J. F. Bone, page 5
She saw me coming before he did. She stiffened, her eyes widened in dismay, her guard dropped, and one of the drunk’s punches hit its mark. She folded. The man stepped in to maybe do other things to her when I caught his shoulder. One sadist a night was enough. He spun around and aimed a wild swing at my face. I stepped inside it. The stiffly extended fingers of my left hand caught him under the breastbone. His eyes popped as the air left his lungs with a startled whoosh. I chopped the edge of my right hand below his left ear, and he folded.
“Thank you, officer,” the girl said. She had the delicately slurred accent that identified her as a ‘breed.
“Just in the line of duty,” I said. “The man had no business beating you up on a public street.”
The girl rose to her feet, drawing the tattered shred of blouse together. It didn’t do much good. I got quite an eyeful. “I am very grateful,” she said. “He thought I was one of the yashniks.” She emphasized the native word that never came from earthly language and included a number of crude meanings not worth repeating.
I grinned. The effect must have been mildly horrible. “Really I’m not,” she insisted.
“Frankly, I couldn’t care less,” I said curtly. “He was attacking you. That’s enough. You want to prefer charges?”
The girl laughed metallically. “Where’d I get preferring charges against a Sendal?” she asked bitterly.
“I dunno,” I said. “Where would you get, and what’s a Sendal?”
“I’ll tell you, I’d get thirty days in the workhouse.”
“You would?” My voice was unbelieving. “And I suppose he’d get a pat on the back for doing a good job.”
“I thought you were a rookie,” she said, “now I know it. No oldtimer would be so ignorant of police methods in a Company dome. He wouldn’t get patted on the back, but he’d get off with a warning. You don’t know much about this dome, do you?”
“Guess not,” I replied. “Well, get going, miss. I’ll take this fellow to the lockup. Maybe I can find some charges that’ll stick.”
“I doubt it,” she replied as she clutched her torn blouse. “But thanks anyway. Despite your terrible face, you’re a good man.” The last words salved the sting, and the smile on her face was anesthetic to my sensitive feelings. I watched her turn and walk down the street. There was quite a lot of her to watch, and every inch of it was in the right places. I watched her till she rounded the next corner and disappeared. Then, with a sigh, I bent down and picked the drunk up by the slack of his jacket and pitched him unceremoniously into the back of the prowler.
Dawson woke with a start. “Whatinhell’s going on?” he growled.
“Oh nothing—this character was trying to learn boxing lessons from a girl. I helped her teach him. He didn’t learn so well.”
” ‘Breed?” Dawson asked.
“I don’t think so. He looks like he’s from the Hub.”
“Not him, stupid. I meant the girl.”
I nodded.
“Well—whyncha keep your nose outa his business.” Dawson demanded. He looked critically at my unconscious prisoner. “He’s a Company man, I’ll bet.”
“So that gives him a right to beat up a girl?”
“Why sure!” Dawson sounded astonished—as if the right of any Confed to do anything to a ‘breed should be challenged.
“He tried to take a poke at me,” I added. “I clobbered him.”
“Serves the fool right,” Dawson agreed. “Resisting an officer. He oughta have his teeth kicked in!”
Dawson looked blank when I laughed. Talk about double standards in Dunkelburg! I stopped laughing as Dawson got out of the back seat, stepping heavily on the drunk’s hand as he did so.
We took the fellow back to Headquarters, threw him in the tank reserved for Company men and knocked off about ten minutes early. It was too near morning for anything more to happen. At 9:00 a.m. I made a beeline for the Chief’s office, but Dawson was there first, and was getting in his licks. I could hear him through the door—not what he was saying, but the way he was saying it. After awhile it stopped and he came out the door grinning like he’d really done a job, When he saw me, his grin got broader. “OK pretty boy—it’s your turn now,” he said nastily.
I didn’t answer. I brushed past him and entered Chief Marlin’s office. The Chief, bulky, white-haired, and fatherly, waved me to a chair.
“Sam,” he said, “you really loused things up last night. Don’t you realize Dawson’s your senior?”
“Dawson—” I began.
“And not only Dawson,” he went on in the same flat voice, “you knocked Mayor Sendal’s nephew cold and tossed him in the tank. His Honor’s been raising hell with the Department for the past half hour. The nephew’s screaming about police brutality and interfering with the privacy of a citizen. His lawyer was down with a writ and the threat of a lawsuit for false arrest. I let the punk go with a ten munit fine.” He looked like he had been eating a moldy apple. “You should have known enough to run him through every test in the book. You should have gotten a confirm on that drunk rap. You should have used your camera while he was performing the assault. You should have kept your mike open to Headquarters so we could get any dialogue down on sealed tape. You simply don’t take any chances with Company men if you want a tap to stick. You goofed not once but three times. They should have taught you better in Thermopolis.”
My ears were a bright red. I knew I was wrong. I should have covered. But Dawson should have briefed me on dome SOP. Still it was my own fault not to take every precaution. I deserved to get skinned, and Marlin was doing a good job.
“But you really pulled the plug when you pulled a gun on Dawson in front of a group of half breeds.”
