“Thanks for the vote of confidence, sweetie, but I don’t need an hour.”
He locked the door out of habit, and then dropped his clothes in a heap on the carpet. As he approached his wife, she spread her arms and they embraced. For the first time in months, Matt felt the invisible barrier separating them disappear. He never doubted his love for this woman, but time and events had taken their toll on the best part of their marriage, its intimacy. He missed it, missed her, missed the security and comfort of sharing his life with this incredible woman, but thank God, here it was again. While they made love, and amid the passion, Matt’s mind luxuriated in the stillness of that moment, the moment when he finally accepted that all was well with the world.
Tino Ruiz worked late again. He’d closed the doors of Horizon Drugs and was cleaning up and preparing supplies for the next day. Suddenly, he heard a knock on the front door and saw a small middle-age man waving.
“We’re closed. We’ll be open tomorrow morning at eight.”
Tino turned back to his work when the man knocked again. He ignored it, but the tapping continued until an annoyed Tino shouted, “We’re closed.”
The man mouthed something Tino could not understand, tapped again, and gave the come here gesture. Tino approached the door and said again, in a loud voice, “We’re closed. Don’t you understand?”
The man pulled out his wallet and displayed a gold badge and a laminated card. Tino knew at once that the badge wasn’t legit; he’d seen too many real ones. When he came close enough, the badge read, Emeryville Auxiliary Police, and the card identified the man as private investigator Reggie Brand.
Tino cracked the door open. “We’re closed. Come back tomorrow and you can talk with Mr. Fischer or Mr. Shands.”
“It’s you I want to talk with, Tino. Let me in, please.”
“I’m not supposed to let anyone in after hours.”
“It’s okay,” said Reggie, “I work for Mrs. Fischer.” He pulled an envelope from his threadbare jacket’s pocket and removed a one-page document. “This authorizes me to enter the premises.”
Tino read the single paragraph signed Ruth C. Fischer, and then he unlocked the door and let Reggie enter. He studied the man. “What’s this all about?”
“I’m sure you know that Mr. and Mrs. Fischer are getting a divorce. She’s concerned that something peculiar is happening at Horizon Drugs. How long have you worked here, Mr. Ruiz?”
“I’ve been here about a year and a half.”
“Do you enjoy working here?”
This is the soft sell approach, Tino thought. He recognized a manipulation when he saw one. He sneered. “Tell me what you want, Reggie, or get out.”
“Take it easy, Tino. I know all about you. It would be smart for us to be on the same side.”
“Don’t bullshit me, man. I’ve been bullshitted by the best, and you’re not even close.”
Reggie smiled. “You’re a smart kid. Don’t be stupid now. You have a lot going for you. Don’t screw it up. You’re small potatoes. The last thing you want is to be in the middle of a nasty divorce.”
“I still don’t know what you want, Reggie,” Tino said using the investigator’s first name again on purpose.
“I don’t want to make trouble for you, kid, but if you force me, I will. I have a few simple questions, and then I’m out of here.”
Tino folded his arms across his chest. “I’m waiting.”
“Mrs. Fischer is a part owner of Horizon Drugs and she thinks that something’s wrong in the operation here. They’re making big bucks from this business, and although Mrs. Fischer isn’t allergic to money, she’s worried. Too much money is coming in. She wants to know why.”
That’s what this whole thing is about, Tino thought. Maybe that explains a lot about what Brian’s been doing. Whatever it is, you have to give the guy credit.
“I can’t help you, Reggie. I know they were having big cash flow problems for months, but that’s all behind them.”
“If you know something, Tino, and you’re keeping it to yourself, Henry and Brian can, and probably will, implicate you in whatever they’re doing. I don’t think they’re paying you enough money to take the rap for their activities.”
He’s right about that. The secrecy, the money, the drug labels…
“Here’s my card, Tino,” Reggie said handing him his engraved business card. “Think it over. Mrs. Fischer could be the best thing that ever happened to you, son. You may need her on your side. I’ll be in touch.”
