Samaritan

Chapter 13 - Harrison of the Secret Service

                 “Actually the name is O’Hara but I changed it when I joined the President’s staff”, the ruddy faced man said. He paused and relit his pipe.

                 Carroll and Pethswitherick sat side by side across the table from Percy and the agent in the dining room of the Chatham. Percy’s hand and arm were bandaged but she seemed in no pain.

                 “Have they found Mr. Sharp?”, she asked

                 Carroll shifted uncomfortably “Percy, I am really sorry I left him on his own. He seemed to come to and was sitting up in Houdini’s dressing room assuring me that he would be alright. What is the matter with him?’

                 Percy said “I’m pretty certain it has to do with the war. I don’t know if it was because he drank or because he was wounded or gassed. He doesn’t even seem clear on it. He told me he was diagnosed with nephritis and with cirrhosis of the liver. I think he was sent home to die.”       

                 Harrison sucked in his breathe and said “I had an uncle that died of cirrhosis but it was definitely the gin that got him. Not a pleasant thing. Poor bugger. We must try to find him because he will need help.”

                 “Things are a fine mess”, said George morosely “I lost the Goatee Man and Sharp is missing”

                 “Don’t worry George” said Carroll “we will find him.”

                 The tall buildings in Lower Manhattan seemed to soar upwards on either side like a very deep trench. Sharp’s breath was shallow and quick and his eyes darted back and forth and then to the top of the trench. Sweat poured off him and his aching sides and back caused him to halt and lean against the building. Passersby glanced at him and then stepped around with a frown. Sharp continued his lurching walk until he fell, the trench swirling about his head and he once again was smothered by the explosion.

                  “Mr. Sharp, Mr. Sharp” that voice sounded a little familiar. His eyes opened and he started to try to get up, but a gentle hand pushed him back to the pavement. “You just lie still.”

                 He struggled, but the German held him down and quietly said “I will see you right, Mr. Sharp. Just relax.” Unable to do anything else, Sharp lay back. Spitzbart had taken his coat off and it now provided a pillow for Sharp’s head. After a moment or two, Spitzbart asked “Do you have medication?” Sharp fumbled at the inside pocket of his coat and Spitzbart reaching in, found the little box of pills. He placed one under Sharp’s tongue.

                 “What do you intend?” Sharp asked

                 “You need help, Mr. Sharp”

                 “Why are you ….” Sharp groaned.

                 “Never mind that now”, and going to the pavement edge the German gestured for a cab. Helping the trembling Canadian in, Spitzbart gave an address and they drew away. Sharp remembered little as he slipped in and out of consciousness. Spitzbart kept reassuring him that everything would be alright until they drew up in front of a brownstone in a line of very similar homes. Paying the cabbie, the German helped Sharp up the steps and into the row house.

                 “Where are we?” mumbled Sharp

                 “A friend’s place” said Spitzbart

                 “I must let my people know where I am” Sharp said

                 “That will be later. Now you rest”. The German lay Sharp down on a bed in a back room. He put a coverlet over the sweating man and left the room. The dark again oozed into Sharp’s mind.