Penny was still there, still sobbing, when the prowl car turned into the street a block away. The rookie cop was the first to see her. “Look,” he said to his partner, the Wizened old veteran, “there’s a girl sitting on the curb and crying. She might be hurt.”
The older officer hit the brake abruptly and pulled the car over to the curb. He squinted myopically down the street toward Penny and scratched his chin. “Now let’s just be thinkin’ about this a minute, laddie,” he said. “Let’s not be doin’ anythin’ hasty.”
“But shouldn’t we go and help her?”
“Well now, maybe we should and maybe we shouldn’t. When you’ve been a bit longer in police work, you’ll appreciate that a good cop always looks at all the aspects of a situation before he rushes in. It doesn’t pay to be goin’ off halfcocked.” He chuckled to himself. “As the mail said while stroppin’ his razor,” he added.
“But she looks like she’s in trouble. And there’s nobody else around. I don’t think there’s any danger.”
“Well now, we can’t be sure of that, can we? After all, ’tis Cosa Nostra territory we’re in. Don’t be forgottin’ that. Some of these Eyetalians play a mite rough for my taste. Maybe ’twas them dumped her here for some reason of their own. We go a-rushin’ in, an’ first thing you know, we’re involved in the Lord knows what shenanigans. We might even end up in court tomorrow. An’ tomorrow’s the day of the PAL championship game. You wouldn’t want to be missin’ that, now would you?”
“Even so, I think we should investigate.”
“Well, all right then. But remember, the watchword, laddie, is caution.” The veteran bluecoat put the car into gear and eased it up the street towards Penny.
“Is there some trouble, miss?” the rookie called when they were abreast of her.
“Is there anything else?” Penny sobbed by way of reply.
“Sure now, an’ don’t be talkin’ flip to a member o’ New York’s finest,” the sergeant called out sternly. “Do you know you’re breakin’ the law loiterin’ on the curb like that?”
“But I can’t get up!” Penny wailed. “I’ve hurt my ankle.”
“Don’t be shoutin’ now!” The older cop grew braver. “Or I’ll be runnin’ you in for creatin’ a disturbance‘ An’ what are you doin’ runnin’ around half-naked anyway?” he asked, noticing Penny’s shapely legs stretching out from under the too-short mink.
“It’s a long story,” Penny told him. “And you wouldn’t believe it, anyway.”
“For bein’ so fresh, young lady, I think I will be runnin’ you in!”
“Wait a minute!” the rookie whispered. “You’re forgetting the PAL game.”
“Me partner has prevailed upon me to be merciful,” the sergeant told Penny. “So you just be movin’ along now an’ stay out of trouble.”
“I can’t! I told you, I hurt my ankle. I can’t walk.”
“Maybe we should call an ambulance for her,” the rookie whispered.
“That would mean makin’ out a report. Ahh, there’s no end o’ trouble.” The sergeant thought a moment. “I’ve a better idea,” he said finally. “Let’s just be drivin’ her over to the hospital ourselves an’ drop her off at the emergency ward. That way we won’t be gettin’ involved.”
So it was that some twenty minutes later Penny found herself in the antechamber of a hospital emergency room. “Just sit there,” the nurse had told her. “Dr. Quimbare’s right inside. He’ll be with you in a minute.”
“Who’s Dr. Quimbare?” Penny had asked. “An intern?”
“No, he’s the resident gynecologist,” the nurse had replied and then departed.
So now Penny sat alone and waited. The walls were very thin, and without intending to she found herself listening to the dialogue in the emergency room.
“Doctor, I’m always so out of breath after I have sex.” a woman’s voice was saying.
“Do you smoke afterwards?” a calm, professional, male voice queried.
“I don’t know; I never looked!”
“Well then, I’ll just have a look now.”
The voices subsided then, becoming indistinguishable. Penny waited patiently. The darling girl had always had the feeling that patients should be patient. Finally, the woman came out of the examining room. “Next!” the male voice called. Penny hobbled in and found herself looking at the back of the white coat the doctor wore. He was busy making some notations on a hospital record card, and when he spoke it was without turning around. “Up on the table, pull up your skirt, and put your feet in the stirrups,” he chanted automatically. “I’ll be right with you.”
“I can’t get up on the table and I can’t put my feet in the stirrups because I’ve hurt my ankle,” Penny said. “And I’m not wearing any skirt, so I can’t pull it up.”
Dr. Quimbare turned around quite quickly. His eyes took in Penny’s charms and state of dress with a fast, appreciative glance. “Well, hello there, little lady,” he said with the extreme unction doctors regard as the unwritten, but nevertheless binding, codicil to the Hippocratic Oath. “Whatever can be bothering a healthy-looking girl like you?”
“I’ve hurt my ankle,” Penny repeated.
“Well now, let’s just have a look-see. I’ll just get these boots off. And, oh yes, you’d better take off that coat.”
“But I have nothing on underneath it,” Penny protested.
“Really?” Dr. Quimbare smiled with interest. “You really shouldn’t run around that way, my dear.” He spoke paternally, although he was really quite a young man. “You might catch cold. Still, you might as well take it off. It’s a warm night and the hospital temperature is controlled to guard against drafts.”
“But why?” Penny asked. “It’s only my ankle that’s bothering me.”
“Every part of the body is related to every other part of the body,” Dr. Quimbare explained. “The ankle bone’s connected to the shin bone; the shin bone’s connected to the thigh bone; the thigh bone’s connected to the hip-bone . . .” He danced a merry little‘ jig as he completed the litany. “And so,” he summed up less rhythmically, “to examine you properly, I must be able to view the whole picture.”
“Very well,” Penny sighed, doffing the mink. “But I still feel awfully embarrassed being here naked like this with you.”
“Nonsense, my child. I’m a professional man. Just pretend I’m your family doctor.”
“But you’re not. My family doctor is old and he has a beard and he uses a stethoscope to do what you’re doing.”
“Some of these old-time GPs are pretty much behind the times,” Quimbare said amiably as he continued to squeeze her firm, girlish breast. “After all, this is the age of specialization.”
“Would you mind looking at my ankle?” Penny asked. “It hurts.”
“Oh, very well.” Dr. Quimbare examined her foot, his fingers trailing absent-mindedly up one calf. “lt’s just a sprain,” he told her. “No broken bones. We’ll just tape it up for support and inside of a few days you won’t remember it ever happened.” He suited his action to the words. As soon as he had applied the last of the tape, he grasped the inside of each of Penny’s thighs and bent close to peer.
“What are you doing?” Penny said indignantly. “What’s this got to do with my ankle?”
“Well, after all,” Dr. Quimbare replied in a hurt tone of voice, “I am a gynecologist. We might as well take advantage of that.”
“But just who,” Penny asked, squirming, “is taking advantage of whom?”
“Very interesting!” Dr. Quimbare ignored her protests. “Would you mind handing me that little flashlight on the table?” He held his hand up, groping, but his position remained unchanged and his eyes stayed riveted on the object of his examination.