“What's goin’ on?” she said, stopping in the doorway, taking in the disarray of the room, the naked man on the floor, the woman zipping up her jeans, the sweater only on one arm and over the head, the other arm bare and exposing a tiny breast. “Who are you?” It was addressed to Mulheisen.
“Get Jones,” Mulheisen said. “This man is in bad trouble.”
When the woman vanished, Mulheisen turned to Helen. “Does he have any medication? Is he supposed to take something?”
“I don't know,” Helen yelped. “How the hell am I supposed to know? I'm not a nurse. He didn't say anything about medication. What's wrong? Is he all right? Is he dying?”
“M'okay,” Joe gasped out, his eyes wild, “m'okay . . . med . . . med . . . “ he waved his left arm.
“Look in his bag. No, wait. Here, help me get him onto the bed.” Mulheisen lifted the upper torso. For a small man, Joe was surprisingly heavy, but Helen caught his legs and they soon had him on the bed. Mulheisen spread a blanket over him while Helen rummaged in Joe's travel kit. She came up with a half dozen plastic vials. Mulheisen turned them in the light from the window, trying to read their labels. They had long chemical names and instructions to take one pill at various times. He had no idea what should be done.
“Joe.” He turned to the bed, then knelt by it. “Did you take any pills today?”
The conductor entered the room and asked what had happened, but Mulheisen held up a hand for silence without looking at him. Joe seemed calmer now, almost relaxed, but still mumbling.
“Joe,” Mulheisen asked, “did you take your pills? Do you need to take a pill?” He held the vials in his hands, offering them to the man. Joe shook his head several times, nodded several times, then pawed at the pills, knocking them from Mulheisen's hands. Mulheisen picked them up again and, more calmly now, presented them, one by one, between finger and thumb, so that Joe could see them. Finally, Joe grabbed at one.
“Okay,” Mulheisen said, “I don't know if this is the right thing to do, but here goes. Get a cup of water, Helen.” He wrenched the vial open and shook out one pill. Then he held Joe by the shoulders and popped it into his mouth, followed by the cup of water. Joe gulped it down, then fell back on the bed. He stared up at the ceiling.
Mulheisen stood up. “He's had a stroke or something,” he said to the conductor. “He's been recovering from a brain injury. You better call ahead. How far is it to the next stop?”
“Granby's the next stop, but there's a doctor in the next car. I'll get him.”
Mulheisen sighed and squatted next to the bed. He put his hand on Joe's forehead. It was damp. He brushed the thick black hair back. “Joe, Joe, Joe,” he said. Joe looked at him, blinking. He seemed calmer now. “Maybe you'll be all right, Joe.” Then, “Yeah, you'll be all right.” He stood up and looked about. Helen had her sweater on, at last. She looked from Joe to Mulheisen, then back again.
“Will he be all right?”
“I wouldn't doubt it,” Mulheisen said. “He'll need a hospital, though.” He looked thoughtful. “It'll be a lot better for him than prison. He'll have a chance in a hospital.” And I can talk to him, he added to himself.
“Keep an eye on him,” he told Helen. “I better go see about Itchy. The doctor will be here soon.”
He had hardly left the room when Joe called out, “Hel . . . Hel . . . bags.” He pointed at the duffel bags and gestured with his left arm. “Out! Out!”
Helen grasped the thought quickly. She seized the two bags full of money and lugged them down the hallway. She wrenched open the half-door at the exit and a rush of freezing air billowed into the landing area. She seized the bags and hurled them out, one after the other, then leaned out to see them tumble down the embankment. A moment later, the attendant hurtled down the stairs.
“Hey, you! What you doin'? You can't open, them when we're moving!” She slammed the half-door shut. “What the hell you doing?”
“I needed air,” Helen said, shrinking back against the wall. She could hear the steps of the conductor and the doctor. “Where are we?” she demanded.
The conductor and the doctor pushed by her and went on down the corridor to room H.
“Where are we?” Ms. Williams said. “We're on a train. We're almost to Granby.”
“Where exactly?” Helen hissed. “I have to know.”
Ms. Williams glanced out the window. “We're about ten miles. Be there in a few minutes.” Then she followed the men to the room. Helen stood at the window and stared out, trying to memorize everything, the mountains, the trees, the distant ranch house.
When Mulheisen returned everything seemed in control. The doctor said Joe would be all right. There would be an ambulance waiting at Granby. Of Helen, there was no sign. The attendant said she had put on her shoes and a coat and had gone out. Mulheisen went through the train, looking for her. But he had not found her by the time the train reached Granby.
He got off there with his bag and climbed into the ambulance with Joe. Joe was sleeping. The doctor had given him something.
“Well, Joe,” Mulheisen said, patting his hand, “I've got you, anyway.”
Dead Folks Page 26
