Chapter 9 long goodbye (9)

He put the file in his shirt pocket and got something else in his right hand.In two or three strokes, a shiny ring was put on the fist.The skin over his cheekbones was taut, and there was a fire in the depths of his large, smoky eyes. He walked towards me slowly.I stepped back to make more room.He continued to whistle, but it was high and shrill. I told him, "We don't need to fight. There's nothing to fight. You're going to tear up those fancy pants." His movements were as fast as lightning, and he jumped with ease, rushing towards me, and quickly stretched out his left hand.I thought he was going to jab and I moved my head, but he was trying to grab my right wrist, and he got it, and it was so tight, that it threw me off balance, pounding my ringed elbow.A blow to the back of the head would make me sick.If I pulled away, he would hit me in the side of the face or where the arm was against the shoulder.Either the arm is disabled or the face is blooming.There is only one way in this case.

I retreated, blocked his left foot from behind, grabbed his shirt, and heard the sound of the shirt being torn.Something hit me on the back of the neck, but it wasn't metal.I turned left, and he crossed to the side and landed like a cat. Before I could stand still, he had already stood still.He was grinning, very happy about it all.He loves his job.He rushed towards me. A loud voice came from nowhere: "Earl! Stop now! Now! Do you hear me?" The cowboy stopped.He had a sickly grin on his face.The movement was quick, and the ring disappeared into the wide belt at once. I looked back to see a stocky guy in a Hawaiian shirt hurrying down the path toward us, waving.He walks a bit?

"Are you crazy, Earl?" "Don't say that, Doctor," Earl said softly.Then he turned away, smiling, and sat down on the steps of the house.He took off his flat cap, took out a comb, and began to comb through his thick black hair, his expression blank.After a while he began to whistle softly. The big guy in the fancy shirt stood looking at me.I also stood looking at him. He growled, "What's going on here? Who are you, sir?" "My name is Marlowe. I'm looking for Dr. Wellinger. A lad named Earl wants to play a game, because it's too hot, I guess."

"I'm Dr. Wellinger," he said majestically, and turning to the cowboy, "go inside, Earl." Earl stood up slowly.He gave Dr. Wellinger a thoughtful look, his large, smoky eyes were expressionless.He went up the steps and opened the screen door.A swarm of flies buzzed, roared, and settled on the screen door as soon as the door closed. "Marlowe?" Dr. Wellinger turned his attention to me now. "Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Marlowe?" "Earl said you're out of business." "Yeah. I'm just waiting for some legal stuff to be done before I move out. It's just Earl and me."

"Disappointing," I said with a look of disappointment. "I thought there was a guy named Wade staying with you." He raised two eyebrows that would surely have interested a man in the Fuller Brush Company, and said, "Wade? I might know someone with that name--it's a very common name--how did he end up here with us?" How about a temporary stay?" "Come for treatment." He frowned.People with this kind of eyebrows can really wrinkle flowers. "I'm a medical practitioner, but I don't practice medicine anymore. What kind of treatment do you think it is?"

"That guy's an alcoholic. He's freaking out and disappearing all of a sudden. Sometimes he goes home, sometimes he's taken home, and sometimes he's taken the time to find him." I pulled out my business card and handed it to him. He looked at it, not very happy. "What's the matter with Earl?" I asked him. "Does he think he's Valentino or something?" He raised his eyebrows again.I am simply mesmerized.A portion of the eyebrow bends on its own for an inch and a half or so.He shrugged his fleshy shoulders. "Mr. Marlowe, there's nothing wrong with Earl. He's—sometimes—a little dreamy. You could say he lives in the game world."

"That's your way of saying it, Doctor. It seems to me he was being rude." "Tut, tut, Mr. Marlowe. You're exaggerating. Earl likes to dress up. He's like a child in that." "You mean he's insane," I said. "Is this place a sanatorium or something? Or was it?" "Of course not. I operate as an art village. I provide meals, housing, sports and entertainment facilities, and most importantly, seclusion. The fees are moderate. As you may know, artists rarely have rich people. Artists of course include writers, Musician, etc. It's been a very rewarding career for me -- before it went bankrupt."

He looked very sad when he said this.The eyebrows droop down and come together with the mouth.Any longer and it will fall into the mouth. "I know," I said, "it's in the files. And there was a suicide in your place not long ago. Drugs, right?" Instead of being depressed, he became angry. "What file?" he snapped. "Doctor, we have information on those prison wards, places where you can't escape when madness strikes, or small private sanitariums or places for alcoholics, drug addicts, and mild insanity." "A place like that has to be licensed by law," snapped Dr. Wellinger.

"Yes, at least in theory. Sometimes they forget, too." He straightened his back.This guy listened to me, full of majesty. "Mr. Marlowe, the insinuation is so insulting. I don't know why my name is on the kind of list you mentioned. I have to ask you out." "Let's talk again. Will he come here under a pseudonym?" "There's no one here but Earl and I. We're all alone. Now let me go--" "I want to have a look around." Sometimes you provoke them and they say inappropriate things.Dr. Wellinger would not.He still has dignity.Eyebrows have always been very cooperative with him.I looked across the house.There was the sound of music, dance music, and the faint sound of snapping fingers.