This time I felt Marlin was wrong, and happy for an excuse to defend myself I cut in on him.
“Sure,” I said. “I should have let him beat the guy to death. You’ve got a report on that ‘breed. Those contusions, bruises and fractures were all Dawson’s doing. I burned the guy’s hand, but even that was Dawson’s doing. He didn’t need to go in like that. And then the damn sadist was going to club me because I stopped him from killing the guy. Should I stand quietly and let him knock my head off?”
“Nooo—I guess not,” he said, “but I’m going to have to discipline you, if not for Dawson, then for your stupid actions in jailing the Mayor’s nephew. We have to keep on friendly terms with the civilians, and you’re elected as the horrible example.”
“That’s all right with me,” I said, “but let me cue you in about last evening. You’ve got a sadist on your force, and someday he’s going to kill someone important—like the Mayor’s nephew,” I said. Rapidly I sketched the evening fracas at Sandy’s. Marlin’s eyes narrowed a little.
“You sure that ‘breed was on tonocaine?” he asked.
“Positive!” I said. “I was on Gakan for a year as a medic in the CAF. I’m able to recognize an addict as far as I can see one. That’s why I’m here. But, of course, you know that.”
Marlin nodded. “The Commissioner told me he was sending a specialist, but I didn’t know it was you. Your records haven’t gotten here yet.”
I nodded sympathetically. Snafu can happen anywhere, even in the police force. Some clerk obviously figured that my dossier wasn’t vitally important. It’d be along in a day or so.
“That’s the seventh drug case!” Marline muttered. “This is getting serious. The ‘breed died, you know,” he said almost as an afterthought. “Never regained consciousness.”
“Sure—I expected that. He was in shock, badly beaten, and in his weakened state the deficiency syndrome finished him off in a hurry. If we had brought him in intact, we might have gotten some information out of him. Did your medics try to rouse him?”
“Of course. They did their best, but he died anyway. When they tried to revive him he went into convulsions.”
“You know what drugs they used?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I don’t know one blessed thing about medicine.”
I shrugged. Virtually nobody except the Patrol and the army medics knew anything about tonocaine. Probably the Dunkelburg medics didn’t even know that analeptol—one of the common reviving stimulants—is a deadly poison to a tonocaine addict.
“I should have stopped Dawson sooner,” I said. “But he caught me by surprise. I never thought he’d do what he did.”
“Dawson is a bit hard on ‘breeds who resist arrest,” Marlin said.
“A bit?” My voice was incredulous.
“Stopping him didn’t change things,” Marlin said.
“It probably wouldn’t have made much difference,” I agreed. “By the time Dawson started working him over there was enough trauma to kill him at the first stage of the deprivation syndrome.”
Marlin’s face hardened in decision. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,” he said. “I’m going to give you a two month’s suspension.”
“What!”
“That’s for the Mayor,” Marlin said. “Actually, you’ll still be on the payroll, working on tonocaine.”
I grinned inside. There was plenty of worry about this drug. A medical education had its compensations.
“Why make an undercover agent out of me?” I asked. “I’ve had no training along that line.”
“You don’t need any. You’re a medic. Just go out on the Rim and hang up a shingle. You’re probably on the ‘breeds list as a good guy after what you did to Dawson and the Mayor’s nephew. You won’t have to worry about going out looking for information. It’ll come walking in to visit you. And there’s another reason I’d like to have you on the Rim—you’re one of the few men here that I can trust. You haven’t been around long enough to get mixed up in the dirt.” His face developed some new lines. “I’ve lost three good men on this dope business.”
“Tough,” I said, “but if you don’t want to lose a fourth man, you’d better fire me, at least for the public record. I wouldn’t get anywhere with a suspension. Everyone would know I was still a cop, and I wouldn’t learn a thing—but if you fired me I’d have a chance.”
“You’re right,” he said. “Need any money?”
I shook my head. “I’ve got plenty. I’ll keep accounts and bill you later.”
“Now,” Marlin said, “if you’re going to be an agent there are a few things you should know.” He reached into his safe and brought out the Black Book. “Manual for Undercover Procedure” is its real title, but nobody on the force calls it that. It is a thin volume of code and recognition signals for undercover agents.
It took an hour with Marlin’s neurosynthesizer before I had the procedures and code down well enough to satisfy him. I couldn’t let on that I knew it already. That would have been a dead giveaway that I was already on special assignment, and right now I trusted no one, not even Marlin.
Finally he nodded dismissal and put the Black Book back in his safe. I waited until he turned around.
“Let’s make this good,” I said. My voice rose. “—if that’s the way you want to run your Department,” I roared, “you can take the whole thing and stuff it up your fat left nostril!”
He played up to my lead. “Williams!” he bellowed. “You’re fired! Get out of here and don’t come back! You’re through!—done!—finished!” he grinned at me and continued shouting. “Now get your ass out of my office and turn in your badge. And if I catch sight of you around here again I’ll run you in for vagrancy! Get out, damn you!” His voice rose to a maniacal scream.
“It’ll be a pleasure,” I snarled as I jerked the door open, nearly pulling the nosy patrolman in the outer office into my lap. I rabbit punched him as he stumbled by, and he slid forward across the polished floor on his face. I slammed the door behind me, breaking the glass. It looked convincing enough to fool an expert.
