Дик Фрэнсис - Knock Down

Everything happened too fast for working out probabilities.

By the time I had skirted the pool and the garden room the engine of one of the cars in the drive was urgently revving. Not the big Jaguar. The Cortina. It reversed fiercely in an arc to point its nose to the drive.

I ran. I came up to it from behind on its left side. Inside the car the dark bulk of the driver was shifting the gears from reverse to forward. I put my hand on the handle of the rear door, wanting to open it, to make him turn his head, see who he was, to stop him, fight him, take his gun away, hand him over to justice... heaven knows.

The Cortina spurted forward as if flagged off the grid and pulled my arm right out of its socket.

I knelt on the ground in the familiar bloody agony and thought that a dislocated shoulder was among the ultimates.

What was more, there were footsteps coming up the drive towards me.

Scrunch scrunch scrunch.

Inexorable.

All the things have to be faced. I supported my left elbow in my right hand and waited, because in any case I could barely move, let alone run away.

A figure materialised from the darkness. Advanced to within six feet. Stopped.

A voice said, ‘Have you been run over?’

I nearly smiled. ‘I thought I told you to stay in the car.’

‘You sound funny,’ Sophie said.

‘Hilarious.’

She took two paces forwards, stretching out her hands.

‘Don’t touch me,’ I said hastily.

‘What’s the matter?’

I told her.

‘Oh God,’ she said.

‘And you can put it back.’

‘What?’

‘Put my shoulder back.’

‘But...’ She sounded bewildered. ‘I can’t.’

‘Not here. In the house.’

She had no idea how to help me up. Not like jump jockeys’ wives, I thought briefly, for whom smashed up husbands were all in the day’s work. I made it to my feet with the loss of no more than a pint of sweat.Various adjectives occurred to me. Like excruciating.

One foot gingerly in front of the other took us to the door that Vic’s friend had left open, the door to the hallway and the office. Light spilled out of it. I wondered if there was a telephone anywhere except in the office.

We went very slowly indoors with me hunched like Notre Dame.

‘Jonah!’ Sophie said.

‘What?’

‘I didn’t realise... you look... you look...’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I need you to put it back.’

‘We must get a doctor.’

‘No... the police. Vic Vincent’s been shot.’

‘Shot.’ She followed my gaze to Vic’s office and went along there to take a look. She returned several shades paler, which made two of us.

‘It’s... awful.’

‘See if you can find another telephone.’

She switched on several lights. There was another telephone on a table flanked by a sofa and a potted palm.

‘Call the police,’ I said.

She dialled three nines. Told them a man had been killed. They would come at once, they said. She put the receiver down and turned towards me purposefully.

‘I’m going to dial again for an ambulance.’

‘No. You do it. It has to be done now. At once.’

‘Jonah... don’t be stupid. How can I? You need professional help. A doctor.’

‘I need a doctor like yesterday’s news. Look... doctors don’t put shoulders back. By the time they arrive all the muscles have gone into spasms, so they can’t. They send you to hospital in bloody jerking ambulances. The hospitals sit you around for hours in casualty departments. Then they send you for X-rays. Then they trundle you to an operating theatre and by then they have to give you a general anaesthetic. It takes about four hours at the best of times. Sunday evenings are not the best of times. If you won’t do it... I... I...’ I stopped. The prospect of those long hours ahead was enough to scare the saints.

‘I can’t,’ she said.

‘I’ll tell you how...’

She was appalled. ‘You must have a doctor.’

I muttered under my breath.

‘What did you say?’ she demanded.

‘I said... God give me a woman of strength.’

She said in a low voice, ‘That’s unfair.’

I went slowly past her through the hall into the open-plan dining-room and sat gingerly on one of the hard straight-backed chairs. What I felt was beyond a joke.

I shut my eyes and thought about Vic’s friend. Thought about the glimpse of him I’d had in the split second before he blasted off and took my comfort with him. There had been a seepage of light from the house’s open door. Enough to show me the shape of a head.

There had been little time for certainty. Only for impression. The impression remained in my mind indelibly.

Sophie said, ‘Jonah...’

I opened my eyes. She was standing in front of me, huge eyed and trembling.

I’d wanted to know what could break up her colossal composure. Now I knew. One man shot to death and another demanding an unimaginable service.

‘What do I do?’ she said.

I swallowed. ‘It will take ten minutes.’

She was shocked. Apprehension made her eyes even bigger.

‘If you mean it...’ I said.

‘I do.’

‘First instruction... smile.’

‘But...’

‘Six deep breaths and a big smile.’

‘Oh Jonah.’ She sounded despairing.

‘Look,’ I said. ‘I don’t want you messing about with my precious body unless you go back to being your normal confident relaxed efficient hard-hearted self.’

She stared. ‘I thought you were past talking. You’re a fraud.’

‘That’s better.’

She took me literally. Six deep breaths and a smile. Not a big smile, but something.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Put your left hand under my elbow and hold my wrist with your right.’

I shifted an inch or two back on the seat until the base of my spine was firmly against the chair back. She very tentatively stepped close in front of me and put her hands where I’d said. For all her efforts I could see she still did not believe she could help.

‘Look... Do it slowly. You can’t wrench it back. When you get my arm in the right position, the top of the bone will slide back into the socket... Do you understand?’

‘I think so.’

‘Right... there are three stages. First, straighten my arm out, slightly to the side. Then keep my wrist out and pull my elbow across my chest... it will look awkward... but it works. If you pull hard enough the top of the bone will come in line with the socket and start to slide into it. When it does that, fold my wrist up and over towards my right shoulder... and my arm will go back where it ought to be.’

She was in no way reassured.

‘Sophie...’

‘Yes?’

I hesitated. ‘If you do it, you’ll save me hours of pain.’

‘Yes.’

‘But...’ I stopped.

‘You’re trying to say,’ she said, ‘that I’m going to hurt you even worse, and I mustn’t let it stop me.’

‘Attagirl.’

‘All right,’

She began. Straightened my arm out, slowly and care fully. I could feel her surprise at the physical effort it demanded of her: an arm was a good deal heavier than most people realised and she had the whole weight of it in her hands.

It took five minutes.

‘Is that right?’ she said.

‘Mm.’

‘Now do I pull your elbow across?’

‘Mm.’

Always the worst part. When she’d gone only a short way I could feel her trembling. Her fingers under my elbow shook with irresolution.

I said, ‘If you... drop my elbow... now... elbow’ll scream.’

‘Oh...’ She sounded shattered but her grip tightened blessedly. We proceeded, with no sound but heavy breathing on both sides. There was always a point at which progress seemed to end and yet the arm was still out. Always a point of despair.