A. Fair - The Bigger They Come

‘Going to Sandra?’ I asked.

‘No, no,’ she said. ‘To Dr. Holoman. We’ll make him jump through hoops.’

It was getting daylight. Somewhere over behind the wall of gray, toneless buildings was a streak of dawn-colored sky. Colorless gray light filtered into the street. Buildings seemed shadowy and unreal, but bulked high against the sky.

We walked three blocks before we found a cruising cab. While Bertha Cool was getting in, I said to the cab driver, ‘Get us to the nearest place where we can find a telephone directory.’

He tried to run us to the Union Depot, but Bertha Cool spotted an all night restaurant and said to me, ‘Slide back that glass, Donald, dear, and let me talk to that son of a bitch.’

I slid back the glass.

‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ she asked the driver. ‘Turn around and go back to that restaurant. When I say the nearest phone, I mean the nearest.’

The driver mumbled something about having to watch for traffic and swung the car. Bertha said to me, ‘Look under the classified lists, Donald. Find a Holoman who’s a doctor. And remember this cab is costing me waiting tune — don’t take all day.’

‘I don’t think he’s a full-fledged doctor yet. He won’t have an office. I’ll have to call the hospitals. I’ll need some dimes.’

She sighed, dug four dimes out of her purse and said, ‘For God’s sake, Donald, get some action. I can’t charge this as an expense. This is a gamble. I’m using my money.’

I took the coins, went in and started calling hospitals. The second one was the Shelly Foundation Hospital. The girl said they had an Archie Holoman serving as an interne.

I thanked her, hung up and told the scowling taxi driver to take us to the Shelley Foundation Hospital and climbed back in beside Bertha Cool.

It was a short run, and the cab driver made it fast. Mrs. Cool said, ‘He probably isn’t on duty now, Donald. Get his home address — unless he happens to be living at the hospital. I’ll wait here.’

I ran up the marble stairs and into the hospital. It was rapidly growing lighter. The freshness of dawn in the air made the interior of the hospital seem steeped with the exudations of sickness and death. A tired-eyed nurse, sitting behind a desk, looked up at me. Daylight streaming through an easterly window, mingled with the lamp light on her face, made it gray and pasty.

‘A Dr. Archie Holoman has a position here as interne?’ I asked.

‘Yes.’

‘I want very much to see him, please.’

‘He’s on duty. Just a moment, I think I can get him on the telephone. What is your name, please?’

‘Lam,’ I said. ‘Donald Lam.’

‘Does he know you?’

‘Yes.’

The nurse went over and spoke to the switchboard operator. Then after a minute or two motioned to a phone booth, and said, ‘You can talk with him in there if you wish, Mr. Lam, or here at the desk.’

I choose the booth. I knew I had to be careful with my approach. I didn’t want him to think I was bluffing. I figured it would be best to let him know I was wise to the play all the way through.

‘Donald Lam, Doctor. I wanted to talk to you about exactly what happened when those papers were served on Mr. Birks this afternoon. And I wanted to check your diagnosis on a broken-nose case. I wonder if you’d mind coming down for a moment. Mrs. Cool is here in the cab.’

‘What’s the name?’ he asked.

‘Lam. Donald Lam. You know, the investigator.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t place you, Mr. Lam.’

I said patiently, ‘You remember when you were patching up Bleatie’s broken nose out at Sandra’s apartment?’

‘I’m quite certain you’re mistaken,’ he said. ‘You’ve confused me with someone else. I’m not practising as yet.’

So that was it. He was afraid to have the hospital know he’d been handling any medical work.

‘Pardon me,’ I said. ‘I guess I made a mistake there. However, Doctor, I’d like to talk with you for a moment. Is it possible for you to come down? We couldn’t talk here,’ I added hastily, as he hesitated. ‘Mrs. Cool’s outside in the taxicab. We could talk out there.’

‘I’ll come down,’ he said, ‘to find out what the devil this is all about.’

I thanked him, hung up the receiver, and walked out to stand in the lobby, looking through the plate glass windows into the freshness of early morning. After a few minutes, I heard the elevator descend and turned to greet Dr. Holoman. It wasn’t he. A young man stepped from the elevator, walked across to the nurse’s desk. I turned back to look out of the window. After a moment, I heard the sound of low-voiced conversation. The young man walked across to stand just behind me.

I turned.

‘You wanted to see me?’ he asked.

‘No, I’m waiting for Dr. Holoman.’

‘But I’m Dr. Holoman.’

I said, ‘I guess you’re right, Doctor, there’s been a mistake. I want Dr. Archie Holoman.’

‘But I am Dr. Archie Holoman.’

I looked him over. He was somewhere in the late twenties, or perhaps had just turned thirty. He was an earnest, sincere-looking chap, with a pallid face, high cheekbones, smoldering black eyes, and dark, wavy hair. I said, ‘Would you mind stepping out to the taxicab with me? I’d like to have you explain to Mrs. Cool that you’re not the Dr. Holoman she’s looking for.’

I could see he was suspicious. He glanced over at the nurse, then out to where the taxicab was standing at the curb. Then he looked me over, evidently figured he could handle me if he had to, said curtly, ‘Very well,’ and accompanied me out to the door of the taxicab. I said, ‘Mrs. Cool, this is Dr. Holoman, Dr. Archie Holoman.’

She looked him over and said, ‘The hell it is!’

After a moment, he said lamely, ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Cool. Was there something I could do?’

‘Not a damn thing,’ she said. ‘Hop in, Donald.’

‘Thank you very much, Doctor,’ I told him.

He looked at me then with the growing conviction that we were both crazy. I hopped into the car. Mrs. Cool gave the driver Sandra’s address, and the cab jerked into motion, leaving Dr. Holoman standing there at the curb looking at us with the expression of a man who has reached for a purse on April First, only to find it jerked out from under his fingers.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘the plot thickens.’

‘Thickens, hell,’ she said. ‘It’s like gravy that’s had too much flour dumped in it. It’s full of lumps. Are you sure that was Dr. Holoman?’

‘He said he was, and the hospital said he was.’

She fumbled around in her purse, and said, ‘Donald, I’m out of cigarettes.’

I gave her one out of my fast-diminishing store, and took one myself.

We shared the same match. She said, ‘Damned clever, Donald, my boy, damned clever. They needed an authentic background. They couldn’t get a real doctor to do the dirty work, so they stole an interne’s identity and background. If we’d ever wanted to check back on Dr. Holoman, we’d have found his record, date, graduation, present location, and all of that. There wasn’t one chance in fifty we’d have gone to Dr. Holoman at the hospital.’

‘That,’ I said, ‘brings up the question: Who was the chap masquerading as Dr. Holoman?’

‘Her boy friend, probably,’ she said. ‘Where there’s so much smoke, there’s apt to be some fire.’

We rode for a while in silence. She turned to me, and said, ‘Now listen, Donald. Don’t be a damn fool about this.’

‘Meaning what?’ I asked.

‘You’re just about half in love with that Hunter woman.’