Race for the Dying Read Free Page B

coast.”
    â€œCan be a pleasant enough voyage, I suppose.”
    â€œPleasant only because we didn’t sink.” Thomas laughed. “Cramped, dirty, awful food, and fog. Lots of fog.”
    â€œYep,” Lindeman said, and shrugged. “Well, that’s our specialty. The dirt and fog, I mean. A day like this is rare enough. Enjoy it while it lasts.” The old man pulled himself to his feet, and Thomas saw the stiffness in the hips, the cramped way the old man’s hands tried to grip the railing, the grimace of effort.
    Lindeman shot him a glance of amusement at the scrutiny. “Me and the mutt are a pair, eh?” He pointed up the hill toward an impressive three-story home, a house ornate with gingerbread and an entire rainbow of trim colors. “That’s one-oh-one. Dr. John ain’t to home at the moment, though. I saw him head out when I was dumpin’ ashes earlier. Gert will fix you up.”
    â€œGert?”
    â€œHis housekeeper. Best cook in the entire world. Makes my coffee taste like kerosene.” He looked into his cup as if to check for things moving. “She’s been with Dr. John forever. Her brother, too, although you won’t get any more words out of Horace than you do Prince here. Don’t know if Alvina went with the doctor or not. You met her? No point in asking that. You’re just off the boat, for God’s sake. Listen to me.”
    â€œI exchanged pleasantries with a fisherman, met Mr. Birch, and now you. That’s the extent of it since I set foot in Port McKinney.”
    â€œWell, now. About every soul is either minding his own business or out in the timber…or working at the mills. This time of day, it’s a quiet place. Come tonight, there’s plenty of hell raisin’.” He looked closely at Thomas. “I’d ask how you came to know the good doctor, if it was any of my business. But it ain’t, so I won’t.”
    Thomas laughed. “He’s an old, old friend of my father’s. They knew each other during the war. I’m told that I was introduced to him when I was five or six, but I have no recollection. We’ve had some correspondence recently, and he expressed interest in my studies.” Thomas hefted the medical bag. “And then convinced me that there were opportunities here for me. It’s really that simple.”
    â€œGood enough to have you, then. We’ll be talking.” Lindeman held out a hand. “Prince, get your worthless carcass in here.” The dog shot a glance at both of them, then turned and slowly plodded out into the middle of the street, where he stood with head down, looking into the distance as if engaged in deep thought. “See what I mean? Worthless, flea-infested…” The old man went inside, muttering to himself.
    As soon as Thomas stepped away from the porch, the dog’s head came up, and he followed the young man up the street, remaining a couple paces behind.
    So spotlessly clean were the front steps of 101 Lincoln that Thomas hesitated. Seeing no boot scraper, he set his bag and valise on the steps, then looked about until he found a sharp chip of gravel on the walkway. Balancing on one leg with a hand on the step rail, he dug the worst of the mud off his boots—sticky chunks with the consistency of artist’s clay. He was standing thus, one-legged like some odd kind of shore bird, when a horse and rider appeared, charging up Lincoln Street.
    Thomas straightened, amazed that the animal could keep its footing. It was then that he saw it was actually a mule, hooves throwing great clots of mud. Prince, who had been sitting quietly in the middle of the street, pulled his rump out of the muck. He stood unmoving for a few seconds until it became obvious that the mule and rider were headed his way, then grudgingly stalked across the street.
    The rider was a rough-looking young man perhaps a year or two older than Thomas, dressed in