Death Is the Answer

“Yeah?” he mumbled into the receiver.

It was Tom. “Stan, boy. Climb into your clothes. Nick has had trouble. I’m dressing. Meet you down in the lobby.” Click.

So Nick was in trouble. Nothing unusual, but this time it must be something pretty serious. Stan dashed the sleep out of his face with cold water and dressed hurriedly. Tom, jittery and impatient, had a taxi waiting.

On the way to the hospital he gave Stan the bare outlines. Nick had been picked up in an alley earlier in the evening in bad shape. Slugged. His wallet was gone and it had taken quite a while to figure out who he was. Fortunately one of the nurses remembered seeing him at the theater. The police were with him, hoping he would come out of it long enough to talk. Tom had given orders to have him moved from the ward to a private room.

The brisk interne wasted no words. “Gentlemen, he’s in bad shape. Depressed fracture. Struck with some kind of blunt weapon over the right ear. We operated immediately, hoping to remove the pressure. We have, but there is a sliver of bone driven down into the brain. If we can pull him out of his severe postoperative shock, we’ll be able to get that bone sliver. Otherwise—” The interne shrugged and made a flat chopping motion with the edge of his hand. Tom winced.

The lean, dark man beside the bed introduced himself in a hushed voice. “I’m Lieutenant Bandred. Sorry this had to happen here. I’m waiting to see if he can give us a hint as to who slugged him. I’ve got men out trying to trace his movements, but it’s hard with all the joints closed now. He was in the worst section of town.”

Nick’s swarthy face was gray against the pillow. There were deep lines around the corners of his mouth. His head was lightly bandaged and a nurse stood by to help in case he regained consciousness and started to roll over to the right. Tom stood at the foot of the bed and made fumbling motions with his big red hands.

“He’ll be okay. He’s a good kid. He’ll be okay,” he muttered.

Nick’s mouth twitched. There was no sound in the room. Tom and Stan moved closer to Nick. The nurse bent over him. The lieutenant hitched his chair a bit closer. Nick’s eyes and mouth opened slowly. The eyes were wet and glazed. The lips looked dry. The nurse made a hissing noise and the interne hurried in.

Nick’s damp eyes seemed to focus on Tom. His underlip flapped. “Belt,” he said clearly. “Margi—”

Then his body strained upward, sweat beading his face. The nurse touched his forehead. There was a guttural, dry sound in his throat, and the eyes closed again. The swarthy face seemed to shrink into the pillow, to diminish. Stan had seen it happen before, on the beaches of jungle islands. He turned away. The interne stepped forward with a stethoscope. When Stan turned around again, the face was hidden by the top of the sheet. Tom gulped and stood stricken for a moment. Stan saw the reassurance flood back into him.

“That’s too bad,” Tom said. “He was a good boy. I’ll miss him. I’ll contact his folks. Stan, you get hold of a local undertaker.”

Lieutenant Bandred stood up, wearily. He looked like a man who had had a long, difficult night. “Guess it’s not necessary to tell you folks how much I’m sorry that this thing had to happen in Hoagersburg. We’ll sure do our best on it. How long will you folks stay around?”

“We were leaving tomorrow. Let’s see. Today is Thursday. We can stay until Monday.”

“I sure hope we’ll be able to nail the guy that did this thing before then. I’ve got every exit from town blocked, and we’re pulling in every bum that tries to slip out. What do you think he meant by that belt stuff, and Margy?”

Tom sighed. “Don’t know. Guess he was saying he got belted on the head. And Margy was probably some gal friend. I don’t think you’ll get much of a lead. Stan, boy, do me a favor. You stay here and go through his stuff. I’ll do the same back at the hotel. I’ll have to tell Mary and wire New York for a replacement. I guess he can be shipped back to his folks in Chicago in what he was wearing, if they aren’t messed up.”

“His clothes weren’t soiled. The wound didn’t bleed,” the nurse said.

Tom left. Nick’s clothes were still down in the emergency room. It was a nasty job going through the pockets. Cigarettes. Gold lighter. Money clip with twenty bucks in it. Stan held the money and frowned. He stuffed it into his own pocket. Handkerchief. Nick had said something about a belt. Could be a belt on the head. Could be the belt he was wearing. Ordinary looking belt. Imitation alligator with a gold-plated buckle. Stan rubbed his fingers along it. It seemed rather thick. On a hunch he stripped it out of the loops on the trousers. His fingers began to tremble when he noticed a zipper on the underside of it. A trick belt. Obviously the lieutenant had missed it and Tom hadn’t known about it.