Five Uneasy Pieces Page 4

  “You and I would both be out of a job.”

  “Then we’d actually have to work for a living.” Judge Gardena bared his big teeth and laughed. He laughed for what seemed to Dawson like a full minute. And Dawson forced himself to smile in response.

  A WOMAN WHO THINKS

  “I’m ... so upset, Dr. Fein,” Lila said, alternately rubbing and clasping her long-fingered hands as she stared out the window. Her mouth crumpled and tears flowed down her cheeks. “I don’t know where to start.” Her last words came out as a sob.

  Dr. Morris Fein thought about how to respond to this, keeping his expression bland, as he did with all patients no matter what crazy things they might say. Thinking is what Dr. Morris Fein did best. Thinking about the nutty things distraught patients said and formulating a well-reasoned response.

  It had taken most of their hour to get to the heart of Lila’s problem. She’d danced around the issue, talked about her frustrations at work, her lousy love life, her financial problems. After this extensive prelude, it seemed like she’d finally come to the reason for her visit.

  “Why don’t you start with whatever you’re most comfortable telling me,” Dr. Fein said. Lila needed to be handled with care, like a carton of fine china.

  Continuing to avoid his gaze, Lila raised a fist to her mouth and bit it. Finally she said, “I … can’t. I’ve done something very stupid. And I think I’m in trouble.”

  Dr. Fein cocked his head to one side, as if examining a specimen from a different angle. He kept his expression impassive but spoke in a warm tone. “I’m here to help. Perhaps you could tell me more about this thing you’ve done.”

  “I’ve been—” She broke off the thought in mid-sentence and, bowing her head slightly, looked up at Dr. Fein with wary, deep-blue eyes.

  “Everything I say is confidential, right?” she said in a husky voice.

  Dr. Fein pursed his lips. “For the most part, yes.”

  “When you say that ... does that mean if I’m involved in something criminal, you have to report it?”

  Dr. Fein felt unease stirring within him. He hated questions like that.

  “That depends.” He leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees. “If we’re talking about something that’s already happened, no. Or something involving, say, minor property crimes like shoplifting. But something more serious like murder or child abuse ...” His voice faltered, despite his best efforts to the contrary. He needed to sound sure so patients would have confidence in him, trust him. “If a patient told me she intended to hurt someone, I’d be legally required to report it. You can understand why ...” Again his voice trailed off, but he searched out eye contact with her as he asked, “Are you involved in such a crime?”

  She shook her head with such force, he thought he saw tears fly from her cheeks. “No, no,” she said. “Nothing like that. I just ... got involved with the wrong people. And now I’m afraid they’re coming after me.”

  “Please,” he said, his unease quelled but not eradicated. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

  “They wanted me to deliver something,” she said, staring before her as if a spider too tiny to see were hanging a few inches from her face. “It was strange because they told me not to tell anyone. But they were willing to pay me a lot of money to do it, plus the costs of the trip and everything. I was supposed to take a locked suitcase to this place near the Canadian border.” Her eyes finally turned his way, refocused on Dr. Fein. “I think it may have been drugs. Maybe something worse. They ... they wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Who is ‘they’?”

  “Two men. They never mentioned their names.” Lila shook her head and shrugged. “They said they got my name from Mickey. That should have tipped me off the whole thing was bad news.”

  Her ex-boyfriend. Dr. Fein had jotted the name in his notes. He sighed, thinking about how often people were in denial and didn’t see the obvious error of their ways until it was too late.

  “And you agreed to do this?”

  Lila buried her face, pink from crying, in her hands. Her dark hair fell over her cheeks, brushing her shoulders. When she looked up, her desperate expression had transformed to self-derision. “Stupid, wasn’t it? I never thought I’d be dumb enough to get involved in something like this. But when they told me how much they’d pay me ... I guess I just didn’t think. I needed the money so much.”

  Dr. Fein nodded and glanced surreptitiously at the wall clock hanging behind Lila. Ten more minutes. He knew this wouldn’t be solved in the time they had left but wanted to bring things to enough closure to satisfy Lila until the following week.

