“You are taking a considerable risk,” he said quietly, “but, of course, I can’t stop you. Will you please wait here until I get the necessary forms for you to sign.”
“I’ll give you fifteen minutes,” Cade said, sitting on the bed, “then I walk out.”
Twelve minutes later, the form signed, Cade walked unsteadily down the steps of the hospital towards the traffic-packed street.
Creel appeared out of the shade. He was still a little unnerved by his mad rush to reach the hospital after Pinto had called him.
“The car is here, senor,” he said. “Where may I take you?”
Cade had a nightmare-appearance. His white bandaged, shaven head, his chalk-white face, his sunken wild eyes made him the object of startled glances from the steady flow of visitors coming up the hospital steps.
“You don’t have to bother with me,” he said. “I can walk. There is no more gold to rub off. You’re wasting your time.”
“I asked where I may take you, amigo,” Creel said gently.
Cade paused, then stared at the fat man. He put his hand on Creel’s arm.
“Sorry... don’t pay any attention to what I say. Take me to the house.”
They drove in silence to the house. Cade remained in the car for several minutes, staring down at his hands before making the obvious effort of getting out of the car. Creel waited half an hour, then he walked up the path and entered the house.
Cade was sitting in one of the lounging chairs in the living-room, a glass half-full of Tequila in his hand.
“What are those things, Adolfo?” he asked as the fat man came uneasily into the room. He waved his glass towards the table, slopping some of the drink onto the carpet.
Creel looked at the small cards neatly laid out on the table. He peered at them, then grimaced.
“They are tickets on the National Pawnshop.”
Cade leaned back and stared up at the ceiling.
“She must have needed money badly,” he said. “Everything has gone.” He drew in a long shuddering breath. “Even my camera equipment.”
Creel sat down and began to list the value of the tickets on the back of a crumpled envelope he had taken from his pocket.
“How much?” Cade asked.
“Eight thousand pesos, senor.”
Cade shrugged.
“What does it matter? You run along, Adolfo. Come and see me tomorrow if you feel like it. Go on, shove off.”
“I believe in courage,” Creel said, getting to his feet. “I once said to you that one can forgive a man much if he has courage. Please don’t disappoint me, senor.”
“You are a sentimental fool,” Cade said, not looking at him. “Run along. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve reached the happy stage when I’m not worth worrying about.”
“I would like to stay. We could talk. Talking often helps.”
“Oh, get out!” Cade said, his voice low and strangled. “I don’t want anyone! Do you imagine I want a greaseball like you slopping over me? Get out!”
“Yes, senor,” Creel said, his face impassive. “I understand.”
As he started to the door, Cade said, “You’re slipping. You called me amigo not so long ago.”
Creel paused.
“If I chose to make a man my friend, I don’t expect him to make me his friend, senor.”
“Oh, get out!” Cade said and picking up the bottle of Tequila, he splashed the raw spirit into his glass.
“Please be careful with that drink,” Creel said, watching him. “It is very dangerous and vicious. It is habit-forming.”
“I said get out!”
Creel regarded him sadly, then went down the path to his car.
Half an hour later, he was talking to Sam Wand on the telephone.
Wand said, “Now look, Adolfo, there is nothing you can do about this. You can’t lead other people’s lives. If Cade gets thrown because some woman takes him to the cleaners, it is his funeral. Not yours, and most certainly not mine. So don’t bother me with Cade’s troubles. I have enough of my own. He’ll snap out of it. Just leave him alone.”
“He is a good man, senor,” Creel protested. “We should try to do something. Can’t you come down here? You could talk some sense into him.”
“No one can talk sense into him. He’ll snap out of it. Quit bothering me!” and Wand hung up.
Creel left the café from where he had been telephoning and went to sit in his car. He sat there for three hours with the indifference to time all Mexicans have and worried about Cade, wondering what he could do for this man he liked so much.
When it was dark, he drove back to Cade’s house. He had no idea what he would say to Cade, but he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Cade to face the night on his own.
He found the house in darkness. The front door was unlocked and he entered the sitting-room and turned on the light.
Cade lay slumped across the table, the bottle of Tequila empty, the glass at his feet.
With difficulty Creel got the unconscious man onto the settee. He loosened his tie and took off his shoes, then he went over to the table and picked up the pawn tickets. These he put in his wallet. He went back and stood over Cade, hesitating to leave him, but he finally decided Cade would sleep the rest of the night and shaking his head, he let himself out of the house and walked slowly and heavily to his car.
A little after 10.00 hours the following morning, Cade swung his legs off the settee and sat up with a groan. He had a splitting headache and his mouth was dry. He remained still for some minutes, his head in his hands, then he forced himself to his feet. He felt weak and shaky and depressed.
He looked around the room, then he stiffened and started forward. His well-used Pan-Am overnight bag stood on the table. With shaking fingers, he pulled back the zipper and looked into the bag. His camera and his equipment were all there, and as he lifted the Minolta from the bag, the door pushed open and Creel came in carrying a tray of steaming coffee, a cup and saucer and a bowl of sugar.
“Good morning, senor,” he said and put down the tray.
Cade looked at him.
“You get this back?” he asked, fondling the camera.
“Yes, senor.” Creel poured the coffee. “How are you feeling?”
“Where did the money come from?”
“A small loan, senor. There is no hurry. We both had disasters. I lost my tyres. You kindly replaced them. You lost your camera...” He lifted his fat shoulders and smiled.
Cade sat down.
“Thank you, Adolfo.”
“It occurred to me that you wouldn’t want to remain in this house,” Creel said, pushing the cup of coffee towards Cade. “I happen to have a spare room in my apartment. It is nothing very much, but I thought you might care to use it for a few days.”
“No. I’m not in the mood for company,” Cade said quickly. “Thanks all the same. I’ll find somewhere.”
“The room has a separate entrance. I understand how you feel, senor. I too would want to be alone. No one would bother you.”
Cade rubbed his aching forehead, hesitated, then shrugged. The thought of trying to find other accommodation appalled him for he knew he couldn’t afford to remain in the house.
“Well, then I can’t very well refuse. Thank you, Adolfo. But only for a few days. That’s understood.”
“Of course. Please enjoy the coffee. I will pack your clothes,” and the fat man went out of the room.
Three hours later, Creel put a telephone call through to Sam Wand.
He explained that Cade was now installed in a room in his apartment.
“It is essential, Senor Wand, for him to start work again. He is in deep depression and is inclined to drink too much. You must find him something at once. He not only needs the money, he needs rehabilitation. This is extremely urgent and important.”