* * *
CHAPTER VI
« ^ »
I hardheeled down the long corridor to my quarters, collected my slim assortment of civilian gear, and left. I didn’t bother to turn in my badge. I left it lying on my bed on top of a heap of police blues and issue equipment. Officially I was no longer a cop, at least not in Dunkelburg. I was still on the job for Lantham and Crowninshield and a Headquarters assignment carried through until I was relieved. But from now on I couldn’t work openly.
I hailed a cab and was driven out to the Rim. Cruising along slowly, I found a so-called “Hotel” that looked a trifle less dingy than its fellows. I got out with my gear, paid the cabbie, and walked into the tiny lobby. The proprietor cast a look of doubt at my face, smiled at my money, and rented me a set of three rooms at the rear of the second floor. The rooms were clean, with good locks on the doors. I had a view of the top of the rimwall and the base of the dome from the bathroom window in the rear. The heavy, four meter thick wall was a bare two meters from my bathroom window, with a narrow walkway running between the massive footings that supported the dome. An athletic type could easily jump from the bathroom window to the top of the rimwall. It was a good emergency exit in case trouble came in the front way, and the proprietor obviously figured that anyone who looked like me had a standing invitation for trouble.
It didn’t take too long to unpack my few belongings and presently I was outside, rolling around the Rim on the walkways. I killed an hour and a half making the circuit. The rim was even more squalid in the daylight than it was at night. With a sigh of disgust, I turned back to my rooms.
Judging from what I had seen on the circuit, there was an absolute vacuum of medical and dental service. I’d have no trouble establishing a practice. The only problem would be to keep it within bounds. So I spent the next few days doing nothing while I made up my mind how to go. The news of my presence had filtered all around the Rim before I finally hung up a shingle above the entranceway. It read “Samuel Williams, M.D., Room 227”—nothing more.
I sat back and waited for my first patient. I didn’t have long to wait. It was a kid and his mama—a dirty-faced sobbing ‘breed kid with a broken arm. From their clothing and manner, I figured that they were charity cases, but I wasn’t really, worrying about a fee. What I wanted was a reputation; so, I did the best I could with the equipment I had. I calmed mama and kidded the youngster while I gave him a shot of somnol. When he was out I set the bone, pinned it and bonded the broken edges. He woke up about ten minutes later, sniffled once, and then whooped with joy when he found he could move the arm and use his fingers. I told his mother to take care of him and not to let him use the arm much for the next few weeks or it would probably break again, fixed the kid a sling which he could show off to his fellows, told the women the fee would be ten munits, when and if she could pay it, and ushered her toward the door. Right then I got one of the minor surprises of my life. The woman removed a notecase from her blouse, paid me in cash and flashed me an amused smile.
“I look better, doctor,” she said, “when I’m dressed to go out. But when Jimmy came home with his arm dangling I couldn’t think of anything except to get him to a medic.”
“Why me?” I asked.
“I saw your sign, and I know how long it takes at the hospital. Jimmy could wait there for hours before someone would take care of him. So I thought I’d try you. It’s nice to have a doctor on the Rim. We’ve never had one here before. I hope you’ll stay. And thank you for helping my boy.”
I made a few reassuring noises about staying and building a needed practice and smiled goodbye. I don’t think it was the smile that started it, but by the end of the week I had more patients than I could handle. They came and they went. They didn’t seem to notice my face. What they did notice was my manner, my hands and my skill. Two weeks after I started I found that I needed more room and a few assistants. The proprietor was cooperative. I don’t know how he did it, but he cleared the entire side all the way to the front, knocked interconnecting doorways through the walls, and let me have the layout at a rental less than he could have gotten for the separate rooms.
I braced him about it and he looked embarrassed. “Hell, Doc—we needed someone like you out here on the Rim. We ain’t got any medical care to speak of, and the outpatient service at the hospital treats us like dirt. My wife’s a ‘breed and I like these people. I want to see them get some of the services they need, and the little I’m going to lose in rent, I’ll make up in bar bills from the weak sisters who’ll need fortifying before facing you.”
So I had a clinic. All I needed now was a couple of nurses and wardboys and maybe another doctor. I couldn’t handle the business alone. So I passed the word that I needed help. The response I got! There must have been a thousand of them, all sizes, all ages, and both sexes! I worked out a deal with Hank Eliot, the owner of the hotel, and his wife Sara. They weeded out the obvious misfits, and I interviewed the rest.
She was the tenth girl I interviewed. I had taken down four names before she came, and I tore them up. She was the girl I had rescued from the fists of the Mayor’s nephew. She recognized me at once, but I wasn’t so quick. Her face hadn’t been too pretty after absorbing a few slaps from the drunken bum, and I had been looking at other things than her face at the time. This time her torso was covered.
“We meet again, Officer Williams,” she said, in her delightful accent. I recognized the voice. I looked her over, tall, clean, golden skinned, with a proud, high-cheekboned, oval-eyed face that reminded me of that famous head of Nefertiti. I stared like a country clod.
