I thought about Callie dressing up, attending a social event. Gorgeous she is. But, “She’s not a people person,” I said.
“Unless it comes to killing them.”
“Unless that,” I said.
“If a kid’s gonna get in trouble in Darnell, West Virginia, it’s gonna be at the Grantline Bar & Grill.”
“So?”
“So I know the bartender, Teddy Boy. He owes me, big time.”
“I’m not ready to have Charlie’s legs broken. Not yet, anyway.”
“All I’m sayin’, Teddy Boy knows what’s what. If your kid’s been in the bar, he’ll tell me. If she goes in, he’ll keep an eye on her.”
“Kimberly’s only sixteen,” I said. “You’re not going to find her in a bar.”
“Darnell’s Darnell,” Sal said.
“Meaning?”
“You been there?”
“No.”
“Nothing to do in Darnell but drink, drug and fuck.”
“Excuse me?”
“Hey, no offense,” Sal said.
I thought about what he’d said, and how parents never think their kids would take the wrong path.
“Maybe you better call Teddy Boy today,” I said.
“I’m on it,” he said. “Hey, you know those midgets?”
Sal could change subjects faster than a Congressman.
“Victor and Hugo?” I said.
“The same.”
“What about them?”
“They’re coming to my party.”
“I’d heard that,” I said.
“In the flesh.”
“I’ll try to shake off that image,” I said. “You better tell your boys not to make fun of them. They’re pretty formidable.”
“Hey, they been warned. Those midgets brought down Joe DeMeo.”
“They prefer the term little people,” I said.
“I prefer big envelopes.”
Sal was referring to the contribution envelopes his underbosses and special guests were expected to bring to his party.
“I been good for you,” he said. “And this here, with your daughter, that’s another example. Charity—whatcha call—begins at home.”
“In this case, your home.”
“That’s what I’m sayin’. So surprise me,” he said. “In a good way.”
Sal’s world is a rough one, where loyalty is measured in cash or body count. I make it a habit to kick back more than my share of both.
“Surprise you?” I said. “Sal, I’m going to
“All I’m askin’,” he said.
Chapter 7
The office of Ms. N. Crouch, MD, was located in Newark, New Jersey, corner of Summer and Seventh, off Interstate 280. Ms. Crouch shared an office condo with a pediatric psychologist named Agnes Battle. Agnes was working the reception desk when I walked in. She pointed me to Ms. Crouch’s office, and I went in.
Ms. N. Crouch stood and extended her hand to greet me. We identified ourselves and she gestured in the general direction of her seating area and said, “Please make yourself comfortable.”
I did a quick survey of the office. Deep plum was the dominant color, except for the far wall, which was faux-finished in light brown with delicate black threading, to resemble cork. On this wall hung several professional certificates, including a diploma from the University Of Pittsburgh School Of Medicine. Everything felt crisp and modern, save for the antique wooden coat rack in the entryway corner.
I chose a plush, high-backed leather throne chair and settled in.
Ms. N. Crouch said, “Dr. Hedgepeth mentioned a possible psychosomatic pain?”
If Darwin, my government facilitator, knew I was seeing a psychiatrist, he’d put an assassin on me. With that in mind, I was reticent about jumping right into things. I sat quietly and stared at her.
She had on a layered skirt, navy, with a matching jacket she wore opened. Her blouse was cream-colored silk, with a round neckline. A cable-wrapped, white gold necklace dangled in two strands and rested modestly at the center of her chest.
“Mr. Creed, you can remain silent if you wish. But just so you know, I get paid either way.”
With that, she went quiet and stared back at me. It has been my experience with women that they don’t like to remain quiet for long periods of time. Which is why I was surprised that she allowed us to sit there in total silence, staring at each other, for the next twenty minutes.
Finally, I said, “I believe I like you, Ms. Crouch.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Mr. Creed.”
“Call me Donovan.”
She nodded, and we remained silent until she realized it was her turn to speak.
“Donovan, in one way my profession is similar to that of a dentist.”
“How’s that?”
“Like your dentist, I can’t begin helping you until you open your mouth.”
I nodded.
She continued, “There are several chairs here, from which a patient can choose. I purposely stay out of the selection process because the chair choice tells me something about the patient.”
“Uh huh.”
“For example, the chair you selected tells me you’re accustomed to being in control, which often indicates trust issues. You’re obviously finding it diffi cult to let your guard down enough to discuss your personal life with a complete stranger.”
“Good point,” I said. “So tell me a little about yourself, and then we won’t be strangers.”
She smiled. “With all due respect, Donovan, this session is about you. It would be highly unprofessional of me to discuss my personal life with you. More importantly, the less you know about me, the easier it will be for you to share your feelings.”
