About five, I went over to Mac’s and had some beef stew. Mac was still a little miffed about the way I’d talked to his friend, but he greeted me pleasantly.
It was cool in the tavern, and Mac was talkative once I got him started on Joe Louis. It was after six before I noticed the time.
I had to hustle, then. I went home for a quick shave and shower (one room and bath — but I call it home). I wore a neat and cheap blue suit and a neat and not cheap white shirt. I wore a bow tie and white shoes. I thought I looked pretty efficient when I rang the bell to Dr. Curtis Randolph’s apartment that night.
Chapter Two
Night Shift
It was a top floor apartment in a fairly new and impressive building on the exclusive upper-east side. These were all studio apartments on the top floor and the cream of the lot.
A short and amiable Filipino in a white jacket opened the door. “Mr Jones?”
I admitted it, and he opened the door wider, saying: “Doctor busy now. Follow me, please.”
We were in a hall and to our right was a mammoth living room, but he went the other way, toward a small office or den at the rear of the apartment. I could hear Dr. Randolph’s voice, and the woman’s, in the living room as we walked back.
I could still hear them when the Filipino had left me. But only the sound of the voices, not the words.
Then the voices grew louder, and I began to pick out a word or two. “Love” was one of them, and it was said scornfully, by the doctor. “Money” was another and it was said twice, neither time scornfully, by the woman. She had a pleasant, throaty voice, despite its angry pitch. Then I heard a door slam, a door could not see from this angle, but it sounded like the front door to me.
The doctor was suddenly standing in the doorway to the den. He was smiling. “Mr. Jones. I’m sorry I kept you waiting. Some rather unpleasant business—” He shook his head. “My wife has decided to come back and live with me. Shall we go into the living room now?”
I followed him down the hall. The living room had full length windows, towering windows. It had a large, soft Royal Sarouk on the floor and two low, long davenports that seemed to wall off one corner of the room. There was a massive coffee table between them. We sat on one of the davenports.
I told him about my arrangement with Jack Carmichael.
He nodded absently. “Of course. I never stopped to realize it couldn’t be handled adequately by one man.” He was chewing his lower lip. “My wife will occupy the room down the hall. The door to my room is right there.” He nodded Toward a door about eight feet away from where he sat. “I’ll be in there alone; you’ll need to be within sight of it at all times.”
I said: “I don’t imagine you get up before seven? I can have Mr. Carmichael come here?”
He nodded. “I rarely get up before ten, as a matter of fact. I have some work out of town, some nights, and—” He frowned. “Well, I’ll explain about that when the occasion arises. If you want, you can phone your assistant now.”
Jack answered the phone almost immediately, and I told him how it was. He promised to be there on the dot.
When I came back into the living room, the doctor was smoking one of those monogrammed cigarettes. He said: “I suppose you slept this afternoon?”
I shook my head. “But I’ll bet I will tomorrow. Don’t worry about my falling asleep, though, Doctor. I’ve done this before.”
He looked at me, and away. He put his cigarette out in a heavy, green glass ashtray and considered lighting another, looking at it for moments. Then he put it away and looked at me again. “You like Chopin?”
I didn’t know whether I did or not, but I didn’t lie. “I like any kind of music,” I said.
He went over to a Capehart and put on some records.
I didn’t know what to expect. What I got was a lot of brilliant piano. It was probably more artistic than Frankie Carle, but I can’t say I preferred it. We sat there listening, not saying very much. After about ten minutes, he shut it off and came back to the davenport. He said: “You must think I’m crazy.”
I shrugged. “You’re playing a hunch. I play them myself.”
He smiled a smile without meaning. “I’ve been thinking about what I told you this afternoon. I’ve been thinking about ‘the constant shadow.’ I’ve been thinking — a man’s conscience could be called that. All of us have to live with that, don’t we?”
“Most of us,” I admitted. “Though there seem to be some who’ve done pretty well without it.”
He nodded, only half hearing me, I thought. He was about to say something, when the Filipino returned.
No white jacket now, but a form fitting, sleek burgundy jacket, well-creased white flannels. The amiable grin was on his face. I thought, he looks just like any other dance hall Romeo now.
“O.K. I go now, Doctor? Big dance tonight. Contest.”
“O.K., Juan,” the doctor said. “Give ’em hell. I want to see you bring home another cup.”
The Filipino nodded. “I bet I win. I got Rosa, tonight.” He stopped at the archway. “Juan maybe late. Goodnight.” He left.
Dr. Randolph shook his head. “How he stays as chubby as he does is a mystery to me. Working all day and dancing all night. The nights he’s free, at any rate.”
I said: “Which would indicate a clean conscience — or none.”
He turned his gaze on me fully. “I suppose you’ve done some investigating about me, this afternoon?”
“I check all my clients,” I said.
“You heard that I was sued for malpractice — twice?”
I nodded.
His eyes closed, and he rubbed his forehead nervously with the heel of his hand. His voice was hoarse. “I — botched a couple of jobs. I was young and confident beyond my — my ability at the time. I—” His voice broke. “Oh, Lord. It was horrible, horrible—” His whole body seemed to shudder.
This was no act, I was sure.
He sat erectly now, and seemed to have control of himself. But his eyes were straight ahead into the gathering shadows at the far end of the room. “My moral code isn’t at the church level, I’m afraid. But one thing I can’t condone, in myself or others is a lack of surgical skill. Particularly in my... my previous specialty.”
“You’ve given it up, now?” I asked.
“Not — completely.”
“Well,” I said, “I guess all of us have a skeleton or two in the closet. I’ve been told about your skill, Dr. Randolph. You’ve that to be proud of.”
He nodded. “It’s all I take any pride in.” He seemed to shake himself of his memories. “You play gin rummy?”
We played gin rummy. It’s a silly game, and an unpredictable one to my mind, but it does kill time. It killed three hours, at which time I was a little over nine dollars ahead. At our stakes, that was a lot. But the doctor’s mind wasn’t on the game. Your mind has to be a long, long way off to make any mistakes at gin rummy.
After that, the doctor went to bed.
I turned off all the lights but the large table lamp near one of the davenports. Then I went over to the window, the tallest, center window. Far below, I could see the traffic of the drive. To the west, north and south the lights of the city spread. I was in the shadows, here. At the other end of the room, the table lamp illumined the davenport and Dr. Randolph’s bedroom door. It was a strange arrangement, I thought, a bedroom leading off the living room, with no hall. Or perhaps not strange, just uncommon.
The windows were open, but there was no sound from the traffic below, no city noises reaching this high. I went back to the davenport, and sat facing the door. I read what there was to read in the evening paper.