“Don’t waste your time,” Tino said, showing Reggie out the door while his mind whirled with an old familiar feeling, dread. He hadn’t felt this way since his gang days. He didn’t like it then. He hated it now.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
I was between afternoon patients when Jack Byrnes had me on the phone. “I want you in for a checkup, Arnie.”
“What’s going on, Jack?”
“We’ll discuss it when I see you.”
“I’m pretty busy. I’ll call you when I can get away.”
“Right. Don’t put me off, Arnie. What time are you finished this afternoon?”
“I may not be done until six or maybe…”
“I’ll wait for you in my office. See you after six.”
Before I could respond, the line went dead.
I wanted to protest, to object, but in truth, I felt the pressure to see someone…to talk about what was happening to me. I trusted Jack, but I feared putting myself in anyone’s hands. Dependency and the loss of control was true role reversal. I’d become my most difficult patient.
My office was as busy as usual.
Beverly stuck her head into my office. “Cathleen London is next. She’s in your consultation room.”
Cathleen was the wife of Marcus London, a Brier Hospital general surgeon. She’d been my patient for about eight years. She was healthy, so her visits were for routine checkups or minor illnesses. Cathleen was a beautiful woman, a runner up to Miss California, twelve years ago. Tall and blonde, with a model’s figure, she still turned heads everywhere she went. She wore a knee-length pleated skirt and a purple silk blouse.
People who didn’t know Cathy stereotyped her as aloof, self-centered, and unapproachable. In reality, she was the polar opposite. She behaved as if she were unaware of her physical beauty and its effects on others. She was friendly, outgoing, generous, and had an outstanding sense of humor. Like most people who knew her, I enjoyed her as a patient and as a friend.
When I opened the door, it hit me. A subtle floral bouquet on first whiff, but below, a warm, erotic essence swirled in the atmosphere. My mind flew to yesterday morning when Lois embraced me from behind, an easy seduction. I felt my erection, and was thankful that I chose to wear my long white lab coat. My reaction embarrassed me. This was inappropriate, I thought. I was angry that she did this to me. The erotic enlivening had a mind of its own and bewildered me.
“How are you, Cathy?”
When she approached to give me a hug, I nearly ran, but feet frozen, I managed to stick my ass backward thus avoiding an embarrassing collision.
“I’m fine, Arnie, and how are you?”
“I’m fine,” I hesitated. “What’s that perfume you’re wearing?”
“Oh, that’s Fiora. I bought it on a lark. It’s supposed to have human pheromones…to make me irresistible,” she laughed. “Do you like it?”
“Sure, I like it, Cathy, but I think it would be better if you saved it for Marcus.”
“Arnie,” she cried as her fair skin crimsoned. “I had no idea! I bought it because I liked its bouquet, the rest I thought was hype. I’m so sorry.”
My fever defervesced and I reddened to a hue that matched Cathy’s blush. I took a deep breath, looked at her, and smiled. We both erupted in laughter.
“Now where were we?”
She held her wrist out to me. “I have this swelling.”
Me too, I thought.
I held her hand cautiously, and the
n saw a small lump. “It’s a ganglion cyst. It’s nothing. If it gets larger or its cosmetic effect bothers you, we’ll remove it.”
“That was easy enough,” she said preparing to leave. As she approached the door, she turned, smiled seductively, and winked. “And thanks for the uplifting information, Arnie. Marcus will be forever grateful.”
Lois met me for lunch at a small Chinese restaurant two blocks from the office. We took a booth and when the waiter approached, I refused the menu. “We’ll have the usual, Szechuan prawns.”
“How was work this morning, Honey?”
“The usual, but I did have an interesting experience with Cathy London.”
“Cathy, I love her. Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, but she was wearing a perfume called Fiora that’s supposed to contain pheromones. It purports to make a person enchanting to the opposite sex. Do you know it?”