  “Anyway,” Lila said, giving her runny nose a backhanded sweep. “I did what they asked. I put the suitcase in this locker at a bus station and mailed the key to a PO box. But I’m scared now. I think these people are watching me.”

  “Why?”

  “How the hell should I know?” Lila’s eyes reminded him of a wild animal stuck in a trap. “Maybe they think I’m going to tell someone!”

  “No,” Dr. Fein said, keeping his voice low and even. “I meant, what evidence do you have that someone’s watching you?”

  “Evidence?” Lila sounded as if she’d never heard the word before. “I’ve been followed. The last three days. They’ve followed me home from work.” She paused and sniffled before adding, “Then they wait outside my house for hours. Like they’re watching me. I’m afraid to go anywhere when I see them out there.”

  Dr. Fein nodded. “Are you sure?”

  “Am I sure?” Lila’s lips curled and he received the kind of look she’d have given a reeking pile of dog doo. “You don’t believe me, do you? You think I’m crazy. Well, I’m not crazy, Dr. Fein. I’m not!”

  She picked up her purse and pulled out her cell phone. “You want evidence, fine,” she muttered. “Here!” Hitting a few buttons, she held up the phone to show him a photo. Dr. Fein scooted forward in his chair and reached out to draw the phone closer. He saw a black Escalade with a sparkling chrome grill parked along a leafy, residential curb.

  “This is right outside my house,” Lila said. The photo noted the date and time. Three days ago at 5:47 P.M. Lila clicked a button on the side to show him yet another photo of the vehicle, dated the following day, around the same time. She hit the button again—same Escalade, the next day, from a different angle. This one provided a rear view. There appeared to be a bright red decal on the back window, setting it apart from the no-doubt many black Escalades roaming the state of Maryland. The windows were darkly tinted. The license plate was a standard black-on-white type—not a “Save the Bay” or colorful “Farm Preservation” plate. He tried, without success, to read the tag number. The characters were too blurred to make out, but they didn’t appear to be vanity plates.

  “And you know for a fact this vehicle is connected to the people you ... did business with?” Dr. Fein said.

  Lila looked at the floor and shook her head. “I’ve never seen it before.”

  “Well,” Dr. Fein said. “There could be other explanations.”

  “I do something that’s probably illegal. Then this car turns up the next week—follows me home and sits outside my house for three days in a row. And you think there’s no connection?” Lila looked incredulous. “I think they’re watching me. Making sure I don’t tell anybody, I guess.”

  The whole thing sounded absurd to Dr. Fein. Who had done this to Lila? Why would they do it? Why would they assume she’d tell anyone else? Surely it would only hurt her to do so. He wanted to ask all these questions, but time was running out.

  “Are you sure this vehicle was following you? Maybe someone in the building where you work happens to know one of your neighbors.”

  She shook her head. “No. I just know it’s them. I think ... I think my life may be in danger.”

  Dr. Fein shifted slightly in his seat, tensed and ready to rise and show Lila to the door. His next client would be waiting. “If you feel that way, m
aybe you should contact the police?”

  “After what I’ve done?” Lila gave him a look that expressed a low opinion of Dr. Fein’s IQ. He could feel himself flush, realizing his gaffe.

  “They’ve paid me way too much to make what I’ve done legal. Now I’m supposed to go to the cops for protection? And say what? That a bunch of criminals I did a job for are watching me? I mean, isn’t that why they’re watching me? Because they think maybe I’ll tell the cops?!”

  Dr. Fein had no idea why the people who’d paid Lila would want to watch her and found her reasoning about the matter to be confused and twisted. Even so, as her voice rose with each derisive comment, he could feel his embarrassment and discomfort rise with it. He felt as if she was scolding him, the way his ex-wife did toward the end of their marriage.

  “I can see your dilemma,” he said. “I confess, I’m not sure what to suggest. You live alone, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” The word came out as a sob. “Now I do.”

  Dr. Fein nodded. Mickey had left Lila several months ago. She hadn’t dwelled on the topic, but he could tell it still tugged at her consciousness.

