The city for which Bert Kling worked was a city of tribal enclaves poised on the edge of ethnic warfare similar to that erupting all over the world. The riot in Grover Park last Saturday had been caused by a criminal intent on personal gain through planned mischief. But his scheme would not have succeeded if this city had not already been so divided along ethnic lines.
Ethnic.
The most obscene word in any language.
Sharyn Cooke’s office was in Diamondback, where everyone in the entire world was black. Certainly everyone in her waiting room was black. That was when Kling realized he’d never seen a black doctor treating a white patient.
Sharyn’s receptionist was black, too.
“Detective Kling,” he told her, and from the corner of his eye caught heads turning, eyes swiveling. Everybody here was figuring the only business a honkie cop could have in a doctor’s office was looking for some brother or sister got shot. “I have an appointment,” he said. The appointment was for lunch, but he didn’t mention that.
Sharyn came out a moment later.
She was wearing a white smock over a dark skirt. Stethoscope sticking out of a pocket. White Reeboks. He wanted to kiss her.
“I’ll just be a second,” she said. “Have a seat. Read a magazine.”
He grinned like a schoolboy.
They had lunch in a diner off Colby. Everyone in the diner was black, too. This was the heart of Diamondback. He reminded her that he had to be downtown again at two, talk to a woman who might have had something to do with last night’s excitement.
“Guy jumped out a window,” he told her.
“Or was pushed,” she said knowingly.
“Or was pushed,” he agreed, nodding.
“Who’s doing the autopsy?” she asked.
“He was taken to Parkside.”
“That’d be Dwyer. Good man.”
“How long have you been practicing up here?” he asked.
“Always,” she said, and shrugged.
He hesitated a moment, and then asked, “Do you have any white patients?”
“No,” she said. “Well, at Rankin, yeah, white cops come in all the time. But not here, no.”
“Have you ever had a white patient?”
“In private practice? No. Why?”
“I just wondered.”
“Have you ever gone to a black doctor?”
“No.”
“Case closed,” she said, and smiled.
“Who are you going out with tonight?” he asked.
“None of your business.”
“Woman tells me she can’t see me cause she’s got other plans…”
“That’s right.”
“…then it becomes my business.”
“Nope.”
“How about lunch tomorrow?”
“Busy then, too.”
“Who with?”
“My mother.”
“How come your mother’s not none of my business?”
“That’s a double negative.”
“Busy twice in a row is a double negative. Why don’t I join you and your mother?”
“I don’t think that’d be such a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Cause Mama don’t ’low no saxophone playin here.”
“What does that mean?”
“Mama don’t know you white, man.“
“Time she found out, don’t you think?”
“Three dates and we’re getting married already?”
“Four counting today.”
“Four, right.”
“All of them wonderful.”
“Not the first one.”
“First one doesn’t count. Who’s this guy tonight?”
“I told you, that’s none…”
“Is this your first date with him?”
“Nope.”
“Is he black?”
“Sho nuff, honey chile.”
“Does Mama know him?”
“She do.”
“Does she allow you to play his saxophone?”
“Mama thinks I’m still a virgin. Mama don’t ’low me to play nobody’s saxophone nohow.”
“Good for Mama,” Kling said, and blinked in mock surprise. “You mean you’re not a virgin?”
“Sullied through and through,” she said,
“Well, when can we get together? Artie…”
“We’re together now.”
“Yes, but Artie wants to meet you.”
“Who’s Artie?”
“Brown. Who suggested Barney’s, remem…?”
“Right. Whose grandmother was a slave.”
“Great-great-grandmother. He wants to have dinner with us and his wife.”
“Good, I’d like to.”
“Sure, but you’re busy all the goddamn time.”
“Not all the time.”
“You’re busy tonight, you’re busy…”
“I made tonight’s date a long time ago.”
“How about tomorrow night?”
“I’d love to.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Good, I’ll tell Artie. Chinese okay?”
“Chinese is fine.”
“Who’s this guy tonight?”
“None of your…”
“Sharyn?”
The voice was deep and mellow, originating at Kling’s right elbow, and causing him to turn at once in surprise. The man standing there was tall and black and elegantly dressed in a suit several shades lighter than the color of his skin. Unless King was mistaken, the key hanging on a chain across his vest was a Phi Beta Kappa key, and unless he was further mistaken, the little plastic ID tag clipped to the lapel of the man’s jacket had the words MOUNT PLEASANT HOSPITAL printed across its top.
“Jamie, hi,” she said, and then immediately, “Bert, this is Jamie Hudson…”
“How do you…?”
“Bert Kling,” she concluded.
“Nice to meet you.”
The men shook hands. Kling, big detective that he was, had already scanned the plastic identification tag and discovered that this handsome guy looming over the table was Dr. James Melvin Hudson, and that his department at Mount Pleasant Hospital was ONCOLOGY.
“Sit down a minute,” Sharyn said.
Hudson — Dr. James Melvin Hudson, Oncology — immediately sat next to Sharyn, Kling noticed, and not him. The pair of them immediately fell into a lively conversation about a patient Sharyn had referred to Hudson — Dr. James Melvin Hudson — several months back, and who, as fate would have it, had got shot dead on the street last night.
“Bert’s a detective,” Sharyn said.
“Oh, really?” Hudson said.
Kling wondered why she had thought it necessary to mention that he was a detective, whereas she hadn’t thought it necessary to mention that Hudson was a doctor. Perhaps she was informing Hudson that her relationship with Kling was a professional one, both of them being cops and all. In which case, why hadn’t she informed Kling that the relationship with Hudson was a professional one, both of them being doctors and all. He suddenly wondered if Dr. James Melvin Hudson was the guy she was dating tonight. He suddenly felt like kicking him under the table.
“The irony is the man was dying of cancer, anyway,” Hudson said. “I figure he had two, three months at most.”
“Also, the man was such a square…”
“Letter carrier, wasn’t he?”
“Straight as an arrow.”
“Takes two in the head.”
“Was it a drive-by?”
“No, he was at home in bed, that’s the thing of it! These two guys came in and dusted him while he was asleep in bed.”
“How do they know it was two guys?”