Jet

by Russell Blake

  ~ ~ ~

  “Doctor Stein? You have a call on line one.” Rani’s secretary always used a modulated voice, conveying tranquility and calm.

  Rani frowned and put down his pen, pushing the small pile of examination notes and patient files to the side. He punched the intercom button.

  “I’m kind of busy right now. Who is it?”

  “She said to tell you Golda was on the phone.”

  Golda was his late mother’s name.

  Rani picked up the handset and depressed the blinking line. “Yes?”

  “Gabe’s. Five minutes,” Jet said.

  Gabe’s was a delicatessen two blocks away.

  Rani began sweating. He hated deadlines of any kind. Had since he was a child. He always felt like someone was imposing their will on him, controlling him, when he had a deadline, and it rankled.

  Rani had spent two years in therapy exploring this and other issues, with no clearly defined resolution. He still hated them, still got anxious, and had added self-loathing to the mix now that he fully apprehended how silly hating deadlines was – another reflection of a fatal flaw in his character to accompany his inability to control his appetite. He abandoned the comfort of his desk and moved his considerable bulk through his office door to the reception area.

  “I’m stepping out for a soda. You want anything?” he asked his pert young secretary.

  “Thank you, Doctor. No, I’m fine. Remember you have Mister Solberg in fifteen minutes.”

  “How could I forget Artie? I’ll be right back. Like lightning. Like Ali.” He threw a few air punches that looked more like a bear swatting at a beehive than the famous boxer.

  She returned her gaze to the computer screen without comment.

  Rani reached his car and unlocked it, taking care to fasten his seatbelt before backing out of his reserved stall. After pulling out of the parking lot, he coasted to a stop at a light one block away and tried some of the self-talk his therapist had recommended. There is nothing to be anxious about. You have all the time in the world. This is your movie, and everyone else is just a spectator.

  The light changed, and he rolled forward, careful with the gas. Within another minute, he was at Gabe’s.

  He waited outside, wondering what was expected of him, and then decided that he might as well get a snack. A guy had to eat. No point in letting his energy wane.

  Inside, he was browsing the chip selection when Jet sidled up beside him.

  “Rani. What have you got for me?”

  “He’s not in great shape, but he wants to see you. Here’s the address. It’s a cottage in one of the suburbs. Been in my family for years. He said to knock on the door the same way you used to.” He slipped a small piece of folded paper to her in what he imagined was sterling spycraft, eyes roving around the empty deli as he did so.

  She wordlessly took the paper and unfolded it.

  “Got directions? How do I get there from here?” Jet asked as she read the note.

  So much for Rani’s vision of how a clandestine rendezvous would work.

  “Head to the main boulevard three blocks north and make a left toward the sea, go down until you hit a big supermarket on the right, make a right at the next street. It’s three blocks down. Can’t miss it.” Rani paused, studying her face. “It was nice meeting you. I wish it was under better circumstances.” He tried a smile.

  “How badly hurt is he?”

  “Gut shot. I had to do some fast and complicated surgery, but he should recover, with a little luck. All I had was local anesthetic in the office. The pain must have been incredible…”

  “He’s always struck me as brave about things like that.”

  “Not always. If he cut himself shaving when we roomed together he’d cry like a newborn.” Rani hesitated. “That was a while ago, I guess.”

  “You’re a true friend. Now do yourself a favor, Rani. Forget you ever met me. Don’t tell anyone about me, or about David. Your life depends on you knowing nothing. Whoever shot David is still out there. You don’t want any part of this.”

  And then she was gone, leaving only a lingering fragrance of clean, sweet skin.