  “Perhaps you should consider staying with a friend or relative if you feel scared,” he said, trying hard to stay seated. The minute hand had inched past the appointment’s ending time.

  “I have no relatives. There’s no place I can stay.” Lila raked her hair back, and it fell like a dark curtain framing her perfect oval face.

  “I’m afraid our time is up.” Dr. Fein rose—giving Lila her cue to stand, also—and he placed a reassuring hand on her arm as he escorted her to the door. Lila paused and gave him a damp-eyed, beseeching look. Her eyes were an incredibly dark blue—indigo, really. Dr. Fein resisted the urge to touch Lila’s cheek.

  “Try not to worry,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll be all right.”

  *****

  After twenty years as a therapist, Dr. Fein had observed that female patients often jumped to conclusions, read too much into situations, and were swayed more by wayward and unpredictable emotions than by reason. Dr. Fein had learned to tolerate these traits in female patients, as he’d learned to tolerate them in his wife. That is to say, his ex-wife.

  Despite the somewhat bizarre, even ludicrous, nature of Lila’s tale, Dr. Fein couldn’t help but worry. Whether Lila had bungled her way into becoming a runner for a drug cartel or was simply nuts, she believed herself to be in danger. That was a fact. And if she felt scared, she might do any number of crazy things.

  Dr. Fein knew this all too well. He had ignored similar warning signs in another female patient, Jenny Mahoney. One who, in retrospect, he realized he should have monitored more closely.

  He had tried with Jenny. Tried to explain that she needed to curb her irrational impulses and focus on how to make the best of a bad situation with her parents. Tried to explain that homosexuality was a difficult concept for them to accept. In point of fact, it was a difficult concept for Dr. Fein to accept, too. Jenny was a beautiful, young woman, with wavy blonde locks that flowed gracefully down her back. She had light-green eyes and a peaches-and-cream complexion. Dr. Fein knew that the field of psychiatry no longer considered homosexuality an aberration, but he found it (secretly, for he would never say so outright) a shame that such loveliness was being wasted in another woman’s arms.

  Jenny was dead now, exactly three months ago to the day. Suicide by pills and carbon monoxide poisoning. Dr. Fein didn’t like to dwell on his mistakes—it made no sense to dwell on things you couldn’t change—but that mistake ... well, it insisted on dwelling with him. The memories crept into his consciousness, like roaches creeping through a tenement wall. Each time Dr. Fein tried to squash one thought, more thoughts would appear to take its place.

  The following week, Lila failed to appear for her scheduled appointment. Dr. Fein had warned her she would be charged for not showing up, but this was not the first thing to cross his mind when he didn’t see her in the waiting area at the appointed hour.

  His first thought was, what if she had been right?

  Dr. Fein tried to reach Lila at her daytime phone, only to get voice mail. He tried her home number, too. The phone just rang. Dr. Fein listened to it ring on and on. He’d counted twenty-five rings when he hung up.

  Not good, he thought.

  That evening, after the last patients had unloaded their sorrows or shared their latest breakthroughs, Dr. Fein locked up his office and climbed into his silver Lexus.

  The car was his pride and joy, and one of the few possessions he’d been able to salvage after the divorce. Sarah had done a thorough job of laying claim to most of their assets and gaining custody of the children, forcing him to pay the mortgage on what was now her house, along with three years of alimony, child support until the kids turned eighteen, and all the rest.

  Dr. Fein fumed over the fact that this outcome had been driven by Sarah’s quitting her job as an office manager for a law firm to “spend more time with the kids” and “be a real mother to them.” So she’d said. Dr. Fein believed now that her ten-plus years outside the workforce had been part of a larger strategy. An exit strategy, in which she would end up with the house and kids and he would end up footing the bill.

  Dr. Fein scowled as these thoughts revisited him, once again making him feel impotent and used. Why were men always paying for women’s petty schemes? Sarah could go and throw away a job, extra income, benefits—all for the kids. Everyone would “ooh” and “ahh” over her and admire her motherly instincts. But if he did that—well, people would think he was insane. What kind of a man quits his job to be a house-husband? No real man. Not even by today’s loose standards.

