Crowley was a close personal pal of George Brieber, Guzik’s attorney.
“He warned ’em not to try it again,” Drury said, matter of factly, “but they tried it again, anyway, didn’t they? And failed.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Jim was shot up pretty bad.”
“You said it was his arm, mostly.”
“His chest was bleeding, too. Don’t forget, he’s not a kid, either.”
The surgery’s double doors swung open and a doctor in a blood-spotted smock appeared; he lowered his mask like a bandit surrendering and said, “Which of you gentlemen represents Mr. Ragen’s family?”
“I guess I do,” I said. “I’m in his employ. I called his wife- she’ll be here soon, if she’s not downstairs already.”
The doctor sighed. He was obviously tired. He said, “We haven’t done much yet, except stop the bleeding. He’s had several transfusions already, and we’re just getting started. He may lose that arm. And his collarbone is shattered. He’ll be crippled for life. No doubt of that.”
“But he will live, doctor?” Drury asked.
“These are nasty wounds, gentlemen,” the doctor said.
“But there’s no foreseeable reason why they should prove fatal.”
The doctor excused himself and moved down the corridor, disappearing around a corner.
Drury looked at me, grinning.
“Your concern for Ragen’s health has me all choked up,” I said.
Drury was laughing softly.
“Now the fun begins,” he said.
Ragen was in surgery for over two hours. Drury left early on, but said he’d be sending up several more boys in blue to help stand guard-and he’d do his best to hand pick ’em. I sent Walt home and kept watch myself. A little after eight-thirty, Drury’s extra cops showed up; he’d actually told the trio to check in with me for deployment. That meant finding places for them to stand. I kept two of them with me at the double doors, and sent the other one outside, to maintain a patrol, particularly the side alleys.
Not long after that I was approached by the hospital’s medical director, Dr. Herman Siskin, a well-fed middle-aged doctor with salt-and-pepper hair and matching mustache. He wore a well-tailored dark gray suit and shades-of-blue striped silk tie-no hospital whites for this boy.
“Mr. Heller,” he said, offering his hand, which I shook. “I understand you’re in charge of Mr. Ragen’s security.”
“That’s right.”
“The facts are these. Mr. Ragen’s wounds are extensive. He’s had five blood transfusions thus far, and penicillin has been administered. Whether or not his right arm can be saved, we don’t yet know. His age, the loss of blood, and the resultant shock condition…well, let’s just say he’s not in for a short stay here at Michael Reese.”
“I see.”
“We have a private room ready for Mr. Ragen,” he said, pointing down the hallway, “and we’re prepared to accommodate his and your needs.”
“Thanks. But let’s start by getting him on a higher floor than the second.”
“Why’s that?”
“You can throw a bomb through a second-floor window.”
That opened his eyes. “Perhaps he’d be better off outside the main building.” Then, as if to assure us both his concern wasn’t for his facility, he added, “Somewhere not as easily accessible to the general public.”
“How about a private wing, where we could maintain tighter security?”
He nodded down the hallway to the left. “I’d suggest the Meyer House-which a patient of Mr. Ragen’s means might prefer, anyway. It’s connected by an enclosed walkway between buildings. You’d have a stairway and an elevator to watch-and the connecting corridor. That’s all.”
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s have a look.”
Drury’s coppers stayed on duty and I let Dr. Siskin walk me down the hall, through an archway into the connecting corridor to the Meyer House, where we took the elevator to the third floor. Siskin led me down a well-lit, vaulted corridor and showed me to a spacious, warmly appointed room-maple furnishings, a lounge chair upholstered in flowery chintz, wall mounted electric fan, writing desk, chest of drawers, private bath with tub; it was fancy enough to make you sick, or anyway wish you were sick. From the window I saw a wrought-iron-fence-enclosed lawn, beyond which was Lake Park Avenue and the I.C. tracks. It seemed okay, from a security standpoint. The only drawback was a standing fire escape down the hall on the south end wall, maybe thirty feet from Ragen’s door.
“No getting away from fire escapes in a hospital,” the medical director said, with a little shrug.
“We’ll keep a man posted by it,” I said. “Does this building have a separate kitchen?”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, the food service in Meyer House is its pride and joy. This wing was built to serve our wealthier patients-Mr. Ragen can, when he’s up to it, have lobster if he likes. Why do you ask?”
“They may try to poison him.”
He blinked. “I can give you my personal assurance that the head dietician herself will prepare Mr. Ragen’s meals.”
“Your personal assurance is just swell, Doc, but are you willing to prove it by tasting his food before he does?”
His mustache twitched; he found that a little impertinent, I guess, and I guess it was.
“I don’t mean to offend you, Dr. Siskin, and I appreciate your willingness to discuss security measures with me. But I must warn you I’m going to suggest that the Ragen family be extremely cautious. I’ll advise that they use their personal family physician, if possible. I’m also going to suggest that they hire private nurses.”
“Why?”
“Because you have a big staff here. If we don’t do it my way, then anybody in a white uniform will be able to get in that room.”
“And not everyone in a white uniform,” he said, nodding, “is necessarily a doctor.”
I nodded back. “We’ll put together a list of names. Nobody whose name isn’t on that list is going to get past the guards.”
“Mere association with the hospital won’t guarantee admittance, in other words.”
“If you want to put it that way, yeah. We got to be able to monitor who goes in and out of that room-just as carefully as you people are going to monitor his vital signs.”
“Understood.”
“Don’t feel insulted about my keeping the hospital staff out, Doctor. I’m going to try to keep the cops out, as well.”
“Well…I can understand that.”
I grinned. “Chicago born and bred, Doc?”