Chapter 10 long goodbye (10)

Then Dr. Ukanich strolled back cheerfully, smiling, relaxed, with bright eyes. "What? You're still here?" He looked surprised, or pretended to be. "I thought our little interview was over." "I was leaving and thought you wanted me to wait." He giggled and said, "You know what, Mr. Marlowe? We live in extraordinary times. For five hundred dollars, I'll put you in the hospital with broken bones. Funny?" "Wonderful," I said, "you've got drugs in your veins, don't you, Doctor? God, you look so radiant." I go out. "Goodbye, friend," he chirped. "Don't forget my ten. Pay the nurse."

He walked over to a walkie-talkie, and he was talking into the walkie-talkie when I left.Those twelve people, or a dozen others like them, in the waiting room were suffering from discomfort.The nurse is busy. "It's ten dollars, please, Mr. Marlowe. This clinic requires immediate cash." I walked over a bunch of feet towards the door.She jumped out of the chair and around the desk.I pull open the door. "What's going to happen if you don't get it?" I asked her. "Just wait and see," she said angrily. "Okay. You're just doing your job. Me too. Take a good look at the business card I left and you'll know what my profession is."

I continue to walk outside.The waiting patient looked at me with disapproval.Doctors shouldn't be treated like this. Dr. Amos Varley was quite different.He had a big old house in a big old garden shaded by a great old oak tree.It was a thick wooden house, with scrollwork on the front verandah, and white railings with carved and fluted posts like the legs of an old-fashioned grand piano.Several frail old men were sitting on benches on the balcony, wrapped in blankets. The front door has two levels and is fitted with flowered glass panels.The hall inside was wide and cool, with a shiny parquet floor and not even a rug.Altadena is very hot in summer, clinging to the hills, the wind passes directly overhead and cannot blow in.Eighty years ago people knew how to build a house suitable for this climate.

A nurse in crisp white attire took my card, and I waited a while before Amos Valli condescended to receive me.He was a big, bald man with a big smile.His long white coat was spotless, and his wrinkled rubber-soled shoes walked quietly. "Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Marlowe?" His voice was rich and soft, soothing pain and comforting anxiety.The doctor is here, nothing to worry about, everything will be fine.He has that bedside etiquette, layers thick and sweet.That's amazing - and tough as armor plate. "Doctor, I am looking for a man named Wade, a rich alcoholic who has recently disappeared from his home. In the past he has been hiding in a hideaway that can deal with his condition. My only lead involves a V Doc. You are the third Dr. V I have seen. I am very discouraged."

He smiled pleasantly and said, "Only the third one, Mr. Marlowe? There must be a hundred doctors with surnames starting with V around Los Angeles." "Yes, but there aren't many with bars. I noticed a few upstairs here, on the side of the house." "It's the old man," said Dr. Valli sadly, but his grief was thick and full. "Lonely old man, depressed old man, Mr. Marlowe. Sometimes--" he made a very expressive gesture, arcing outwards, pausing, and falling gently, like a dead leaf on the Ground. He added more specifically: "I don't treat alcoholic patients here.Excuse me now--"

"Sorry, doctor. You just happened to be on our list. Maybe it was a misunderstanding. You had a little dispute with the Narcotics two years ago." "Is that so?" He looked puzzled, then suddenly said, "Ah, yes, I accidentally hired a bad assistant. For a short time. He took advantage of my trust. Yes, That's right." "That's not what I heard," I said, "I guess I've heard wrong." "How did you hear it, Mr. Marlowe?" He was still smiling, and his voice was mature and sweet. "I heard you were forced to hand over your narcotics prescription book."

This is a little bit of his point.He didn't frown, but he had peeled off several layers of his charming smile, and his blue eyeballs were shining coldly. "Where does this ridiculous news come from?" "From a great detective agency capable of building files of this kind." "No doubt a bunch of cheap blackmailers." "Not cheap, doctor. Their basic charge is a hundred dollars a day. Run by a former gendarmerie colonel. Not a greedy man who takes a small fee, doctor. Others think highly of him." "I should give him some frank advice." Dr. Valli said indifferently, "What's his name?" Dr. Valli's appearance was no longer sunny, and gradually turned into a cold evening.

"Confidential, doc. Don't take it to heart. It's all routine. You don't have the last name Wade at all, do you?" Behind him the doors of a small elevator opened.A nurse came out pushing a wheelchair, on which sat an old man who was dying, his eyes closed, his skin was blue, and his whole body was tightly wrapped.The nurse silently pushed him across the polished floor and out by the side door.Dr. Varley said softly, "Old man. Sick old man. Lonely old man. Don't come back again, Mr. Marlowe. You'll annoy me, and I can be quite unpleasant when I'm annoyed. Very, very unpleasant. ."

"I don't care, doctor. Thank you for taking your time. You're a fine death shelter here." "What do you mean by that?" He took a step towards me, peeling off the last few layers of sweetness.Soft lines on the face become hard ridges. "What's the matter?" I asked him, "I can see that the man I'm looking for won't be here. I'm not coming for anyone who has the strength to fight back. Sick old man. Lonely old man. You said it yourself , doctor. Old people nobody wants, but rich, hungry heirs waiting. Most of them have probably been ruled incapacitated by the courts."

