What's Better Than Money (16 page)

I kept thinking that while I was hunting for Rima, the one person who meant everything in the world to me had been lying in a hospital bed. My hatred for Rima became a cold and deadly thing.

It took ten minutes of fast, reckless driving to get me to the hospital.

As I paid the driver, he said, “Your wife?”

“Yes.”

I started up the steps, three at a time.

He shouted after me, “Good luck, bud. Good luck!”

CHAPTER FOUR

I

Dr. Weinborg was a tall, stoop-shouldered man with a big hooked nose, a sensitive mouth and the dark, limpid eyes of a Jew who has known suffering.

As soon as I told the nurse at the reception desk my name, she had taken me immediately to Dr. Weinborg’s office. Now I was sitting, facing him and listening to his guttural voice as he said, “It’s a matter of time, Mr. Halliday. I have done everything possible for your wife – anyway, for the immediate present. It was unfortunate that you were away when she was admitted. For twelve hours or so she was conscious and she was asking for you. She is now unconscious. It depends on a number of factors if she will regain consciousness. This is something I want to discuss with you. She has severe injuries to the brain. There is one good man who specialises in this kind of operation. It is dangerous and very difficult, but he has had a lot of success. I think he would give her a fifty-fifty chance. Dr. Goodyear’s fee would be three thousand dollars. There would, of course, be other expenses. You would have to reckon on at least five thousand dollars, and there would be no guarantee of success.”

“I don’t care what it costs,” I said. “Get Goodyear. Spend anything you like.”

He picked up the telephone receiver and called Goodyear’s residence.

It took some minutes to get a connection and some further minutes for Dr. Weinborg to convince Goodyear’s receptionist of the urgency of the case. It chilled my blood to hear him explain Sarita’s injuries. Half of what he said I didn’t understand, but some of it I did and that told me as nothing else could how bad she was.

The receptionist said she would call him back and he hung up.

“It’ll be all right, Mr. Halliday. He has never refused an urgent appeal. He’ll come.”

“Could I see her?”

“There’s not much point. She’s unconscious.”

“All the same I want to see her.”

He studied me, then nodded.

“Come with me.” He led me down corridors, through swing doors, up a flight of stairs to a door where a thick-set man sat on a chair, smoking.

The man, every inch a cop, looked at me without interest, but to Weinborg, he said, “As soon as she comes out of it, I want to talk to her. We can’t hold this punk for ever.”

“It’ll be some time,” Weinborg said, turned the door handle and opened the door.

I stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at Sarita. Her head was bandaged. The sheet was drawn up to her chin. She looked small and so white and waxy, she could have been dead.

There was a nurse sitting by the bed. She got to her feet and looked at Weinborg. She shook her head slightly at him: the secret signs between nurse and doctor.

This was the worst moment in my life. I stood there looking down at her and I had an instinctive feeling she would never speak to me again, never look at me again and never hold me in her arms again.

When I got to my apartment, and as I opened the front door, I heard the telephone bell ringing.

I picked up the receiver.

It was Mayor Mathison.

“Jeff? I’ve been trying to get you. Jack told me you had gone to the hospital. How is she?”

“The same. They are getting a brain specialist. There’s to be an operation.”

“Hilda and I keep thinking of you. Is there anything we can do?”

In a flat, toneless voice I thanked him and said there was nothing he could do. I said it all depended now on the brain specialist.

“You’ll want money, Jeff. I’ve already talked to the committee. They are advancing half your fee right away. You’ll have thirty thousand dollars in your bank by tomorrow. We’ve got to save her! She’s the sweetest, nicest. . .”

I couldn’t take much more of this.

“Thank you,” I said, breaking in on him and I hung up.

I began to pace up and down. I was still at it when I heard the front door bell ring.

It was Jack.

“Well? What news?”

I told him about the brain specialist.

He dropped into an armchair and rubbed his fingers across his eyes.

