Self-Defence

30

After she left I sat thinking about her sudden change of heart.

Courage competing with self-defense.

Maybe courage was her self-defense.

No matter, I couldn't allow her to face him. I'd hold her off, try to get her to discover as much as she could on her own.

I thought about what she'd seen today.

Hairy Lip. Maybe someone other than Trafficant.

The third man, always with his back to her.

In there, dammit, Buck.

Was he Trafficant? Barking at his patron? From what I'd seen of Lowell I couldn't imagine his tolerating that. But maybe his relationship with Trafficant had been more complex than mentor and protégé.

As I thought about it, Ken Lowell called.

"I'm a little concerned about Lucy, doctor. She told me about this dream she's been having. Now I understand what's been getting her up at night."

"She hasn't been sleeping well?"

"She thinks she has, because when she asks I tell her she has. But she gets up two or three times every night and walks around. Usually she goes out onto the landing, stares at a wall for a second or so, then returns to her room. But last night was a little scary. I found her at the top of the stairs, about to step off. I tried to wake her, but I couldn't. She let me guide her back to bed, but it was like moving a mannequin. I didn't say anything because I didn't want to upset her. Aside from that, I guess I'd like to know if you think there's anything to the dream. I mean, he was no great shakes as a father, but a murderer?"

"What do you remember about that night?"

"Nothing, really. There was a party; it was loud and wild. Jo and I were stuck in our cabin, not allowed to come out. I do remember looking out through the curtains and seeing people laughing and screaming and dancing around. Some had paint on their faces. A bunch of rock bands were blasting."

"Sounds like a love-in."

"Yeah, I guess that's what it was."

"So you never saw anything resembling Lucy's dream?"

"Three men carrying off a girl? No. Just couples slinking off together. I remember Jo telling me, "Guess what they're doing?' She was eleven, really into the facts of life."

"Can you recall anything about Lucy and Puck's nanny?"

"I've been trying to. Actually, she might not have been a nanny. Because I think she was wearing the same kind of uniform the waiters and waitresses were wearing- all white. So maybe she was just a waitress. To be honest, I don't trust my memory on any of this. But if something really happened… Is there anything I can do to help Lucy with her sleepwalking?"

"Just keep her bedroom as safe as possible- no sharp objects, lock the windows. If she doesn't object, have her lock the door before she goes to sleep."

"Okay," he said doubtfully.

"Is there a problem with that?"

"Not really. Just the thought of being locked in. I'm a little claustrophobic. Probably because they did it to us that summer: put us in a cabin and bolted the door from the outside. It was like being caged. We hated it."

Robin came home at six, kissed me, and went into the shower. I sat on the floor tossing a ball to Spike, going along with his retriever fantasies, until the phone got me up.

Sherrell Best said, "Sorry to bother you again, Dr. Delaware, but is there anything new?"

"Nothing concrete yet, Reverend, I'm sorry."

"Nothing concrete? Does that mean you've learned something?"

"I wish I could give you some real progress, but-"

"Could I please meet your patient? Maybe the two of us can put our heads together. I don't want to cause any problems, but it might even help ease the burden."

"Let me think about it, Reverend."

"Thank you, Doctor. God bless."

Robin and I took Spike for a chicken dinner and a drive. He wedged himself between her legs and the passenger door and stared out the window with a determined expression on his flat face.

Robin laughed. "He's guarding us, Alex. Look how seriously he's taking it. Thank you, Spikey, I feel so secure with you."

"Joe Stud," I said.

She put her hand on my knee. "I feel secure with you, too."

"Yeah," I said, "but he takes up less room and he doesn't get emergency calls."

The night sky turned violet. I'd driven north and, just like last week, ended up near Ventura. This time it was more than chance. Best's call had gotten me thinking about Doris Reingold and the Sheas. The discrepancy in their lifestyles. I turned off the highway and entered the city limits. Robin looked at me but didn't say anything.

We cruised the empty, quiet streets. The first thing open was a gas station. The Seville had a quarter tank left. I pulled in, filled up, washed the windows, then told Robin, "One sec," and went to the pay phone. The directory was on its chain, but half the pages were gone. The R's remained, though, and Reingold, D., was listed on Palomar Avenue.