"I'm annoyed," said Dr. Valli. "Light food, light sedatives, firm therapy. Put them in the sun, put them back in bed. Bar some of the windows in case any have the guts to escape. They love you, doctor, all in unison Love you. They held your hand before they died and saw the sadness in your eyes. And it was true." "Of course it is," he growled under his breath.Now he clenched his hands into fists.I should stop here.But I grew sick of him. "Of course," I said, "nobody likes losing a big-spending customer. And you don't have to please him."

"Someone has to do it," he said. "Someone has to take care of these sad old people, Mr. Marlowe." "Someone gotta clean the gutters. Think about it. Cleaning the gutters is still a clean and honest job. Goodbye, Dr. Valli. When my work makes me feel dirty, I think of you. It makes me infinite Rejoice." "You nasty parasite," Dr. Valli said through gritted teeth, "I should break your spine. My business is an upright offshoot of an upright profession." "Yeah." I said, looking at him impatiently, "I know. It just smells like death." He didn't hit me, so I walked away from him.I looked back through the wide double doors.He didn't move.He has a job to do, which is to put the layers of honey back on his face. I drove back to Hollywood feeling like a bit of chewed rope.It was too early to eat and too hot.I turn on the fan in the office.The air didn't get cooler, it just circulated a bit.The boulevard outside was full of people and cars.Thoughts in my head stuck together like flies on flypaper. Strikes three times and misses all three times.I just saw too many doctors. I called Wade's.A man with a Mexican accent answered the phone and said Mrs. Wade was not at home.I'm looking for Mr. Wade.The other party said that Mr. Wade was not there either.I leave my name.He seemed to hear it without difficulty.He said he was a servant. I called the Kahn Agency to find George Peters.Maybe he had other doctors he knew.he is not here.I left my fake name and my real phone number.An hour like a sick cockroach crawling slowly past.I am like a grain of sand in the nameless desert.Like a two-gun cowboy who just ran out of bullets.Hit three rounds, all three missed.I hate three things.If you look for Mr. A, you will find nothing.You look for Mr. B and find nothing.You go to Mr. C, it's still the same.A week later you find out it should be Mr. D.It's just that you don't know it exists. When you find out, the customer has changed his mind and you don't want to investigate. Both Vukanich and Dr. Valli can be crossed out.Valli's agency was very profitable and didn't deal with alcoholism cases.Ukanich is a wimp, a tightrope walker in his own clinic.The assistant must know.At least some patients must know.As long as someone makes a phone call complaining, he is finished.Drunk or sober, Wade doesn't go near his turf.He might not be too smart -- a lot of successful people aren't intellectual giants -- but he's not dumb enough to deal with Vukanich. The only possibility was Dr. Wellinger.He had enough space, and enough quietness, and maybe a lot of patience.But Sepulveda Canyon is so far away from Adwali.Where did they meet?How did they meet?If Wellinger owned the property and had a buyer, he wasn't very rich.Suddenly an idea occurred to me.I called my acquaintance at the title company to check on the condition of the land.No one answered.The title company had a day off. I get off work too, drive to La Sine Naga, go to Ruby Mongolian BBQ, tell the head waiter my name, sit on a bar stool and wait, enjoy a glass of whiskey in front of me, Marek Webb waltzing in my ears .After a while, I stepped in over the velvet rope and took a bite of Ruby's world-renowned Salisbury Steak, which was essentially a ground beef patty served on a hot wooden board surrounded by charred mashed potatoes, plus Fried Onion Rings and Mixed Salad - This is the kind of salad a man can eat in a restaurant, but he will yell at if his wife serves it to him at home. After eating I drove home.As I opened the front door, the phone rang. "Mr. Marlowe, this is Irene Wade. You want me to call you." "Just checking to see if anything happened on your end. I see doctors all day and I don't make friends." "No, I'm sorry. He hasn't shown up yet. I can't help being anxious. Then I guess you don't have any news to tell me." Her voice was low and listless. "It's a big place and a lot of people, Mrs. Wade." "It will be four full days until tonight." "Yes, but not too long." "It's been a long time for me." She went on after a long silence. "I've been thinking hard, trying to remember something. There must be something, some hint or memory. Roger is very talkative." "Have you any impression of the name Wellinger, Mrs. Wade?" "No, I'm afraid not. Should I?" "You mentioned Mr. Wade was brought back once by a tall young man in jeans. If you saw him again, would you recognize him, Mrs. Wade?" "I guess so," she said hesitantly, "if it's the same. But I only caught a glimpse of him. His name is Verringer?" "No, Mrs. Wade. Wellinger is a well-built middle-aged man who owns—or more precisely, once owned—a recreational ranch in Sepulveda Canyon. A flashy young man named Earl Work. Wellinger calls himself a doctor." "Excellent," she said enthusiastically, "don't you think you're on the right track?" "I'm probably in a mess, worse than a drowned kitten. I'll let you know when I find out. I just wanted to make sure Roger didn't come home, did you remember anything definite?" "I'm afraid I can't help you much," she said gloomily. "Please call me anytime, it doesn't matter how late it is." I promised to do so and hung up the phone.This time I carried a gun and a three-battery flashlight with me.The gun was a .32 with a small stub, loaded with flat bullets.Dr. Wellinger's servant, Earl, may have other weapons besides the knuckle ring.If there is, he will play it stupidly. I hit the road again, boldly driving fast.On a moonless night, I arrived at the entrance of Dr. Wellinger's private property, and it should be dark.Darkness is just what I need. The gate was still chained and padlocked.I drove over and parked far down the road.There is still light under the tree, but it won't last long.I climbed through the gate and up the hill looking for hiking trails.Quail calls were faintly heard in the valley in the distance.A sad dove is marveling at the sorrow of life.There were no hiking trails, at least I couldn't find them, so I retreated to the surface and followed the gravel edges.The eucalyptus trees dwindled and were replaced by oak trees. I crossed the ridge and saw a few lights in the distance.It took me three quarters of an hour to walk from behind the swimming pool and tennis court to the end of the road overlooking the main building.The room was brightly lit, and I heard music coming out.In the shadow of the trees beyond, another cabin was lit.The woods were full of dark cabins.I was walking down a path when suddenly a spotlight came on behind the main house.I stopped abruptly.The spotlight didn't search for anything, and shone straight down, casting a wide pool of light on the back balcony and the ground outside the balcony.Then a door slammed open and Earl stepped out.I know I'm in the right place. Earl dressed up as a cowboy tonight, like the guy who brought Roger Wade home last time was a cowboy.Earl is using the rope.He wears a dark shirt with white stitching, a polka-dot scarf loosely wrapped around his neck, a wide belt with a lot of silver jewelry around his waist, and two toy leather holsters, each holding an ivory-handled gun .The lower part of his body was wearing elegant breeches and riding boots with cross-stitched white thread, shiny new, a white wide-brimmed hat hung on the back of his head, and a silver cord that seemed to be woven was hanging softly outside the shirt, with no tie at the end. Knot. He stands alone under the white spotlight, throwing the rope circle around, stepping in and out of the circle, becoming an actor without an audience - a tall, slender and handsome groom on a vacation ranch sings a one-man show alone, reveling in the performance .Two Gun Earl, the feared hero of Cochise County.On this recreational ranch, where horses are so obsessed, even the telephone lady wears riding boots to work, Earl is like a duck to water here. Suddenly he heard a voice, perhaps pretending to hear it.The rope was hanging down, and he grabbed the pistol from the holster with both hands and held it flat, pressing the firing pin of the pistol with his thumb.He peered into the shadows.I dare not move.Those two bastard guns were probably loaded.But the spotlight blinded his eyes, and he couldn't see anything.He put the gun back in the holster, took the rope, loosened it into a pile, and walked back into the house.The lights went out, and I walked away too. I weave through the trees and approach the lighted cabin on the hillside.No sound came out.I went to one of the screened windows and looked in. The light was coming from a small lamp on a bedside table.There was a person lying on his back on the bed, his whole body relaxed, his arms in pajamas stretched out of the quilt, his eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling.The man looked large, half his face in shadow, but I could tell he was pale and in need of a shave, unshaven for about the same time as his disappearance.Spread fingers hang motionless outside the bed.He seemed to have not moved for hours. I heard footsteps down the path on the other side of the cabin.The screen door creaked, and then the burly figure of Dr. Wellinger appeared in the doorway.He had a big glass of tomato juice or something in his hand.He turned on the floor lamp, and his Hawaiian shirt glowed yellow.The people on the bed didn't even look at him. Dr. Wellinger put the glass on the bedside table, pulled up a chair and sat down.He reached out and grabbed a wrist to take his pulse. "How do you feel now, Mr. Wade?" His voice was kind and anxious. The person on the bed didn't answer or look at him, and continued to stare at the ceiling. "Come, come, Mr. Wade. Let's calm down. Your pulse is a little faster than usual. You're weak, and besides—" "Taj," said the man on the bed suddenly, "tell that man that if he knows what's going on with me, the bastard doesn't have to bother to ask me." His voice was beautiful and clear, but his tone was not friendly. "Who's Taj?" asked Dr. Wellinger patiently. "My spokesperson. She's in the corner over there." Dr. Wellinger looked up.He said, "I just saw a little spider. Stop acting, Mr. Wade. You don't have to do that with me." "Spider spider, common jumping spider, man. I love spiders. They never wear Hawaiian shirts." Dr. Wellinger moistened his lips and said, "I don't have time for tricks, Mr. Wade." "Taj doesn't like to play tricks." Wade slowly turned his head, his head seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, and he stared at Dr. Wellinger with disdain. "Taj is serious. She climbs on top of you. When you don't notice, she jumps silently and quickly. Before long, she's close at hand. One last jump. You'll be sucked dry, doctor .very dry.Taj doesn't eat you.It just sucks the juices and leaves you with nothing but skin.Doctor,if you're going to keep wearing that shirt,I dare say it's not surprising that it happens right away ." Dr. Wellinger leaned back in his chair. "I need five thousand dollars," he said quietly, "how long will it take?"