“I’ve heard the name. I know there’s lots of hype about pheromones in perfumes, but it’s a marketing ploy and a load of crap.”
“You know I love you, sweetheart, and that I’m not interested in another woman, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know, but let’s face it Arnie, you’re also human. What happened?”
“When I stepped in that room, I flashed back to yesterday morning. You remember.”
“How could I forget?”
“When I saw Cathy, I remembered our tryst, and smelled that perfume; I was a dog around a female in heat.”
Lois laughed. “You didn’t hump Cathy, did you?”
“Almost. It was a visceral reaction. I was hot, angry, felt out of control, and I lashed out at Cathy.”
“Lashed out. That’s not like you, honey.”
“I know, but this whole thing makes me think that forces we can’t begin to understand, control…no influence us while we remain oblivious to their power.”
“If I was a man, I’d have my fantasies about Cathy London, too, pheromones or not. Don’t be shocked, but I’d have a passing thought…”
“Very funny! I’d be more amused if this nose of mine wasn’t pointing me into a forest of confusion. You don’t know what’s out in the world, Lois. I’m only beginning to understand.”
“Have you heard from Jack?”
“Okay, Lois, let’s have it.”
“All right, I had lunch with Beth. People don’t know anything, but they’ve noticed that you’ve changed. Beth and Jack are our friends. Jack wants to help.”
“I hope he can. I’m seeing him tonight.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
My anxiety over the upcoming appointment with Jack Byrnes kept me on edge through the day. I wanted help. No, I needed help. Since this supersensitivity began, I’d reviewed the medical literature on olfactory disorders, but found little useful information.
What could Jack do?
What could anyone do?
I walked the two blocks to Brier Hospital. The streets were wet with a late afternoon rain. On this cool evening, the horizon was ablaze in red-tinted cumulus clouds. The rain-exaggerated aromas included roses, succulents, perennials, and California native trees. The scent of vanilla, old wine, lemon, and a thousand other unknown fragrances excited my nose and stirred vivid memories.
I made my way to Jack’s office. I raised my hand to the closed door, hesitated a second, and knocked. After thirty seconds, I felt relief, perhaps he couldn’t make it. As I turned to leave, Jack opened the door.
“Not so fast, Arnie. I was on the phone. Come on in.”
I lifted my head. “Corn Nuts…Ranch flavor. Any left?”
Jack stared at me in confusion, and then he pulled open the desk’s center drawer. “Help yourself.”
I popped a handful into my mouth, savored the medley of roasted corn, ranch dressing with a hint of soybeans and canola oil. I crunched vigorously while Jack smiled with curiosity.
“Play it anyway you like it, but I’m your friend and I’m here to help any way I can.”
“Help me with what?”
“Don’t do this, Arnie. Something’s wrong. I know it, Beth knows it, and more than anyone else, Lois and your kids know it. Nobody’s put their finger on it, but we all know that you’re not yourself.”
“How could I be myself after what I went through? We tell patients that it takes time to adjust after an illness, especially a life-threatening one.”
“What could be so bad that you’d continue to hide what’s wrong? I’m your doctor. I’m your friend. Nothing you say leaves this room. Isn’t that enough?”
“You had bacon and eggs for breakfast and a French Dip sandwich with iced tea for lunch…Earl Grey, I think.”
“How did?…You’re spying on me.”
“At breakfast?”
Jack stared at me.
“You made love to Beth early this morning. You showered last night, but not again after sex. And, by the way, how’s that itchy rear end of yours?”
Jack’s jaw dropped. “Itchy what?”
“You know, the Preparation H you used this morning.”
“What the fuck…?”
“You want to know what’s wrong with me. That’s what’s wrong with me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Jack, the pseudomonas, the Nardil and everything that I told you…they weren’t guesses. I knew those things with absolute certainty, just as I know that you’re sitting with me now.”
Jack shook his head. “Knew it?”
