"Come off it, Doc. You're on the list."
Dr. Vukanich leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette. He was giving me time. He blew smoke and looked at it. I gave him one of my cards to look at instead. He looked at it.
"What list would that be?" he inquired.
"The barred-window boys. I figure you might know my friend already. His name's Wade. I figure you might have him stashed away somewhere in little white room. The guy is missing from home."
"You are an ass," Dr. Vukanich told me. "I don't go in for penny ante stuff like four-day liquor cures. They cure nothing in any case. I have no little white rooms and I am not acquainted with the friend you mention-even if he exists. That will be ten dollars-cash-right now. Or would you rather I called the police and make a complaint that you solicited me for narcotics?"
"That would be dandy," I said. "Let's."
"Get out of here, you cheap grifter."
I stood up off the chair. "I guess I made a mistake, Doctor. The last time the guy broke parole he holed up with.a doctor whose name began with V. It was strictly an undercover operation. They fetched him late at night and brought him back the same way when he was over the jumps. Didn't even wait long enough to see him go in the house. So when he hops the coop again and don't come back for quite a piece, naturally we check over our files for a lead. We come up with three doctors whose names begin with V."
"Interesting," he said with a bleak smile. He was still giving me time. "What is the basis of your selection?"
I stared at him. His right hand was moving softly up and down the upper part of his left arm on the inside of it. His face was covered with a light sweat.
"Sorry, Doctor. We operate very confidential."
"Excuse me a moment. I have another patient that-"
He left the rest of it hanging in the air and went out. While he was gone a nurse poked her head through the doorway, looked at me briefly and withdrew.
Then Dr. Vukanich came back in strolling happily. He was smiling and relaxed. His eyes were bright.
"What? Are you still here?" He looked very surprised or pretended to. "I thought our little visit had been brought to an end."
"I'm leaving. I thought you wanted me to wait."
He chudded. "You know something, Mr. Marlowe? We live in extraordinary times. For a mere five hundred dollars I could have you put in the hospital with several broken bones. Comical, isn't it?"
"Hilarious," I said, "Shoot yourself in the vein, don't you, Doc? Boy, do you brighten up!"
I started out. "Hasta luego, amigo," he chirped. "Don't forget my ten bucks. Pay the nurse."
He moved to an intercom and was speaking into it as I left. In the waiting room the same twelve people or twelve just like them were being uncomfortable. The nurse was right on the job.
"That will be ten dollars, please, Mr. Marlowe. This office requires immediate cash payment."
I stepped among the crowded feet to the door. She bounded out of her chair and ran around the desk. I pulled the door open.
"What happens when you don't get it?" I asked her. "You'll find out what happens," she said angrily. "Sure. You're just doing your job. So am I. Take a gander at the card I left and you'll see what my job is."
I went on out. The waiting patients looked at me with disapproving eyes. That was no way to treat Doctor.
18
Dr. Amos Varley was a very different proposition. He had a big old house in a big old garden with big old oak trees shading it. It was a massive frame structure with elaborate scrollwork along the overhang of the porches and the white porch railings had turned and fluted uprights like the legs of an old-fashioned grand piano. A few frail elderly people sat in long chairs on the porches with rugs tucked around them.
The entrance doors were double and had stained-glass panels. The hall inside was wide and cool and the par. quetry floor was polished and without a single rug. Altadena is a hot place in summer. It is pushed back against the hills and the breeze jumps clear over it. Eighty years ago people knew how to build houses for this dimate.
A nurse in crisp white took my card and after a wait Dr. Amos Varley condescended to see me. He was a big baldheaded guy with a cheery smile. His long white coat was spotless, he walked noiselessly on crepe rubber soles.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Marlowe?" He had a rich soft voice to soothe the pain and comfort the anxious heart. Doctor is here, there is nothing to worry about, everything will be fine. He had that bedside manner, thick, honeyed layers of it. He was wonderful-and he was as tough as armor plate.
"Doctor, I am looking for a man named Wade, a well-todo alcoholic who has disappeared from his home. His past history suggests that he is holed up in some discreet joint that can handle him with skill. My only lead is a reference to a Dr. V. You're my third Dr. V. and I'm getting discouraged."
He smiled benignly, "Only your third, Mr. Marlowe? Surely there must be a hundred doctors in and around the Los Angeles area whose names begin with V."
"Sure, but not many of them would have rooms with barred windows. I noticed a few upstairs here, on the side of the house."
"Old people," Dr. Varley said sadly, but it was a rich full sadness. "Lonely old people, depressed and unhappy old people, Mr. Marlowe. Sometimes-" He made an expressive gesture with his hand, a curving motion outwards, a pause, then a gentle falling, like a dead leaf fluttering to the ground. "I don't treat alcoholics here," he added precisely. "Now if you will excuse me-"
"Sorry, Doctor. You just happened to be on our list. Probably a mistake. Something about a run-in with the narcotics people a couple of years ago."
"Is that so?" He looked puzzled, then the light broke. "Ah, yes, an assistant I was unwise enough to employ. For a very short time. He abused my confidence badly. Yes, indeed."
"Not the way I heard it," I said. "I guess I heard it wrong."
"And how did you hear it, Mr. Marlowe?" He was still giving me the full treatment with his smile and his mellow tones.
"That you had to turn in your narcotic prescription book."
That got to him a little. He didn't quite scowl but he peeled off a few layers of the charm. His blue eyes had a chilly glint. "And the source of this fantastic information?"
"A large detective agency that has facilities for building files on that sort of thing."
"A collection of cheap blackmailers, no doubt."
"Not cheap, Doctor. Their base rate is a hundred dollars a day. It's run by a former colonel of military police. No nickel grabber, Doctor. He rates way up."
"I shall give him a piece of my mind," Dr. Varley said with cool distaste. "His name?" The sun had set in Dr. Varley's manner. It was getting to be a chilly evening.
"Confidential, Doctor. But don't give it a thought. All in the day's work. Name of Wade doesn't ring a bell at all, huh?"
"I believe you know your way out, Mr. Marlowe."
The door of a small elevator opened behind him. A nurse pushed a wheel chair out. The chair contained what was left of a broken old man. His eyes were dosed, his skin had a bluish tinge. He was well wrapped up. The nurse wheeled him sirently across the polished floor and out of a side door. Dr. Varley said softly:
"Old people. Sick old people. Lonely old people. Do not come back, Mr. Marlowe. You might annoy me. When annoyed I can be rather unpleasant. I might even say very unpleasant."
"Okay by me, Doctor. Thanks for the time. Nice little dying-in home you got here."
"What was that?" He took a step towards me and peeled off the remaining layers of honey. The soft lines of his face set themselves into hard ridges.
"'What's the matter?" I asked him. "I can see my man wouldn't be here. I wouldn't look for anybody here that wasn't too frail to fight back. Sick old people. Lonely old people. You said it yourself, Doctor. Unwanted old people, but with money and hungry heirs. Most of them probably judged incompetent by the court."