“You know how I feel about this. I don’t have to tell you. Now listen, let’s talk business for a moment. Hers, yours and my future depends on building this goddam bridge. Here’s what I suggest. I’ve found a young guy, just out of college, who can handle your work. You’ve set it up and he can follow it out. You’ll want to stay close to the hospital. This guy and I can cope with the office for at least a month. That will give you time to get your bearings and to be with Sarita. Okay?”

“Yes, if you’re sure he can handle it.”

“For a month, he can do it, but after that you’ll have to take over again. By the way, Jeff, if you want any money call on me.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I can manage.”

“Well, I just looked in.” He got to his feet. “I have a whale of a lot of work to do still. Don’t worry too much. She’s young. You see: she’ll pull out of this. Anything I can do?”

“No, thanks, Jack. I’ll be here if you want me. I told them I’d be waiting here. There seemed no point in waiting at the hospital.”

“That’s right. Well. . .” I could see he wanted to get off. Although the important thing in my life was Sarita, the important thing in his life was the bridge. I understood, but right at that moment I didn’t give a damn if the bridge was ever built. “Take it easy, Jeff.” He started for the door, paused to look at me. “Did that other little trouble clear up? Anything I can do there?”

“That’s under control.”

He nodded and went away. I heard his heavy steps pounding on the stairs. He moved like a man in a hurry.

I lit a cigarette, but after two puffs I stubbed it out.

In eight days’ time I had to pay Rima another ten thousand. Thirty days after that, I would have to pay her thirty thousand. I was sure she wouldn’t stop there. She would go on and on and on, bleeding me white. With the doctors’ and hospital bills ahead of me, I didn’t dare part with any more money and yet I didn’t dare not pay her. She was crazy enough to set the police on me, and I’d find myself in a cell when Sarita needed me most.

I paced to and fro, wondering what to do. I couldn’t go to Santa Barba now Sarita was so dangerously ill, but I had to do something.

Finally, I decided to ask Rima for time to pay.

I wrote to her. I explained about Sarita’s accident. I said until I knew what my expenses were, I couldn’t pay out any more money to her, but later I would give her something.

I don’t know why. I imagined she would be merciful. Maybe I was so upset and scared, I wasn’t in my right mind. If I had thought for a moment and remembered who I was writing to, I wouldn’t have sent the letter, but I wasn’t in the state for clear thinking.

I got the janitor to send the letter by fast night rate. She would get it the day after tomorrow if the Los Angeles bank forwarded it right away.

Around eight o’clock the hospital called and said Dr. Goodyear had arrived and would I come over right away?

Dr. Goodyear was a short, fat man with a bald head and a curt manner.

He said he intended to operate right away.

“I don’t want you to be under any illusion, Mr. Halliday,” he said. “Your wife is in a dangerous state. The operation is a difficult one. Frankly, the odds are against her, but I will do my best. I think you should stay here.”

The next three hours were the longest and most horrible I have ever lived through. Around ten o’clock Jack came into the waiting-room and sat with me. We didn’t say anything to each other. A little later Mayor Mathison and his wife came in. Mrs. Mathison touched my shoulder as she passed me, and they sat down to share the wait with me.

At twelve thirty-five, a nurse came to the door and beckoned to me.

No one said anything, but as I got to my feet and crossed the room I knew they were praying for Sarita.

In the corridor I saw Clara sitting on an upright chair, a handkerchief pressed to her eyes. Leaning against the wall, looking embarrassed, was the foreman and four of the guys who ran the bulldozers. They had come along to share my wait, and I could see how anxious they were.

I followed the nurse to Dr. Weinberg’s office.

Dr. Goodyear, looking old and tired, was smoking, resting his fat hams on the edge of the desk, Dr. Weinborg stood by the window.

“Well, Mr. Halliday,” Goodyear said, “the operation has been successful. Now, of course, it depends on how she rides the after effects. I think I can say she is going to live.”

But there was something in the tone of his voice and in the atmosphere that warned me that this was no time for rejoicing.

“Well, go on. . . what else?”

My voice sounded thick and harsh.

