Desperate Measures

7

Shortly before 7:00 A.M., in dim morning light, Pittman parked near the well-maintained apartment building in Park Slope in Brooklyn. Traffic increased. People walked by, going to work. “I just hope she hasn’t left yet. If she has, we could end up sitting here all day, thinking she’s still in the apartment.” Pittman used his electric razor to shave.

“You’re certain she works outside the home?”

“If you’d ever met Gladys, you’d know she’d definitely prefer to be away while her husband works at home and takes care of the baby.” He sipped tepid coffee from a Styrofoam cup.

“Do we have any more of that Danish left?” Jill glanced around, peered at her Styrofoam cup of stale coffee on the dashboard, and grimaced. “I can’t believe I’m doing this to myself. I hardly ever drink coffee, and now I’m guzzling it. Yesterday morning, I was eating doughnuts. Last night, chili and French fries. Now it’s the gooiest Danish I ever… And I can’t get enough of it. After years of eating right, I’m self-destructing.”

“There.” Pittman gestured. “That’s Gladys.”

A prim, sour-faced woman stepped out of the apartment building, tightened a scarf around her head, and walked determinedly along the street.

“Looks like she runs a tight ship,” Jill said.

“Talking to her makes you think of mutiny.”

“But we won’t have to talk to her.”

“Right.” Pittman got out of the car.

They walked toward the apartment building. In the vestibule, Pittman faced a row of intercom buttons and pretended to study the name below each button as if looking for one in particular, but what he really did was wait for the man and woman leaving the building to get out of his sight in time for him to grab the door as it swung shut. Before it could lock itself, he reopened it and walked through with Jill, heading toward the elevator.

When the door to 4 B opened in response to the knock, Brian Botulfson-who still wore his pajamas, had rumpled hair, and looked exhausted-slumped his shoulders with discouragement the moment he saw Pittman. “Aw, no. Give me a break. Not you. The last thing I need is-”

“How are you, Brian?” Pittman asked cheerily “How have you been doing since I saw you last?”

In the background, Pittman heard an infant crying harshly, not the usual baby cry, but a hurt cry, a sick cry. Pittman remembered it well from when Jeremy had been an infant.

“Uh-oh, sounds like you’ve been up all night.” Pittman entered.

“Hey, you can’t-”

Pittman shut the door and locked it. “You don’t seem very happy to see me, Brian.”

“The last time you were here, I got in so much trouble with… If Gladys was here…”

“But she isn’t. We waited until she left.”

Jill was preoccupied by the cries from the baby. “Boy or girl?”

“Boy.”

“He doesn’t sound well. Has he got a fever?”

“I think so,” Brian said.

“You didn’t check his temperature?” Jill asked.

“I didn’t have time. I was too busy getting him clean after he threw up.”

“Seems like you could use some help. Where’s your thermometer? Let me see the baby supplies you got.”

Pittman raised his hands. “Almost forgot, Brian. This is my friend Jill.”

“Hello, Brian. I’m a nurse. I used to work in pediatrics. I’ll take good care of your son. The thermometer?”

“On his bedside table.” Brian pointed.

As Jill went toward a room to the left of the kitchen, Pittman said, “See, it’s your lucky day.”

“Yeah, I feel lucky all to hell. Look, you’ve got to stop coming here. The police are searching for you.”

“No kidding.”

“I can’t get involved in this. I can’t-”

“I won’t come around again. I swear, Brian. Scout’s honor.”

“That’s what you said the last time.”

“Ah, but I didn’t swear on Scout’s honor.”

Brian groaned. “If the police find out…”

“I’m a dangerous criminal. Tell them I terrified you so much, you had to help me.”

“The newspapers say you killed a priest and a man in somebody’s apartment and… I’m losing count.”

“Not my fault. All easily explainable.”

“You still don’t get it. I don’t want to know anything you’re doing. I’d be an accessory.”

“Then we’re in agreement. I don’t want you to know what I’m doing, either. But if you refuse to help me, if I get caught, I’ll convince the police that you are an accessory,” Pittman lied.

“Don’t think like that. I’d go to prison again.”

“And imagine what Gladys would say. On the other hand, I never turn against my friends, Brian. The quicker we do this, the quicker I’m out of here. I want you to give me a crash course in hacking.”

Jill leaned out from the baby’s room. “His fever’s a hundred and one.”

“Is that bad?” Brian asked nervously.

“It isn’t good. But I think I can lower it. By the way, Brian, those children’s aspirins are a no-no for a baby’s fever. They can cause a serious condition called Reye’s syndrome. Have you got any Tylenol?”

“See?” Pittman said. “In good hands. Now come on, Brian, pay us for the house call. Show me how to do a little hacking. Or we’ll hang around the house until Gladys comes home.”

Brian turned pale. “What programs do you want to get into?”

“Unlisted telephone numbers, and the addresses that go with them.”

“What city?”

“I don’t want to tell you, Brian. You’re going to have to show me how to get in without knowing what city I want. Then you’re going to sit in a corner while I play with your computer.”

“I feel like crying.”