"It's not just Walton." Dunbar said in between bumps and potholes in the road as we drove to the hospital. "I'm in hock to a couple of other guys too. About a thousand, all told. I had a string of bad luck. Kept making stupid bets to try to win it back."
"And then you hit on this really good idea to break even? Selling morphine meant for the front?"
"Boyle, you should see all the stuff that comes through the supply depot. There's enough for an army!"
I was about to explain to Dunbar how that was exactly the point, but if he didn't understand now he never would. He was one of those guys who put their own problems, no matter how small, in front of everyone else's, no matter how large. That meant I had to make it a big problem in order to get his attention. I downshifted to take a corner, and looked around for a place to pull over. We were on the outskirts of the city where palm trees lined the road and peddlers pulling donkeys plodded along on the shady side of the street.
"Do you want me to shoot you right now, Dunbar, or would you rather wait for the firing squad?" I had to turn my head and yell at Dunbar, to be heard over the sound of the engine and tires in the open jeep.
"That's not funny, Boyle," Dunbar said. He spoke in gasps, as if talking emptied his lungs of air. Broken rib, maybe a couple.
"I think it's hilarious. Nice Harvard boy gets mixed up with gambling and drugs, ruins promising career, disgraces his family. Just the story to amuse an Irish kid from Southie."
"You can't prove a thing, anyway."
"You don't actually trust that rat Willoughby, do you? How do you think I got to you so fast?"
"Jesus," he said, again in that whining, airless voice. "I thought… What am I supposed to do?"
"I couldn't care less. Why should I help you figure that out? What can you do for me anyway, give me free poker lessons?"
"Will you help me if I help you?"
That's what I wanted to hear. But I shrugged. As if I were indifferent.
"Maybe you wandered into the wrong part of town and I happened by at the right time. Or not. It all depends on what you can tell me."
"What about Willoughby?"
"Leave him to me."
"Aw, Christ. What do you want to know?"
"Anything about drug thefts, Vichy officers coming by the hospital, anything suspicious, or even just odd."
"This was the first time I took anything, honest…"
"I'm talking about penicillin, the wonder drug, remember? Not your pathetic little pilfering. A real heist. Did you see anybody casing the joint before Casselli got killed? Any other drugs gone missing?"
"Oh. No. I was pretty busy getting things organized. I picked the location for the medical supplies when we first got here, then left it to Casselli."
"So you walked the grounds and chose that spot by yourself?"
"Why do you ask?"
That did it. I pulled the jeep over to the side of the road. We h cleared the city and they hadn't bothered to plant nice rows of shad palms out here. Just sand and a gravelly gully leading to more sand,^ rocks, and boulders. No Frenchies, donkeys or Arabs. I took my. 45 out of the holster and ran a round into the chamber. That sound always had a nice, threatening ring to it, a metallic snick click that meant business. I held it in my left hand, pointing at Dunbar.
"Now listen up, you worthless piece of dog meat. This isn't a social conversation. I ask, you answer. If you answer right, maybe I'll save your bacon. Piss me off again and I'll shoot you and leave you for the Arabs to strip."
"You wouldn't…"
I clicked the hammer back. Another snick.
"Okay, okay, okay!" He put his hands up in cross in front of his face, palms toward me. I had found a small-time drug dealer once, with holes in both palms and another where his left eye had been. He was flat on his back, arms outstretched, a Jesus on the pavement. Funny the things you think about at the oddest times. I waited for Dunbar to drop his hands and lowered the. 45, but kept it pointed in his general direction and waved it as an invitation for him to keep talking.
"Casselli was with me when we walked the grounds. The place used to be a military base but was closed down. There was plenty of room, we just needed to decide what went where."
"Why did you put the Medical Supply Depot in a separate building?"
"Casselli thought it would be better for the patients, so the loading and unloading wouldn't disturb them."
"So it was Casselli's idea, not yours?"
"Well, yeah, I guess so, now that you mention it."
Any sergeant worth his salt knew how to "suggest" things so an officer thought it was his idea. Casselli was no different. It was no more Dunbar's idea than it was Ike's.
"How long did you know Casselli?"
"He joined up with us about three months ago, in England, after our first supply sergeant deserted."
"What? Deserted? In England? Where the hell did he go?"
"No one knows. Captain Morgan saw him leave in a jeep one night, after lights out, and he never came back. He must've had someplace to hide out."
"Where were you based again?"
"Outside of Blackpool, on the coast. It had a port and we got a lot of our supplies right from the Liberty Ships that docked there. Pretty big operation."
It's amazing how chatty a loaded. 45 automatic can make a guy, especially one who's just been rolled in an Arab bazaar. I eased the hammer down and holstered the piece. So Casselli was the second supply sergeant to lose the job, one way or the other. I wondered where the first guy was. I wondered where they'd found his jeep. I wondered what Gloria Morgan was doing out after lights out, and who she was doing it with.
"Okay, let's get you taken care of."
"Are you going to report me?"
"No."
"Thanks, Boyle, I really owe you."
I pulled back onto the road and didn't say you're welcome. I only promised not to report him. If he wanted to feel thankful about that, he didn't have much of an imagination. I did.