“The injuries to the brain are extensive,” Goodyear said quietly. “Although I believe she will live, I regret to tell you she will always be an invalid.” He paused, frowning, looking away from me. “I’m sure you would want the exact truth. At best she will have to live in a wheel chair. I suspect her speech may be impaired, and there seems a possibility that her memory will also be affected.” He looked up then and I saw his eyes were defeated and sad. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can say to you that can give you any comfort, but at least, I am fairly confident she will live.”

I stood staring at him.

“You call that success?” I said. “She won’t walk again. She’ll have difficulty in talking and she won’t remember me? You call that success?”

“It was a miracle that Dr. Goodyear saved her life,” Dr. Weinborg said, turning from the window.

“Her life? What kind of life? Wouldn’t she be better dead?”

I went out of the room and walked fast down the corridor.

Jack was standing in the doorway of the waiting-room. He caught hold of my arm, but I pulled free and kept on.

I walked out of the hospital into the dark night and kept walking.

I had some stupid idea that if I went on and on, I could walk away from this nightmare, out of the darkness, and into the light, and then come home and find Sarita there as she had always been there since our marriage, waiting for me.

Just a stupid idea.

II

During the next three days I lived in a vacuum. I remained at home, waiting for the telephone bell to ring.

Sarita hovered between unconscious life and death.

I was alone, not wanting anyone, scarcely bothering to eat, but smoking continuously, while I sat in an armchair and waited.

From time to time Jack looked in, but he only stayed a few minutes, realising I wanted to be alone. No one telephoned, knowing that I waited for a call from the hospital and that a ring would be a knife stab if it wasn’t the hospital.

Around nine o’clock on the third night of waiting the telephone did ring.

I crossed the room and snatched up the receiver.

“Yes? Halliday here.”

“I want to talk to you.”

It was Rima: there was no mistaking her voice. I felt my heart give a lurch, then it began to beat violently.

“Where are you?”

“In the bar of the Aster Hotel. I’m waiting. How soon can you come over?”

“Right away,” I said, and hung up. I called the hospital and told the receptionist that I would be in the bar of the Aster Hotel, and if she had any news for me she would find me there.

It was raining.

I put on my raincoat, turned off the lights and went down to the street. I picked up a taxi and was driven across town to the Aster.

During the drive, a cold feeling of fear built up inside me. I was sure Rima wouldn’t have come all this way to see me unless she had something in mind, and that something would be of profit to her.

The Aster Hotel was the best hotel in Holland City. Already she was changing her way of life. She was making use of my money. I felt sure she had come to extract her pound of flesh.

I wouldn’t dare move beyond the reach of a telephone. She could dictate her terms and leave, and I couldn’t attempt to follow her: couldn’t track her down to some safe place where I could silence her. Any moment I might get a call, telling me to come at once to the hospital. I was in a trap, and no doubt she guessed it, otherwise she wouldn’t have taken the risk of meeting me.

I walked into the Aster’s bar. At that hour it was nearly empty. There were three men leaning against the bar, talking in undertones and drinking Scotch. At a table in a corner, two middle-aged women were chatting over champagne cocktails. In another corner was a young, broad-shouldered, powerfully built man, wearing a cream-coloured sports coat, a red and white scarf knotted at his throat, a pair of bottle green slacks and nigger brown reverse calf shoes.

I noticed him because of his coarse, bovine handsomeness. He looked like a truck driver who has come into money. He was obviously ill at ease in the surroundings of a luxury hotel. He was holding a highball in a big, brown hand. His coarse featured face, handsome because of an animal sensuality, had a bewildered expression.

I glanced away from him, looking for Rima.

She sat in the middle of the bar, isolated by empty chairs and tables. I scarcely recognised her. She was wearing a black coat over a green dress and she had had her hair dyed the latest sable and grey style. She looked as smart as paint, and as cold and as hard as polished granite.

She had certainly made use of my money.

I crossed the room, pulled up a chair and sat down opposite her.

As I did so, the big man, sitting in the corner, moved around slightly and stared fixedly at me. I knew then he was Rima’s bodyguard.

“Hello,” Rima said, and opening her lizard skin bag she took out my letter and tossed it across the table at me.

“What’s this all about?”

I screwed up the letter and put it in my pocket.