"I bet he's dancing in there," I said, "it's tango. I bet he's dancing in there by himself. Brat." "Would you like to go, Mr. Marlowe? Or should I call Earl to help me throw you out of my property?" "Okay, I'll go. Don't be angry, doctor. I only have three names beginning with a V, and you seem like the most likely one. We have only one lead - Doctor V. He died in a Scrawled on a piece of paper: Doctor V." "Probably dozens of them," said Mr. Wellinger calmly. "Oh, sure. But we don't have dozens in our file. Thank you for the time, Doctor. Earl makes me a little uneasy."

I turned and walked to my car and got in.As the car door was closing, Dr. Wellinger came beside me.He poked his head in with a happy expression on his face. "We don't need to quarrel, Mr. Marlowe. I know you're often in a business of abruptness. What's something about Earl that's bothering you?" "He's so blatantly fake. When you find something too fake, you'd expect something else. Is that guy bipolar? Now he's manic." He stared at me silently, looking serious and polite. "Lots of interesting and talented people have stayed with me. Mr. Marlowe. Not all of them are as clear-headed as you. Talented people tend to be neurotic. But even if I like this kind of work, I don't have the equipment to Taking care of lunatics and drunks. I have no other staff but Earl, and he's hardly sick-care stuff." He leaned against the car door with a low voice, as if he regarded me as a bosom friend. "Mr. Marlowe, Earl's parents were good friends of mine. Someone had to take care of Earl, and they were gone. Earl had to live a quiet life, away from the noise and temptations of the city. He was mentally unstable, but basically It won't hurt anyone. You see, I hold him with ease." "You have courage," I said. He sighed.The eyebrows fluctuate slightly, like the tentacles of some suspicious insect. "It's a sacrifice," he said, "quite a big one. I thought Earl could help me out here. He's a great tennis player, swims and dives like a champion, can dance all night long." , almost always amiable. But occasionally there will be—accidents." He waved his hand, as if to push the painful memory to the back of his mind. "At the end of the day either you give up on Earl or you give up on this place." His palms were facing upwards, spread out, and then came over and fell to the sides of his body, tears welling up in his eyes. "I'm selling it," he said. "This peaceful little valley is going to be a real estate development. There'll be sidewalks and street lights, kids on scooters listening to the radio loudly. There'll even be—" He let out a lonely sigh . "There's a TV." He swiped his hand. "I wish they'd spare the trees, but I'm afraid they won't. There's going to be a TV mast up along the ridge. But I'm sure Earl and I will go far." "Goodbye, Doctor. My heart bleeds for you." He held out his hand, wet but firm. "I appreciate your sympathy and understanding, Mr. Marlowe. I regret that I cannot help you find Mr. Slade." "It's Wade," I said. "Sorry, it's Wade, of course. Goodbye, sir, and good luck." I started the car and drove back along the gravel road just now.I felt sad, but not as sad as Dr. Wellinger would have liked. I drove out of the gate, around the bend in the road, and drove a long way, parking out of sight of the gate.I got out of the car and walked along the side of the road back to where the gate was visible beyond the wire fence.I stood under a eucalyptus tree and waited. About five minutes passed.A car churns pebbles onto a private road and stops out of sight from my angle.I stepped back into the bushes and heard a creaking sound, and then the ring clicked and the chain rattled.The car motor revs up and the car is back on the road. When the sound of the car was gone, I got back into my Oldsmobile and turned my head to face the direction of the city.Passing the entrance to Dr. Wellinger's private road, I saw that the gate was chained and padlocked.We are no longer accepting visitors today, thank you. I drove the twenty plus miles back to the city for lunch.As I ate and ate, I felt more and more stupid about the whole deal.I can't find people this way--maybe interesting characters like Earl and Verringer, but not what I'm looking for; wasted tires, gas, tongue in a game that doesn't pay off and nerves.There were only three names starting with a V, and my odds of finding this one were like playing dice and ruining "Greek" Nick's fortune. The first answer is always wrong anyway, a dead end, a lead when your face explodes and there is no sound.But he shouldn't have called Wade Slade.He is a person with a good brain, and he will not forget so easily; if he forgets, he will completely forget it. Maybe, maybe not.We are not very familiar yet.As I sipped my coffee, I thought about Dr. Ukanich and Dr. Valli.To go or not to go?Finding them would take most of the afternoon.I'll call Ed Varley Wade's mansion sometime, and they'll probably tell me that the head of the family is home and everything is bright and good. It was easy to find Dr. Ukanich, just five or six blocks away.But Dr. Valli was far away in the Altadena Hills, and it was a long, annoying drive in the heat.To go or not to go? The final answer is "go".There are three reasons.First of all, it doesn't hurt to know a little more about the ambiguous industry and its practitioners.Second, it would be an expression of gratitude and kindness for Peters to add a little content to my file.Third, I have nothing else to do. I paid the bill, left the car where it was, and walked the north side of the street to the Stockwell building.The building was an antique, with a cigar counter at the entrance and a manual elevator that bumped along