The Night Watch (1953) by Thomas Walsh

Author:Thomas Walsh [Walsh, Thomas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Crime - Fiction, Noir
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

About this time up on Narcissus Road a middle-aged doctor wearing a hat and overcoat over vivid yellow pajamas finished a hurried preliminary examination of Paddy Ahern. Squatting for a moment on toes and fingertips, lips pursed, he must have considered one or two courses of action; but then he only addressed a few low words to Miss Stewart, snapped his bag in on itself and rose puffing, with a middle-aged grimace of muscular discomfort. “We won't move him,” he said, giving McCallister assurance of the well-trained professional kind, but with no actual promise implied in it. “Not yet. Not till the ambulance gets here. And take it easy until then, boy. Don't worry him.”

McCallister reacted with several hurried nods.

“Sure,” he said. “We'll wait till — ”

“Maybe you'd better watch for it,” Eckstrom suggested quietly. “Go on now, McCallister. Do as you're told.”

But after that there seemed to be an endless wait for the ambulance. Several times McCallister darted into the road looking for it, and feeling harried by the idea that there was something he had to do here, but had forgotten — something very important. I'm going to take care of you, he thought breathlessly; you know that, Paddy, don't you? Night wind ran low and chill over his ankles, he became aware of it, and stripped the overcoat from himself. This he spread on Ahern, with Miss Stewart helping him. Then out to the road again, while the doctor shook his head and shrugged slightly at some question from Frank Eckstrom.

McCallister pretended to himself that he had not seen this, and had no idea what they were talking about. His teeth chattered. He began to stride up and down the pavement, all his hope centered now on the ambulance. Headlights appeared down by the crescent; he ran out and beckoned them on eagerly, using both hands. Now! he thought. But in another moment his stomach twisted around in him like a wrung dishrag. It was not the ambulance at all. It was the priest with Mahoney. No! McCallister thought then. He wasn't going to let this happen to Paddy; not here and not yet. “Wait,” he said, appealing desperately to the priest. “Don't go over there. You'd scare him, Father. You'd only — ”

“Get hold of yourself,” Mahoney said, gripping him hard under the right arm. “It's got to be done, Richie. You know he's going.”

Eckstrom removed his hat, clasped his hands low under his waist and began to gaze somberly at the pavement; and beneath the protective roof, his head resting on a seat pad from one of the cars, Ahern's face could be seen dimly with the flesh waxen and petulant around his mouth, and very darkly shadowed around his eyes. Little Miss Stewart had been tucking McCallister's overcoat in at his shoulders; now she wiped his lips gently.

The priest knelt beside them, Mahoney crossed himself, one of the uniformed men cleared his throat and shifted position nervously; yet, for another moment, this final act and submission remained incomprehensible to McCallister.

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