A. Fair - Spill the Jackpot

The nurse said, Doctor Crabtree wants to see you before you see the patient. Will you follow me, please?

She walked ahead. Professional efficiency emanated from her in the rhythmic pound of her heels, the rustle of a starched uniform. She turned right, pushed a door open, and stood holding it.

Mr. Lam, she announced.

I walked in, and she pulled the door shut behind me.

Dr. Crabtree had a thin nose with penetrating pin-point eyes. Looking at him, you had the impression of staring at a long, straight line with a dot on each side.

Mr. Donald Lam?

Thats right.

Long, cold fingers wrapped themselves around my hand Sit down.

I sat down, said, My plane leaves in forty-seven minutes.

Ill try to be brief. Youve come to get Mrs. Cool?

Yes.

What do you know about her condition?

Not much. She had flu and pneumonia. The doctor in Los Angeles suggested this sanitarium for a long rest.

Did he tell you why?

No.

Youre her partner?

An employee.

She operates a detective agency?

Yes.

And left you in complete charge?

Yes.

She has a very high opinion of you, Mr. Lam, a regard which amounts to affection.

The pay checks dont show it.

He smiled. Well, I want you to know about her condition. I dont want to alarm her unnecessarily so Im not telling her. But if it should become necessary, I want you to get her Los Angeles doctor to tell her.

What about her condition?

You knew, of course, how much she weighed?

Not exactly. She told me once that everything she ate turned to fat. She said she could go on a diet of pure water and put on weight.

The doctor took it literally. Oh, hardly, he said. What she undoubtedly meant was that her digestive enzymes are highly efficient, and she

Squeezes the last drop of nourishment out of every bite of food.

Well, something like that.

Thats Bertha, I said. She would.

He studied me for a minute. Ive given her a rigid diet to follow.

She wont follow it.

Its up to you to see that she does.

I cant. Ive got my hands full.

Shes let herself get in a deplorable condition so far as weight is concerned.

She just doesnt care, I said. She tried to keep thin until she found her husband was two-timing her, then she let him have his friends, and she had her potatoes and desserts. Anyway, thats what she once told me. After he died, she kept right on eating.

Well, shes down to a reasonable size now, and she must hold that weight. After all, you know, her heart isnt going to stand up forever under the strain of carrying around an enormous burden of flesh such as she was carrying. Theres not only the extra exertion due to the added weight, but each pound of fat requires yards of capillaries to keep it supplied with blood.

Have you talked with Mrs. Cool about that?

Yes.

What does she say?

I could see indignation in his eyes. She told me I could go to hell I mean literally, Mr. Lam.

Im not surprised.

He pressed a button. The nurse promptly opened the door.

Mr. Lam is calling for Mrs. Cool. Shes ready to leave?

Yes, Doctor.

Very well.

The bill paid? I asked him, taking the statement hed mailed to the office out of my pocket.

He avoided my eyes. Its been settled. Mrs. Cool made a protest, and we adjusted the er fees.

I followed the nurse down a long corridor and up a flight of stairs. She paused before a swinging door. I pushed it open, and Bertha Cool said, Get the hell out of here! Ive paid my bill, and I wont have any more thermometers Oh, its Donald! Youre a sight for sore eyes. Come on in, lover. Well, dont stand there staring like that. Come in. Pick up my bag, and lets get the hell out of this place. Of all the well, whats the matter?

I said, I hardly knew you.

I hardly know myself. I lost it while I was sick, and the doctor says I cant put it back on. Nuts to him. Do you know what I weigh, Donald Lam? A hundred and sixty. Think of it. I cant wear a single stitch of clothes Ive got to my name.

You look fine.

Bosh! Thats some more of that hooey the doctors been handing out. Told you to flatter me, didnt he, Donald? Did the old croaker tell you confidentially that my pump couldnt stand the strain?

What gave you that idea? I asked.

Id be a hell of a detective if I couldnt read the mind of a string bean like him. Asking about when the plane got in, when I expected you to get here, and telling the nurse that hed like to see you as soon as you arrived. Bosh! Stuff and nonsense! What are you doing with the agency, lover? Are you making any money out of it? Berthas been under a big expense, and weve simply got to watch every penny. And do you know what that income-tax man did? My God, Donald, its all right to be patriotic, but I dont want to pay for their whole damn rearmament program. I

I picked up the bag and said, The plane leaves at ten oclock. I have a cab waiting outside, and

A cab! Waiting outside!

Yes.

Well, why didnt you say so? Here youve been chinning while the taximeter is clicking off money. Is that any way to help me meet expenses? Youre a nice enough boy, Donald, but you think money grows on bushes. The way you throw it away, you

The nurse held out her hand as Bertha Cool was striding out of the door. Good-by, Mrs. Cool, and good luck.

Good-by, Bertha said, without looking back. She went marching down the corridor at double-quick.

I said, He isnt charging us for waiting time.

Oh, she said, and slowed her pace.

We went down the stairs, and the taxi driver took Berthas bag.

Airport? he asked.

Airport, I said.

Bertha settled back against the cushions. What about that Gilman case, Donald?

Its closed.

Closed? How am I going to make any money when you close the only decent case

We found her. He paid us a bonus.

Oh.

Weve got another case.

What?

I dont know. A Mr. Whitewell wrote the office to have a representative meet him in Las Vegas tonight.

Did he send any money?

No.

What did you tell him?

I wired him Id meet him.

Didnt ask for an advance?

No. We go right through there anyway. I can stop over without it costing anything extra.

I know, but you could have got some expense money out of this Whiteside, and

Whitewell.

All right, whatever his name is. Whats he want?

He didnt say. I took his letter from my pocket. Heres his letter. Notice the stationery. They could use it instead of sheet metal to build airplanes.

She took the letter. Well, Ill stop off with you.

No. Youre supposed to rest for a week or two.

Bosh. Ill talk with him myself.

I didnt say anything.

We got to the airport with fifteen minutes to spare. We sat around and waited for the plane. After a while it came skimming in from the east, taxied across the field, and was serviced.

A loudspeaker blared out that passengers for the west would be taken aboard the plane. A gate slid open.

The men who had been filling the plane with gasoline and giving it a routine check-up got back out of the way. The stewardess opened the plane door, and a uniformed attendant pulled away a barrier. Bertha and I got aboard. There were already half a dozen through passengers on the plane. Bertha settled herself, heaved a deep sigh, and said, Im starved. Donald, run back and get me a chocolate bar.

No. There isnt time.

Dont be a sap. Theres two minutes yet.

I think your watch is slow.

She settled back against the cushions with a sigh. The man who was seated by the window turned to give her a surreptitious glance.

Everything all right? I asked.