the way.The corridor on the sixth floor is old, with frosted glass on the door.Older and dirtier than my office building.It's full of not so good doctors, dentists, Christian science practitioners, the kind of crappy lawyers you want hired but not yours, and dentists and medical staff who make a living.Not very smart, not too clean, not very efficient, three dollars, please pay the nurse; a tired and discouraged doctor knows how much he has, what kind of patients he can find, and how much medical fees he can squeeze out.No credit.The doctor is there, the doctor is not there.Mrs. Kaczynski, your molars are very loose.If you use this new acrylic filling, it is no worse than the gold one, and I will only charge you fourteen yuan to fill it for you.If you want to use narcotics for anesthesia, there is an additional charge of two yuan.The doctor is there, the doctor is not there.three dollars.Please pay the nurse. In this kind of building, there are always a few guys who make a lot of money, but they don't see it.They blended perfectly with the grungy background, which became their protective color.A cunning lawyer who also runs the illegal sale of bail bonds (only about 2% of all bail bonds that have been fined are recovered).A secret abortion doctor with strange equipment and the ability to pretend to be any identity.Physicians pretending to be urologists, dermatologists, or whatever with normal use of local anesthesia are actually drug pushers. Dr. Lester Ukanich had a small, poorly furnished waiting room in which twelve people sat, all uncomfortable.They look ordinary, featureless.Anyway, you can't tell the difference between a well-controlled drug addict and a vegetarian clerk.I waited for three quarters of an hour.The patient enters through two doors.As long as the space is large enough, a competent ENT doctor can handle four patients at the same time. Finally it was my turn.I sat on a brown leather chair, and a white towel was spread on a table next to me, with a set of tools on it.There is a disinfection box against the wall that is bubbling.Dr. Ukanich walked in briskly in a white smock, with a round mirror over his forehead.He sat on a high stool in front of me. "Sinus headache, isn't it? Serious?" He looked at the cardboard clip the nurse had handed him. I said it hurts.Pain is dizzying, especially when I first wake up in the morning.He nodded wisely. "Typical symptoms," he said, slipping a glass cap over a pen-shaped utensil. He stuffed the utensil into my mouth. "Close your lips, but don't close your teeth," he said, reaching out to turn off the light.There were no windows in the room, and the ventilation fan was whistling somewhere. Dr. Ukanich retracted the glass tube and turned on the light again.He looked at me carefully and said, "No blockage at all, Mr. Marlowe. If you have a headache, it's not a sinus problem. I guess you've never had a sinus problem in your life. You've had septum surgery in the past, I understand." "Yes, doctor. I played football and got kicked." He nodded. "A small bone should have been removed. It shouldn't affect breathing though." He sat back on the stool, hugging his knees. "What do you expect me to do for you?" he asked.His face was thin and his skin was so dull that he looked like a tuberculosis rat. "I'm going to tell you about a friend of mine. He's out of shape. He's a writer, he's rich, but he's mentally unsound and needs help. He's been missing for days on end drinking. He needs a little something extra. He Doctors refused to cooperate." "What do you mean by cooperation?" Dr. Ukanich asked. "The guy just needed a calming shot. I thought maybe we could figure something out." "I'm sorry, Mr. Marlowe. I can't cure ailments of that sort." He stood up. "That's a rough trick, I said. If your friend wants to consult me, he can. But he's got an illness that needs medical treatment." All right. Mr. Marlowe, ten dollars for the consultation." "Stop pretending, doctor. You're on the list." Dr. Ukanich leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette.He waited for me to speak, and looked at me while puffing out smoke rings.I hand over a business card.He took a look. "What list?" he asked. "List of unruly people. I guess you might already know my friend. His last name is Wade. I guess you probably hid him in a little white room somewhere. The guy disappeared from the house. " "You bastard," Dr. Ukanich said to me. "I'm not taking cheap gambles like four-day abs. They can't cure anything anyway. I don't have any white rooms and I don't know what you mentioned My friend--if there is such a man. Ten dollars--cash--pay immediately. Or shall I call the police and sue you for demanding narcotics from me?" "Great," I said, "let's call." "Bastard, you cheap liar." I stand up. "Guess I got it wrong, doc. The guy got drunk last time and hid with a doctor whose surname starts with a V. Strictly a secret medical treatment. They pick him up at night, and when his anxiety period is over, he goes back to the hospital." Send him back the same way. Didn't even see him enter the house. So, this time he escaped again and didn't come back for a while, so of course we searched the files for clues. We found three surnames starting with V Doctor at the head." "Interesting." He smiled wryly.He is still waiting for my answer. "On what basis do you choose?" I glared at him.His right hand moved up and down slightly along the inner side of his left upper arm, with beads of sweat on his face. "Sorry, Doctor. We are a classified operation." "Excuse me. I have another patient--" He walked out without saying a word.After he left, a nurse poked her head in through the door, gave me a quick look and backed away.