I thrashed about wildly but couldn't get my spread-eagled arms loose, and finally I just hung there, exhausted. Saxton straightened, up, said coldly, “Unfortunately I can't hit your face, don't want you marked.”
“You've already marked me... with that clout on the head,” I mumbled wondering why I talked.
“When you had your hemorrhage, you fell and struck your head on the curb. I shall leave your body in the proper position.” Saxton suddenly grabbed my free leg with his left hand and hit me in the gut with his right. Without knowing it, he got in a lot of leverage, and I thought his fist would come through my back. I must have passed out. When I came to he had my foot anchored again and was beating a steady blow of clumsy punches on my chest and stomach.
He was sweating and huffing like a bull, and he stopped and got more rope and tied my feet down. Then he opened the bathroom window behind me, and all the living-room windows, and sat down to rest.
I suppose I could have yelled, maybe I tried, maybe I didn't, knowing he'd only put a gag in my mouth. I hung there limply and a draft of cool damp air went through the room, chilled my body.
Saxton gave me an evil grin and I knew the draft was on purpose.... Willie knew what he was doing! Back in the hospital they used to leave us in beds on the open roof in the middle of the winter, all bundled in blankets, woolen caps on our heads. Just our faces exposed. They had the blankets pinned down, in case we fell asleep and twisted out of the blankets. The orderly used to crack, “Keep under cover, fellows, in this cold you'll be a corpse within an hour and you'll keep so well... I wouldn't even know you're dead for two days.” The orderly thought his sense of humor was part of building up our morale. But we were careful to keep bundled up.
It wasn't that cold in Saxton's apartment, but I knew I couldn't last more than a couple of hours in this draft.
He rested for what seemed hours, then got up flexed his shoulders, and squeezed past me, through the doorway, and into the bathroom. As an afterthought he socked me in the kidneys and the pain made me scream. Only a cotton-dry sound came out of my lips.
Saxton untied one wrist, bent my arm behind my back and held me up as he untied the other... tied my arms together behind my back. My arms were numb, no longer a part of me, and I couldn't have lifted them if I wanted to... and I couldn't think clearly enough to want to do anything.
I heard a grunt, then a sort of whistle as Saxton took a deep breath and lifted my 200 pounds off the floor and let me slide into the clammy-cold tub. He turned on the shower and a stream of cold water cleared my head.... I could hear a funny sound and it took me a minute to realize it was my teeth chattering. He yanked the shower curtains off and that damn draft of air hit my wet body like a shroud.
Saxton sat on the John and lit a cigarette. He pulled his wristwatch out of his pocket, said, calmly, “Only ten-thirty. By three in the morning you'll be ready to dump in the street.”
I opened my mouth and told him to go to hell—but I'm not sure any words came out. He sat there, watching me, that satisfied gleam in his eyes. When he finished his butt, he thumbed it at me, I didn't feel it, I suppose the water put it out.
The room was beginning to swim before my eyes when he turned the water off, pulled me out of the tub and hung me up again. As from a great distance I felt his blows and I must have blacked out.
When I came to, I was back in the tub, under the water once more. I knew I was delirious and so numb I couldn't feel the cold water. I passed out again.
I remember being strung up once more... dimly aware of the blows... and then I was in the tub, the water beating down on me. Saxton was sitting on the commode looking at his watch.
Suddenly he jumped up, went to the bathroom door.
Through the fog I heard it... a knock on the door. I tried to yell, to get loose. As though gazing at the world through a hazy film, I saw Saxton get his gun. I made one last effort to scream, but only muffled inhuman sounds came out.
As Saxton stepped out of the bathroom, there was a flash at the window and the gun spun out of his hand. He grabbed the hand with his left hand and both were bloody. Then I saw Max coming through the window, gun in hand. The Marines to the rescue!
Things happened fast, or maybe I blacked out again. I opened my eyes to see the bathroom full of cops and Mady was bending over me, her face a strange mask, and somebody had untied my hands. I seemed to float through the air—I was being carried—and then I was on a bed and they were piling blankets on me.
The room grew foggy and then somebody was fooling with my lips and Mady's anxious face came into focus. I couldn't hear the words but her lips were forming, “Drink some brandy.”
The brandy roared down my guts like a welcome fire. I whispered, “I thought... you... you'd be crocked...”
She said, “Aw, Matt, I can control that. I waited for a while... then called your friend... Max...”
At least I thought she said that. I also wondered if I was dead and this was all a dream. I motioned for her to bend closer and when I tried to talk she put her fingers on my mouth. I wrenched my head away, worked my lips, asked... “You... tell him.... about... letter?”
She shook her head.
I kissed her fingers and she gave me more brandy and I rested for a moment, told her, “Get Max.” The brandy was doing great.
She faded from view and the room was very bright, then it went black. In the darkness I could hear Max saying, “Matt? Matt?”
I opened my eyes, and after a while I made out Max's ugly face, only at the moment he looked like Mr. America to me. I said, “There's a VA doctor... Kent... lives in the building.... Get him.”
“Don't worry. Got an ambulance coming...”
“Get... him.”
Talking was a great tiring effort. I dimly heard Max bark an order at a cop and Mady came into view again, her face wet with tears, her big lips working. She put her hands under the blankets, rubbed my cold body. I could just about feel them. I let myself go into the pillow, seemed to drift out of the room like a boat slipping its mooring. I came to hearing Doc Kent saying, “Far as I can tell, he's all right. Lucky he's so strong. I've given him penicillin. Keep him covered and let him sleep. Mustn't be moved.”
I felt much stronger, talking was easier. I said, “Hello, Doc. He was trying to get the bugs working again. Did he?” I could even hear my own words.
“Forget about the bugs. You've had a terrific beating, maybe a slight concussion, and a thorough chill. Rest for a few days and then we'll know for sure. But I feel certain the worst you'll have is a few stitches in your hard head.”
“Still the same old pep-throwing Doc.”
Max asked, “Can I talk to him, Dr. Kent?”
“Not too long.”