by Dan Taylor
“The pleasure’s all mine.”
I go to say something, but Regan hangs up.
54.
IT’S HER FUNERAL.
Anyway, I’ve got a flight to catch.
I down the rest of the stout and go to my gate.
I sit next to what turns out to be a cool, older lady, and I tell her about this Omar-Regan situation during the flight, and she laughs her ass off. But I can’t help feel sorry for Regan. Poor, desperate Regan. The price of love this time might be jail time.
After I collect my bags, I notice I’m being tailed by a lady wearing oversized 70s sunglasses, a floral-patterned head scarf, and beige trench coat.
I take a trip ‘round Arrivals, going into shops and restaurants, and find that she follows me to each place. I wait till we’re in a busy Pizza Hut before I confront her.
I grab her by the elbow, say, “It’s rude to follow someone ‘round like that.”
She lifts up her glasses, reveals that she’s…
“Gerry. What are you doing here?”
“Shh! don’t say my name.”
“What’s this all about?”
“Just follow me to the salad bar.”
I do, and we get a token amount of salad, pay at the till, and then sit at a booth between two warring families.
I say, “Why didn’t you just phone? And why are you following me around, and why are you dressed like Jane Fonda?”
“The Agency’s been compromised.”
“By who? Al Jazeera?”
“That’s an Arabic news satellite TV channel.”
“Al-Qaeda, then?”
“It’s highly unlikely that a global militant Islamist organization would take interest in a private investigation firm.”
“Who, then?”
“Truth is, we don’t know.”
“Take a guess.”
“Could be a number of possibilities. We could’ve unknowingly interfered in the life of a high-powered celebrity with ties to The Mob. Could be that we’ve unwittingly poked our noses into the business of anyone of the secret governmental agencies. Or it could be that some rich wife is pissed at us for having found out she was banging the pool boy. We don’t know.”
“I’d go with the first option.”
Gerry leans forward, asks, “Why’s that?”
“Sounds the coolest.” I give her a wide smile to show her I’m joking.
“Let’s get serious, Jake.”
“I am.”
She looks at me seriously. “It could be you next.”
“What do you mean by next?”
“Cole Baxter is missing in action, abducted.”
“Shit! Who’s Cole Baxter?”
“Another detective on our books.”
“Never heard of him. How do you know he hasn’t just decided to go to Disney World for a long weekend?”
“He would’ve brought his family, for one.”
“And the other.”
“They FedExed us a portion of his foreskin. At least we think it’s his. We’re still waiting on the DNA results. They’re going to come up positive, anyway, as they’ve—”
“Why didn’t they just send a toe or his little finger? Better still, a toenail clipping.”
“We believe it could be a message.”
“What, is there something written on it?”
“Again, be serious, Jake.”
“What have I got to worry about? I’ve been circumcised.”
“Stop being flippant. This is serious.”
“You’re going to feel really silly when it turns out some hooker in Reno didn’t like it when Cole Baxter decided not to pay, got angry, had her pimp mutilate him.”
Gerry looks around before saying, “Before you cut me off, I was going to say that Cole’s abductors have been in contact.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“What did they sound like? No, wait, don’t tell me. I bet any money they were German…no, Russian.”
“They were using one of those voice modulators. But this one was strange. Sounded like it’d been dropped in water.”
55.
“THAT’S WHAT I said.”
“Said what?”
“Well, I thought it.”
“What are you talking about, Jake? You weren’t there.”
“When they phoned me.”
Gerry leans forward. “They’ve been in contact with you? When?”
“The afternoon before we met at Basil Bush.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“One, I didn’t know about Cole Baxter’s foreskin. And two, I thought it was just a prank call.”
“Pretty elaborate prank call, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’ve had more elaborate.”
“Wait, what…never mind. What did they say?”
“They said they had my wife and kid.”
“And what did you say back?”
“I told them I don’t have a kid. And that they’re welcome to my wife.”
“No wonder you’re getting divorced.”
“No need to be flippant.”
“I’d say sorry if I weren’t such a bitch.”
“Apology accepted.”
Gerry pauses, thinks. “I need you to pack up some things. We’re gathering the team in an underground bunker Andre is renting from the military.”
“That sounds a bit extreme. Can’t I just latch my door at night?”
“They said they’re going to take the glans of Cole’s penis next if we don’t meet their demands.”
“Do I need to bring a toothbrush?”
“Yes.”
“What are their demands?”
“We don’t know yet. Sounded like the battery on the voice modulator might have died before they had chance to say them. They hung up shortly after the voice became unintelligible, like the singer of Slipknot with strep throat.”
I realize something. “So that’s why you demanded I go to Rodeo. And why you haven’t been answering my calls.”