Ten minutes later Gloria Morgan herself was comforting poor Doctor Dunbar as Rita taped his chest.
"What were you doing alone in the Kasbah, Doctor? You know we were told not to go there alone," Gloria said. She was patting his hand and her soft southern voice had a singsong lilt to it, as if she was reminding a small child to look both ways before crossing. Dunbar was eating it up.
"I was lucky Boyle showed up when he did. Those two hoodlums took my wallet, my shoes, my hat Who knows what else they would have done to me!"
He was so amazed at his own luck that he forgot to thank me. He looked to Gloria for some more warm sympathy as Rita caught my eye and pulled the tape tightly across his bruised ribs. He gasped.
"Ow! What are you doing, trying to kill me?" Dunbar demanded.
"Don't worry, Doctor," Rita said, "Billy is here to protect you."
Gloria turned her head, too much the senior officer and Southern belle to laugh at a doctor's discomfort. Rita didn't even crack a smile. I did, for all of us.
"I've had enough of your snotty comments!" Dunbar yelled, jumping up and grimacing as his ribs failed to cooperate. Still, he took a step toward Rita and she instinctively pulled back This guy could turn mean in a heartbeat, and I wasn't surprised that he took it out on the weakest one in the room. I half turned to get between them.
"You sure you don't need some morphine, Doc?" I asked "You must be in a lot of pain." He looked panic-stricken, stepped back, and regained the little self-control he had left.
"We don't prescribe morphine for minor injuries, and don't call me doc."
He grabbed his jacket and walked out of the examining room. A little stiffly, but with all the grace of a Harvard man. A shoeless, thieving, broken-ribbed Harvard man.
"Poor fellow," Gloria said.
"Yeah, I guess he's just too trusting to be let out on his own."
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you didn't like our young Doctor Dunbar, Billy," Gloria said, drilling me with those killer eyes.
"Oh, he's swell. I'm just a Townie, that's all. We never get along with the Harvard guys."
"But you seem to be the kind of fellow who gets along with everyone, Billy. People around here could learn something from you."
"Thank you, Captain. I'm sure I could learn from them, too." About theft, smuggling, corruption, and murder.
Gloria walked out, throwing a look over her shoulder that said she'd be thinking of nobody but me until we met again. She was good. She was so good that she seemed to draw all attention to herself, and it was only when she was gone that I noticed Rita was still here, cleaning up bandages, tape, and gauze left over from patching Dunbar.
"She's meeting your Major Harding, you know," Rita said.
"I'm not surprised. Apparently they used to be an item back in the States. Does Gloria… the captain, I mean, have anyone special here?"
"First, don't worry about the military courtesies here. We're a pretty loose outfit. First names are fine, unless it's Dunbar or Colonel Walton."
"And second?"
"Secondly, Gloria likes to get her way with men. She can twist them around her Utile finger, in case you haven't noticed. But she hasn't gotten tied down with anyone since I've known her."
"How long has that been?"
"Since we formed up in the States. I was in the first group of nurses assigned to the 21st."
"So you were at the base outside of Blackpool?"
"Sure. We had it easy there. No casualties, occasionally a few patients, leave now and then. It was great."
"Did you know the original supply sergeant, the one before Casselli?"
"Freddie? He was a nice guy. No one could understand why he took off like that."
"What was his full name?"
"Frederick Hotchkiss. Why?"
"Do you think there's anything suspicious about two supply sergeants being taken out of the picture?"
"But Freddie deserted!" She frowned as she tossed the waste into a trashcan.
"How do you know that?"
"Gloria saw him drive out the main gate. He never came back. His personal gear was missing, so it seemed clear that he was gone for good."
"Maybe Gloria was mistaken. Did anybody else see him leave?"
"No. It was late, after lights out."
"No sentry at the gate?"
"No, we're a hospital, not a top secret military unit. People come and go all the time." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and touched her sleeve to her forehead, leaving little damp sweat spots on the soft green material. She looked tired.
"What was Gloria doing out that night?"
"I don't know, I don't keep tabs on her. You're a suspicious fellow, aren't you?"
"Goes with the job. How about you? Did you kill both sergeants?"
"No, I take care of patients. Doctors kill them." She picked up a tray of instruments, turned, and walked out, giving me an imitation over-the-shoulder look like Gloria's, fluttering her eyelashes.
"Tell that cute friend of yours to come back so I can change his bandages. He's not married or anything, is he?"
"Kaz? No, not married. Or anything."
She gave a little happy laugh as she left. I wondered if people understood how lucky they were when they could just be with someone they cared about. It sounded so easy. I started to think about Diana and suddenly realized that I was alone in the examining room for no good reason. Alone. It scared me. Stuck in a room alone, never able to move on and find the woman I love. It felt like a dream, a real bad dream. Like Kaz, waking up every day to the memory of loss, and the impossibility of ever having anything like the life he had once had. Or Vincent, sitting alone at a bar, sipping mint tea in an Arab bazaar, his homeland more memory than anything else, the dust of Algiers more familiar now than the streets of Warsaw. I looked at the four walls and shuddered a bit. I walked out without looking back over my shoulder.