The cashier told me that was ten blocks up.

When I got in the car, Robin said, "Home?"

"Please indulge me for a second. There's something I want to check out."

"Is it related to a patient?"

"Indirectly."

"You're going to drop in on someone?"

"No. I just want to see how someone lives. It won't take long."

"Okay," she said, stretching.

"Yeah, I know I'm a real fun date."

"It's all right," she said. "If you don't behave yourself, he can drive me home."

The address was a one-story bungalow court on a treeless street, three units on each side of a U. Security floodlights washed the stubble lawn. Some of the streetlights were out.

Six or seven college-age boys sat on the grass in folding chairs, drinking beer. Bags of potato chips and Fritos lay at their feet. They had long hair and, though the night was cool, all were shirtless. When I got closer, a couple of them mumbled, "Evening," and one of them gave me the thumbs-up sign. The rest didn't move at all.

I walked up to the thumber. His hair was dark and down to his nipples. His cheeks were hollow above curly chin whiskers.

"Hey, man," he said, in a slurred voice. "Police?"

I shook my head.

" 'Cause we been quiet after that time, man." He flicked hair out of his face and stared at me. "You with the management?"

"No," I said. "Just someone looking for-"

"We paid the rent, man. Cash to Mrs. Patrillo. If she din't give it to you, tha's not our fault."

"Doris Reingold," I said. "Do you know which unit is hers?"

He digested that. "Five. But she ain't here."

"Do you know where she is?"

He scratched his head. "She packed up some stuff and split."

"When was this?"

Frown. Another head scratch. "Yesterday- yesterday night."

"What time?"

"Um… I was just comin' home and she was leavin'. It was at night. I said, You wan' me to carry that stuff for you? but she i'nored me." He belched and I could smell the hops. Taking a swig, he said, "Why you looking for her, man?"

"I'm a friend."

He smiled. "Well, she's okay… ackshally she's a old bitch." Laughter from some of the others.

A crew-cut kid said, "You're just pissed 'cause she cleaned you out, Kyle."

Thumber moved his head fast and stared at him. The other boy said, "Face it, Kyle."

"Fuck you." Kyle looked back at me. "She cheats, the old bitch."

"At what?" I said.

"Everything. Poker, craps, dice. What'd you play with her?"

"Chess."

"Yeah? Well, hate to tell you, but maybe she got herself a new boyfriend."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She split with a dude."

Another of the boys said, "Pass the rinds."

Kyle bent and fumbled on the grass for a long time, to a chorus of derision, before finally picking up a bag of pork rinds. Rolling it up, he tossed it behind his head. Someone caught it. Someone else said, "Shit! Watch it, asshole!"

I said, "Do you remember what this guy looked like?"

"Nope, but he had a fine Beemerdubyou." To his friends: "Remember that Beemerdubyou? With the bitchin' spoiler on its ass?"

A round-faced boy with very long, wavy blond hair said, "Din't it have a bra?"

"Yeah," said someone. "For its tits."

Laugh track.

I looked back at the curb. The Seville was five cars down the block, under a working streetlight. The driver's window was open, and I was pretty sure I saw Spike's blocky head leaning out.

"A dark gray BMW?" I said. "Chrome wheels?"

"Yeah," said Kyle. He shifted imaginary gears. "Gonna get me one of them."

"Bullshit," said another boy. "First you got to get your license back. Then you gotta learn how to play cards not like some asshole."

"I'll get it back, fuck you," said Kyle. Suddenly, his shoulders were hunched and he was drawing his hand back, as if ready for a touchdown throw. He snapped his wrist and tossed his beer can. It flew by me and landed in the street, clattering and rolling, narrowly missing a parked car.

"Hey, man," said someone. "Chill."

"Fuck you!" Kyle was up on his feet. Both his hands were tight and he was bouncing on bare feet. He had nothing on but baggies. Tangles of tattoos on both arms.

He said, "Fuck you," again.

No one answered. The snoring boy was awake.

Kyle wheeled and looked at me.

"What do you want?" he said in a new voice.

I gave him the thumbs-up sign and left.

As I got back in the car, Robin said, "Was everything okay back there?"

"Fine," I said. "Oh, glorious youth."