Kill as Directed

Nineteen

On Thursday Kurt Gresham finally Appeared at the office for a checkup. Both his systolic and diastolic blood pressures were up; his respiration was shallow and his pulse rapid and irregular; his EKG was erratic.

“How do you want it, with sugar or straight?” Harry said in the consultation room afterward.

“I’m not in such good shape, eh?” Kurt Gresham lit a cigar.

“You’re in lousy shape. Have you been taking the digitalis in the morning? Quinidine after breakfast and dinner? Dicumerol in the afternoon? In the dosage prescribed?”

“When I remember.”

“Which, I take it, is practically never. We’d better do another prothrombin. Roll up your sleeve.”

He drew a blood sample and marked the vial for the lab. “You don’t have to tell me you’re not following my orders, Kurt. I’ve seen you eating your head off — all the wrong foods—”

“And drinking too much, too, I suppose.”

“I don’t mind the drinking, it’s the diet. What are you trying to do, induce another heart attack?”

“It’s nerves, Harry. I’ve been under a lot of pressure.”

“You’re a coronary, Kurt. Keep this up and you’ll be just another statistic.”

“That would make a lot of people happy.”

“Would it make you happy?”

“How bad is it?”

“It’s not bad. But it’s not good, either.”

Gresham looked impatient. “What’s the prognosis?”

Harry lit a cigarette, shrugging. “You can go on like this for years; the damage from your last attack is repaired. You’ve got a strong constitution and you seem to thrive on abuse. On the other hand, carrying on as you do, you’re asking for it. It’s likelier than not that, if you keep abusing yourself, one of these days you’ll fall down dead.”

“Is it in the realm of probability?”

“Why tempt fate? I’m involved, too. If you die on me, I lose my best customer.” Harry chuckled, badly.

Kurt Gresham expelled a cloud of cigar smoke. “All right, what do I do?”

“If you take off sixty pounds, and then stick to the diet I gave you — if you stay with the medication — if you don’t let your business” — grimly — “run you ragged, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t live out your natural lifetime.”

“Well,” said the millionaire glumly, “I suppose I’d better start.”

“How about right now?”

Gresham chuckled. “You’re a good doctor, Harry. Too damn good. I’ll start on the vacation. You can watch me like an FBI agent. By the way, we’re going by ship — the ‘United States.’”

“Is it going to be a strenuous trip for you?”

“Strenuous on the nervous system. Now don’t say it — I’ve already decided that, starting next year, I’m going to slow down. Sort of sit back and take the cream off the top. That means delegation of authority, and you’re included in my plans, Harry. Maybe you’ll be retiring from general practice, eh? Be my personal physician, business executive on the side — how does that sound?”

“Not good.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, except that I like practicing medicine.”

“I may offer a proposition you won’t be able to resist.”

“We’ll see,” said Dr. Brown.

Gresham studied his cigar. “All right, we’ll see. Starting September first I’ll be the model patient. I’ll last until then, won’t I?”

Dr. Brown squeezed out his cigarette, smiling back. “This is one business, Kurt, where we can’t guarantee the merchandise.”

“I’ll risk it — what choice do I have?” Gresham laughed. “Oh, Harry. I’m planning a little theater party for Dr. and Mrs. Stone tomorrow night. He really couldn’t afford that check the other night, and anyway, nobody extends himself for Kurt Gresham without being matched. I wish you’d do me a favor. Can you stand in for me as host?”

“Why can’t you do it?” He knew perfectly well where Kurt Gresham would be tomorrow night.

“Business.”

“Always business.”

“From now until we leave I’m going to be on a merry-go-round. As a matter of fact, I’m sorry to have to miss it. I managed to pick up five tickets for Success Story.”

Success Story was the runaway comedy hit of the season. It had opened late in May, and it was sold out for two years in advance.

“How on earth did you get them?” Harry was impressed. Scalpers were charging $50 a ticket for choice seats.

“Money buys anything,” said Kurt Gresham. “Five together, sixth row center, orchestra.”

Not anything, thought Harry. He said, “The Stones and I make three. Who are the other two, Karen and Tony?”

“Yes. I’ve also ordered dinner before the show at Monique’s — a private room. And I’m sending the limousine and my chauffeur up to Taugus for the Stones, by the way, to drive them in and back. Make it seven o’clock at Monique’s for cocktails and a leisurely dinner. Stone has to be back in Taugus early, so you and Karen and Tony can come straight to the apartment after the theater — I should be home by then — and we’ll sit around and have a few drinks and talk. All right, Harry?”

“Sounds fine to me.”

“Then that’s settled.” Gresham rose. “Karen has the tickets. You’ll talk to her about the arrangements.”

Harry talked to her thirty seconds after Kurt Gresham was gone.

“He was just here,” Harry said.

“I know,” said Karen’s voice. It sounded strained. “He told me he was seeing you for a checkup. How is he?”

“I never discuss my patients over the phone,” said Dr. Brown. “Can you come down here, Mrs. Gresham?”

“Yes. When?”

“Right away.”

“Right away,” she said.