“That’s right. We weren’t sure that this was serious until the foreskin arrived, by then we had you in Rodeo, presumably safe until I could intercept you on your way home. We didn’t phone you because we think that’s how they found Cole.”
“It warms my heart that you thought about me.”
“Don’t buy an engagement ring just yet. It was Andre’s idea. You’re not insured for kidnapping.”
“Now I’m not feeling so warm.” I think of something. “Does the underground bunker have central heating?”
“What does that matter?”
“I need to know if I should pack my onesie and fur-lined slippers.”
“To my knowledge, it has under-floor heating. Top of the range. But bring the onesie. You can put it on from time to time and lift everyone’s spirits.”
“Funny. What are the sleeping arrangements? Dibs on the bed next to yours.”
“We’ll all have separate rooms.”
“Shame.”
“And I’ll be sleeping with a taser under my pillow.”
“Kinky.”
“Not where I’ll be aiming it if you come a knockin’.”
“Ouch.”
“Anyway, we need to make tracks. I’ll have a car pick you up at eight.”
“How long do you think it takes me to pack?”
“I extrapolated the answer from that question about the onesie and fur-lined slippers.”
“Fair enough.”
“I’m just…how would you say? Fucking with you. The bunker isn’t ready until nine.”
“What are they doing, a spot of spring cleaning?”
“They need to change the bed sheets and fix a leaky faucet.”
“At eight, then.”
“At eight. Take the battery out of your phone. Do you have a disguise to wear while you go home?”
I don’t, but I notice a shop from which I’ll be able to buy one. “I know just the thing.”
56.
I’m disguised as a senior citizen.
I walk with a pronounced stoop outside, swear in a mumbled voice at anyone who tries to help me, then take a cab back to the condo.
It’s only one o’clock, so I’ve got time to kill. It’s probably unsafe to go out to Dr. Hannah Rogers’s office, so I put the battery back in my phone and ask her if she does home visits. It’s highly unusual for shrinks to visit patients’ homes, she says, but she’ll make an exception for me.
While I wait for her, I start packing my bag. I have no idea how long we’re going to be in the bunker. Or what we’ll we be doing. So I prioritize. In the main compartment of my suitcase, I pack a range of strong Belgian beers, wrapping each one in its own sock so that they don’t smash. Next up are condoms.
To watch while I drink, I pack my Clint Eastwood box set.
Then I’m on to clothes. I don’t pack the onesie, but do a range of comfortable yet smart clothing. I own a cashmere blend sweater that I can see myself wearing a lot, but I don’t find it in my wardrobe, nor is it in the pile of washing piled up next to my laundry basket. So I look under the bed.
And feel only half shocked at what I see.
57.
UNDER THERE IS Jane’s handbag.
Okay, half shocked is an exaggeration. I’m not shocked at all. It’s the oldest trick in the book.
I take out my phone and call Jane, “Hi, Jane. I found it.”
“Get lost, creep.”
“What’s wrong?”
“You know what’s wrong.”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I did.”
“Are you really that stupid?”
“I don’t know what it is you think I should know, so I can’t answer that question.”
She makes a weird noise, like she’s trying to regurgitate a pinecone. “You’re a special one, Jake.”
“Thanks.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“Look, I’m not a mind reader.”
She sighs. “We go on a great first date, we have amazing sex—”
“Really?”
“Don’t give yourself a high-five just yet. Let me finish. We have amazing sex, then you don’t call or write all weekend.”
“Write?”
“You know what I mean, text.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“With another woman?”
“Yes, but strictly professional.”
I think of Megan straddling me in the motel room on our last night together, me licking sparkling wine off her nipples, and wince.
“Is she someone I should be worried about?”
“You shouldn’t be worried about any of the other women in my life.”
“Good.”
“I didn’t mean like that. Sure, we had a great first date, but we didn’t exactly get married the other night.”
“I didn’t think that. Fuck you!”
“Calm down. What I mean is, I thought you wanted to take things slow. Whenever I rushed things with girls when I was in my early twenties, they ran a mile, because I committed too early. I didn’t want you to run a mile, is all. So I played it cool.”
She’s silent a moment. “Aw, Jake. You shouldn’t worry about that with me.”
Clearly.
I say, “And when the time is right, maybe after six or seven dates, we can talk about exclusivity.”
“Great choice of word, you creep! The other night was like When Harry Met Sally, and now you want to make out it was like a one-night stand.”
“Harry and Sally hated each other when they first met.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Listen, it was a special night, but we don’t know a great deal about each other. You might find out, for example, that I’m an arrogant narcissist who’s lacking in sympathy and empathy. And if we’d made this thing into something more than it is when that happened, it would end up being a messy break. And you don’t want that.”
