Internes Can't Take Money by Max Brand

Author:Max Brand [Brand, Max]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Short Stories
Publisher: Roy Glashan's Library
Published: 2015-09-04T22:00:00+00:00

THEN it was an hour later, and Kildare was saying: “Innis, stop talking. If you talk, you’ll kill yourself. Lie still. I’ve given you morphine to make you sleep, and you’ll sleep. Just lie still, will you?”

Innis whispered, with eyes closed, smiling: “Hanlon always was a damn fool. I never could get near the gal.” Then he stopped talking.

“Is it gunna be all right, Doc?” asked Hanlon.

“He has nine chances out of ten,” said Kildare. “That’s all I can tell you.”

“Nine of your chances is better than ninety of the next dirty mug,” said Hanlon. “Doc, I wish you would stand up and take a couple of good swipes at me! I’d thank you for it, while you was paying yourself back.”

Kildare leaned back in the chair. One of the men brought a cold glass and put it in his hand. It was a stiff Scotch-and-soda. He drank it like beer.

The neatness was gone from Innis’ friends. Their brown suits were bunched around the shoulders. They looked at Kildare as one might stare at a being from the other world.

“This’ll make you feel better, Doc,” said one of them, pulling out a wallet and counting bills from it. “‘Here’s the four thousand. We make it five for luck.”

Kildare leaned forward. And then Jeff stepped between him and the money.

“Buddy,” Jeff said, “if you make a mug of all of us by trying to bribe the doc, I’m gunna sock you myself.”

“Back up, Jeff,” the man said. “He asked for it, didn’t he?”

“He was kidding you, you big stiff,” said Jeff. “Listen. He’s an interne. He can’t take anything. He won’t take anything. He’s too clean for that. He’s the only honest man I ever seen. Now, get him out of here, Hanlon.”

The money had disappeared while Kildare’s hand was still reaching for it. He thought of Fearson and started to protest. But he was helpless when Jeff and Hanlon put hands on him.

They got him quickly down the stairs. Behind them, the man with the money called: “If Innis gets well, we can all [missing word, ‘take’? drink’?] the old stuff. We’re friends, Hanlon.”

Out on the street Jeff said: “Thank God we got the tip and followed you. Don’t ever trust yourself with yeggs like that.”

“I’ve got to get back!” cried Kildare. “I’ve got to get that money.”

Hanlon said: “‘Doc, did you want that dirty money?”

“Fearson—” blurted out Kildare.

Jeff growled: “Quit it, Doc. Fearson is safe. Nobody ain’t gonna worry him. Not after the chief knew he was your friend. You know who he owed the money to? McGuire. The dummy of a doctor had tried some gambling, was all.”

Kildare stopped short. “You mean it’s all fixed?” he asked.

“Listen, McGuire would fix hell if you said the word,” declared Hanlon. “Come on, Jeff. The doc needs a drink.”

They rushed across town in Hanlon’s car to McGuire’s saloon. It was shut and empty. Jeff opened it up.

“Whisky?” he said.

“Yes,” said Kildare.

Jeff clinked out three glasses on the bar. He brought out a squat bottle and filled the glasses from it.

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