1931304483 by Warren Adler

Author:Warren Adler
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: RosettaBooks
Published: 2016-01-08T22:23:45+00:00

XXIV

Ernie had made sure the car kept its distance. The streets were so empty, the town so small, that following the car from five blocks away was no problem. Even when suddenly there was no car to follow, he could sense that it had come to a halt somewhere near the old red brick hospital, the only building in a dead-end street. Deliberately, he passed the building, parked the car on an empty side street, and walked the distance to the hospital.

It was an old building, built perhaps thirty years ago, with narrow high windows, all still graced with old-fashioned pull shades. Over the high, wooden front doors was a sign engraved in cast stone: Rehoboth General Hospital. There was a parking lot along its side with a number of cars lined up neatly in two rows. Walking behind the second row of cars, stooping slightly to shield himself from exposure, he reached the rear of the hospital. There, two police cars were parked near a rear entrance marked “Emergency.”

Ernie pulled his notebook from a side pocket; and, scribbling a note on the first empty page asking the senator to call Mr. Chalmers, he ripped it out, folded it, and wrote the senator’s name along its front.

He could imagine the drama going on inside. Confrontation with next of kin, tears, recriminations, entreaties, the sad ritual of after death. As a reporter, he had seen it many times. He had trained himself to be dispassionate. Sometimes, in the case of children, he had to fight back tears, but fortunately, he had been able to conceal his emotion while on the job. Sentiment interfered with objectivity. Later, after the assignment, he somehow was able to shake it off. It became cerebral, reflective. Then, finally, like a mysterious chemical reaction, emotion became an abstraction, nothing more than a comment on the human predicament. Death, after all, was a common experience. He had learned to accept it in all its unreasonable and illogical forms, its unexpected entrances and ridiculous guises. Had he become cynical? He would fight cynicism to his last breath. It was corrosive to the movement. Indeed, beside greed, it was the principal antipersonnel device. It knocked out the movement’s members en masse, like an attack of dysentery—dysentery of the spirit. Between the moment of birth and death, there was life; and in life there was only truth; and if you loved the idea of life, then you must love the idea of truth.

He watched the back entrance from the line of cars until he realized that he had been seen by one of the policemen. He walked to the back entrance and identified himself to the policeman, fresh faced and officious.

“No press,” the policeman said. “Orders.”

“I’d like to speak to your chief.”

“I said, no press.”

A policeman by nature is an intimidating force, but Ernie had become wise in handling policemen.

“All I want is one word with him.”

“Why don’t you just beat it.”

“Look, I’m a newspaper reporter doing a job. Just like you.

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