She’s silent. “You’re right. But I’m still pissed that you think we should wait to make things exclusive. This isn’t New York. How about we take it steady with the dating, find out about each other, warts and all, but don’t decide we’re going to fuck everything that walks during the process.”
“I can commit to that.”
“Don’t say commit; I might run a mile.”
“Okay, deal.”
“So when’s date number two?”
“It can be at five today, if you’d like.”
“Why so early?”
“I’m leaving at eight, spending some time in a secret underground bunker.”
Thinking I’m joking, she laughs.
“You’re so funny.”
“Am I?”
“Shut up. You know you are.”
“Okay, I kind of am.”
We’re a silent a second. “Are you an arrogant narcissist who cares little about anyone else?”
“Not nearly as much as my soon-to-be ex-wife would have you believe.”
“Good.”
“Be at my place at five.”
“Wait, so just to be clear, we’re not sleeping with other people while we date?”
“Yep.”
“Damn, there’s a guy in my yoga class who I wish would walk into the wrong shower block while I’m showering.”
“Bitch.”
“Beady eyes.”
It’s started already.
She says, “Should I come over earlier, and we can make an afternoon of it? Give us more time to get to know one another.”
“I can’t. I’ve got an appointment with my shrink.”
“Oh.”
“So I’ll see you at five, at my place. You can find out what an asshole I am, collect your handbag, and we can have wild sex before I go underground for a while.”
“It’s a date…my handbag. I forgot about that.”
“Of course you did.”
“See you at five.”
“It’s a date.”
58.
“BEFORE WE START today’s session, I’d just like to say a few things, Jake,” Dr. Hannah Rogers says.
“Shoot.”
“First, I just want to apologize for my lapse in professionalism last session. It won’t happen again.”
“Of course it won’t.”
“No, seriously, Jake, it won’t.”
“I know.”
“Second, my visiting you at home is no indication that we’re developing a personal relationship as well as a professional one.”
“Are you doing that thing people do? When they think people are thinking the thoughts that they’re actually thinking?”
“Projecting?”
“Yeah.”
“No, I’m not.”
“So why did you agree to come to my home for today’s session?”
“Think of me as a triage nurse.”
“So you think I’m a lost cause?”
“Quite the opposite. I think you’re one of my top priorities.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“Shall we begin?”
“I thought we had.”
Dr. Hannah Rogers sits down, opens her notebook. I’m already in a reclined, lengthways position on the sofa, which affords me a nice view of her stocking-covered knees and the dark triangle formed between her skirt and her crossed legs. She raises an eyebrow when she senses me looking.
She says, “Tell me about your weekend, Jake.”
“Not much to tell.”
“Tell me about it anyway.”
“What’s the point?”
“Even the most insignificant detail can act as a window to someone’s psyche.”
“You sound like Werner Herzog afte
r taking magic mushrooms.”
She doesn’t answer, just waits patiently.
“I did something that made me feel good this weekend. I think I might be going soft.”
“What do you mean by going soft?”
“Developing emotions that are alien to me.”
“Only complete sociopaths don’t experience the whole range of human emotions. You always had them, but it’s only now you acknowledge them.”
“Is this a good thing?”
“You’re late to the party, but at least you’ve arrived. Some never do.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Think of it as a C minus.”
“Ouch.”
“With a little help you can become a B plus, or even an A minus.”
“Does that require that I cry at weddings?”
“Not if you don’t want to. Tell me about the good thing you did.”
“I fixed someone’s relationship with their parents.”
“Is this important to you?”
“I didn’t think it was.”
“But now you do?”
“Something strange happened. I started caring for the girl I was helping.”
She pauses, writes something down. I sit up, try to look, but she tips the notepad towards her, hiding the text from me. I lean back.
Then she says, “And you see this as a problem?”
“It is when you’ve committed to life as a bachelor.”
“Did you have sex with her?”
“Many times.”
“And afterwards, did you run off to the bathroom, clean yourself up, or did you stay in the bed and chat?”
I sit up, “Is this a bad thing?”
“The cleaning yourself? No.”
“Not that, the staying and chatting?”
“I think it’s progress.”
“Oh, boy. That’s what I thought.”
Dr. Hannah Rogers pauses, then says, “Let’s change topic.”
“To what?”
“You choose.”
“Let me see…let’s talk about you.”
“I’m irrelevant to your life.”
“I beg to differ. You made yourself very relevant during out first session.”
“That was a lapse in professionalism.”
“But here you sit…”
“Only because I go above and beyond for patients who need a lot of work.”
“A lot of work? Here’s a hypothetical. If I were a spinal-injury patient, do you see me ever walking?”
