the screen door. It sagged on its hinges and in several places the screen had broken from the frame. But when he took hold of it, it was hooked fast. He felt around for a doorbell and found where it had been. The push button had been wrenched out of its socket.

  He gave a tentative knock on the frame of the screen, rattling the entire door. The sound of barking increased and Hugh pushed the door tight with the flat of his hand while he waited. From the appearance of the screen, the dog might be in the habit of charging at strangers.

  He waited. He was considering another knock when a dim porch light came on over his head. It startled him and he stumbled back, releasing his hold on the screen door. Someone was fumbling with a
bolt. In another moment, the front door was opened to give a partial view of a big man standing inside. There was no sign of the dog. When the door opened, it had ceased barking.

  Hugh put a touch of the South in his voice. “Are you Doc Jopher?”

  The man peered out. “Yes, I’m the doctor.” He pushed into the aperture and peered more intently. “What you want with me? Speak up, boy, what you want?” The sour smell of old wine came from his breath, fouling the clean night air.

  “I got a little trouble,” Hugh began softly.

  “What kind of trouble? Speak up.”

  “Well, it’s like this—” He tried to say what the doctor might expect of a boy in his position. “I’m in trouble. My girl friend—you see, she—”

  “You get your own kind of doctor,” the old man returned almost angrily. “I don’t do no work for the colored.”

  He started to push the door shut and Hugh spoke up fast. “I got money.” There was little evidence of a decent living in this broken-down house and the broken-down segment of man visible in the doorway. It didn’t appear that Doc Jopher was in the business. If so, he drank up his fees. “I got plenty of money,” Hugh emphasized. At least he was holding Jopher’s interest, the door remained ajar. “I can get hold of most a hundred dollars.” If he had operated on Bonnie Lee for fifty, the double amount should be tempting.

  He had awakened cupidity. Even in the poor light, he could see the flicker of it over the shadowed face. Doc Jopher wet his lips and asked suspiciously, “How’d you know to come here?”

  “I heard some fellows talking where I work.”

  “They didn’t tell you I do colored folks. They didn’t say that.”

  “I guess they didn’t say.” Hugh drooped his head. “I didn’t think about that. I got most a hundred dollars to spend—” He couldn’t believe that Jopher would care about the color of skin if the money was there.

  “It ain’t that I’m bigoted,” Doc Jopher said as if arguing with himself. “It’s just they ought to go to their own doctors.” He peered, but not at Hugh now, over his head. He might have spotted the pinpoint lights of a car. If so, the motor was not yet audible. His eyes moved back to Hugh’s face and unwillingly he opened the door wider. “Well, come in,” he said crossly. “I can’t talk business with you out there on the porch.” He un-hooked the decrepit screen and pushed it open with his other hand.