Free Dark Side of the Street - Simon Vaughn 01 (v5) by Jack Higgins Page A

for the doctor. How do you feel?"
    "Hungry as hell," Youngblood said. "Any chance of a meal?"
    "We'll see what he says."
    A moment later there was a knock at the door and he opened it to admit the Nigerian. He crossed to Youngblood's bed, sat down and made a quick examination. "Good--very good. You feel better for your sleep."
    "What he really needs is something to eat," Chavasse said. "And so do I. We're both starving."
    The Nigerian smiled. "I'll see what I can do, but you must get back into bed." He turned to the prison officer. "I'll tell the kitchen to send something up." Mr. Carter. I'm going off duty now, but my colleague, Dr. Mackenzie, will be taking over. If you need anything, ring through to night sister, but in any case, he'll be looking in later on."
    Carter locked the door behind him and returned to the bed. He was a middle-aged, rather kindly man who was thought by most of his colleagues to be too soft.
    "Anything I can do for you?"
    "I could manage a visit to the washroom," Youngblood said. "I never could stand these damned bedpans. Maybe you and Drummond could give me a hand."
    They took him between them, Chavasse on the left so that he could use his good arm. He walked very slowly like an old man and they had to support almost his whole weight. Chavasse was sure he was bluffing, yet on the way back there was sweat on his forehead and when they got him on to the bed again, he seemed exhausted. On the other hand, that might be the after-effects of the drug ...?
    There was a knock on the door and when Carter opened it, a male nurse came in pushing a trolley. He served them with scrambled eggs, toast and tea, and went out again.
    Chavasse took his time over the meal, watching Youngblood intently. He showed little desire for conversation and ate slowly, apparently still weak and yet there was a slight air of tension about him and he kept glancing at the electric clock on the wall.
    When they had both finished, Carter took the trays and put them back on the trolley which the nurse had left by the door.
    "What about a smoke, Mr. Carter?" Youngblood said.
    Carter looked dubious. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea."
    "Just one--that's hardly likely to kill us."
    "I suppose not."
    He gave them a cigarette each and a light and went back to his magazine. It was just five minutes to nine and to Chavasse the atmosphere seemed to crackle with electricity. Youngblood lay back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling, the cigarette held loosely between the fingers of his left hand--a hand that shook slightly each time he raised it to his mouth, betraying his inner tension.
    As the second hand swept round towards nine he crushed his cigarette into the ashtray on the bedside locker and looked across at Chavasse.
    "I'd like to say thanks while I still have the chance for what you did up there in the machine shop. First Brady and then the other thing."
    "That's okay."
    "I wish there was something I could do for you--I don't like being in debt to anyone--but there isn't. Whatever happens, I want you to get that straight."
    "What in the hell are you talking about?"
    Before Youngblood could reply, there was a knock on the door. Carter opened it on the chain and Chavasse heard a pleasant cultured voice, "Dr. Mackenzie--just making my rounds."
    The man who stepped into the room wore the conventional white coat of the staff doctor and a stethoscope dangled from one pocket like a badge of office. He had a pale, aristocratic face and a fixed smile.
    To the average person he might have seemed a slightly effeminate rather upper-class young man, but not to Chavasse who knew a real pro when he saw one.
    "How are things then?" he said pleasantly and as Carter turned to lock the door, took a .38 automatic from one pocket and delivered a stunning blow to the base of the prison officer's skull.
    Carter groaned and fell heavily to the floor. There was a cry of anger and the second prison officer, who had been sleeping on one of the spare