  As he pulled into the lot of his favorite Chinese restaurant, Dr. Fein found himself mentally comparing Sarah to Lila. Now Lila (for all her irrational fears and impulses) was a woman he could respect to an extent. She wasn’t looking for a meal ticket; she was earning her own keep. Her desperation for money may have driven her to make a foolish decision, but it was her own decision and, he had to admit, required pluck and nerve on her part.

  Sarah would never have done such a thing. Sarah was too conventional—in every possible way—to get mixed up in such business. No, Sarah chose a time-honored and conventional way to get her money—by extracting it from her ex-husband.

  Dr. Fein seated himself and ordered his usual chicken lo mein. He dined at this restaurant about once a week since moving into his apartment. He’d never been there with Sarah—he avoided all restaurants they’d frequented, hoping not to see her or deal with her unless it was absolutely essential. Yet despite these evasive maneuvers, he could often feel her invisible presence—like a ghost—across the table from him.

  He could even hear her voice. Her endless chatter, which had seemed to get more and more inconsequential the longer she’d been out of the workforce.

  Even now Dr. Fein could feel Sarah’s presence in the empty chair opposite him, hear that voice—that voice!—and he concentrated hard on tuning it out. Concentrated on exorcising the ghost. Replacing her, perhaps, with Lila. He thought of Lila and wondered what it would be like to have her in that seat, instead.

  When he finished his dinner, Dr. Fein decided to call Lila once more. He pulled out the patient list he kept in his briefcase in case of emergencies and dialed her number.

  The phone rang endlessly. Maybe he should run by her house, he thought. Just to make sure she was okay. He noted the address, then made his way to Route 29 and took it north toward Columbia.

  Lila lived in an older section of Columbia, a well-manicured planned community. Her small house had a cramped rectangle of yard, but tall, leafy trees lined the road. Dr. Fein parked across the street, several feet up from the house—a spot with a good view of the front, flanked by trees. He sat for a moment, watching the place.

  Evening had fallen, and the house was still—the entire neighborhood was still, as if no one lived there—as if he were on a vacant set for a television series about
life in the suburbs.

  As Dr. Fein pondered this, a light snapped on in Lila’s house, emanating from the front window like a beacon. Lila marched into view talking on a cell phone. She appeared upset—waving her free hand about, her expression drawn, her brow furrowed. She wore a robe, loosely tied at the waist. As she walked, Dr. Fein could see flashes of black pubic hair or dark underwear—he wasn’t sure which. One shoulder of the robe slipped off to reveal a black bra strap. Dr. Fein was still staring as Lila walked to the side of the window and drew the curtains shut.

  Through the light-colored curtains, Dr. Fein could just make out Lila’s silhouette as she paced about the living room. The light went out.

  A few minutes later, a black Escalade pulled up in front. Two men climbed out, walked to the door, and knocked. The living room light came back on. Lila answered, and a conversation ensued. One of the men—the taller, thinner one—seemed to be edging his way inside. Dr. Fein couldn’t read Lila’s expression from where he sat. Eventually she appeared to relent and let them in.

  The living room light went out.

  Several seconds later, light came from another window facing the street—possibly a bedroom. Dr. Fein slipped out of the car and approached the house. He thought of calling again but decided against it. If the men were threatening Lila, she wouldn’t be able to talk freely.

  As he walked by the SUV, he checked the back window and saw a red decal with writing on it that he couldn’t make out. He didn’t stop to read it.

  Dr. Fein crept toward the window where light filtered out from behind a blind. Suddenly the blind snapped up and one of the men stood in its place, looking out at the darkened yard. Dr. Fein pitched face forward to the ground. His middle-aged body landed with a dull thud.

  He ventured a peek at the window, where the man, framed by shutters and light from the room, didn’t seem to notice him. Dr. Fein realized the man was squinting, not looking his way at all. The light indoors was probably obscuring his view. In fact the man might simply have been looking at his own reflection.