“How can I make you understand? It’s not only that my nose has the sensitivity of a bloodhound, I’m responding to things that are way beyond simple smell. Things in the arena of pheromones and who knows what else.”
“Arnie, that pheromone business is crap. It’s Madison Avenue marketing.”
“I don’t think so. Scientists have demonstrated the existence of small nerve cells just behind the nostrils that detect airborne molecules we call pheromones.”
“That’s in animals, Arnie. As far as I know, the studies in humans are iffy at best.”
“Maybe in the past, but the last ten years have produced ever more evidence that this system is active in humans. This may explain why women living together long enough will menstruate simultaneously, and why your beard grows faster in the presence of women.”
“It’s one thing to have a world class nose, and another to blame what’s happening to you on a system that may or may not exist.”
“Listen, Jack. Each day, I swim in a sea of aromas and chemicals I never experienced before. You…nobody has any idea. My moods, depressive or manic, my sensuality, and my uncharacteristic aggressiveness, says that I’m responding to the unseen, submitting to the influence a sixth sense.”
“Sixth sense?” He shook his head. “When did it start?”
“Gradually in the weeks after I came out of the coma.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know what happened, Jack. At first, I thought that my heightened perceptive abilities were the euphoria of surviving a near death experience, but soon I knew that this supersensitivity was limited to my nose. It started with increased olfactory acuity. I could detect the slightest of aromas. Then my new talent took off and I became inundated with the molecular milieu of our world.”
“That sounds terrific.”
“Yes, much of it is pleasant, more than pleasant…use your imagination, food, flowers, women, you name it. Others are unpleasant or disgusting and many more are unfamiliar. Each familiar scent evokes specific memories and the overall quantity of aromas and memories often leave me temporarily unable to respond. It’s like having ten people yelling at you at once. That’s what people are noticing.”
I felt myself turn red with anger and frustration.
“I’m not inattentive. I’m not confused. I’m not disoriented, and yes, I’m not myself. How could I be when I’m living inside an olfactory maelstrom?”
Jack stared at me for a thoughtful moment. “Arnie, I can see the potential for problems, but this is fantasti
c. Imagine what it can do for you professionally. We know about certain diseases and the odors they produce like diabetes, liver disease and certain metabolic disorders that produce substances that appear in the urine and have a distinctive aroma. We’re only beginning to learn about smell and disease.”
“I’ve spent the last month reading the literature and searching the Internet. I think I’ve seen it all; melanoma and prostate cancer diagnosed by trained dogs sniffing the urine; schizophrenia diagnosed by trained rats, and many others. I can’t find a thing about me, Jack. I’m a reportable case, a freak of nature, and that’s not half of it.”
“It can’t all be bad. The whole world has amazing smells that you can experience in ways that I can’t possibly understand.”
“You’re right, of course, but enjoying those fragrances has its limits. I remind myself of Lucille Ball on the assembly line at the chocolate factory, candies streaming by on the conveyer belt. She enjoys the first few pieces, but the rest are overwhelming. I get that, but there’s something more difficult to take.”
“What is it, Arnie?”
“You know how when you smell something familiar, it cues memory?”
“Yes.”
“Scientists have ample evidence of connections between the brain’s olfactory lobes that detect and interpret smell and those parts of the brain where we store memory. I’m living proof of that, Jack. Every familiar aroma elicits one or more associated memories, some pleasant, some disturbing.”
“I don’t know what to say, Arnie. You know more about this than I, but you need somebody to help you with this thing, to gather resources, to work our way through it, and to provide objectivity. I can do that for you, Buddy.”
“Thanks, Jack, but please, I don’t want anyone to know about this.” I stood, pacing back and forth across the room, shaking my head. “You need to understand that people may be more than a little uncomfortable in dealing with me, knowing that I have this ability. Remember how you felt when I revealed the intimate details of your life just now. I know you can’t keep it from Beth, but that’s it, nobody else is to know.”
The Sixth Sense (Brier Hospital Series Book 3) Page 17
