Silent Treatment

Chapter18

'Watch that kid shoot,' Harry said, asthey stood by the high chain-link fence that surrounded the basketball court.'The little one with the Knicks shirt.'

The teenager, smaller and quicker thananyone else in the game, obliged by sinking an off-balance jump shot fromtwenty feet.

'Nice call,' Maura said.

They watched for a few more minutes andthen headed down Manhattan Avenue toward Central Park.

'You sure you want to walk all the way tothe restaurant?' Harry asked.

'I know it's hard to believe, but before Idid my half gainer with a full twist down those stairs, I was a fairly decentrunner.'

'We walk.'

Harry shared details of his own ongoingstruggle to stay in shape.

'You know, you're being very patient notgrilling me about that doctor from the hospital,' she said.

'We can talk about it later.'

'I feel terrible, but I really can'tremember what he looked like. I haven't thought about the hospital much, mostlybecause I didn't want to. Now I want to, but it's like. . like my brain isSwiss cheese. Some things, some conversations are crystal clear. Others. .?'

'Just out of curiosity, do you rememberyour brother's friend, Lonnie? He was in the room that night. His nickname isthe Dweeb.'

'He's black, right?'

'Exactly,' Harry said excitedly. 'Do youremember what he was wearing? What he did that night?'

'He had a hat on. A cap. .'

'Good. That's right. What else?'

She gazed up at a building, then shook herhead sadly.

'Nothing. I'm sorry, Harry. I really am.It's like trying to remember who sat next to me in the third grade. I know Iwas there, and I can pull up some hazy pictures, even the dress my teacher usedto wear. But no real detail.'

Harry recalled how quickly she had noticedJennifer's pin and Dickinson's hairpiece, how rapidly she had reacted duringthe Dweeb's role-playing scenarios. The specialized area of her cerebral cortexresponsible for awareness had been functioning well that night — perhaps evenmore sharply than usual. But her ability to file information, or at least toretrieve it, had clearly been damaged — badly damaged, it appeared.

'It's not surprising, I suppose,' he said,hoping his concern and disappointment weren't too obvious. 'The concussion, thesurgery, the alcohol, the withdrawal, the medications — considering all that, Ithink you've done pretty damn well.'

'I'm sorry,' she said again. 'I'll keeptrying. If something comes back to me, you'll be the first to know.'

'Thanks. Hey, enough. I call for a changein the subject. Let's talk about art.'

'And war heroes.'

Over the years, in most social situations,Harry seldom carried the conversation. Thoughtful was the way heexplained that trait; boring was Evie's frequent retort. But MauraHughes was extremely easy to talk to. He rambled on as they walked andsuddenly, he found himself talking quite candidly about the Corbett curse andhis episodes of unusual chest pain — things he hadn't shared with anyone.

'So,' she said when he had finished,'who's your doctor?'

'I'm getting one,' he said too quickly.

She stopped, took his arms, and turned himtoward her. Concern shadowed her face.

'Promise?'

Harry had no idea how long he stared intoher emerald eyes before he responded.

'With all that's going on, I won't saywhen. But I promise.'

The light changed. They crossed Columbusand were half a block from Central Park when she said, 'I think you should knowthat my performance this evening notwithstanding, I have a steel-trap memoryfor things that people promise me. And I can be an incredible nag when I wantto be.'

'I have a feeling you can be an incredibleanything when you want to be.'

Harry was totally surprised to hear thewords spoken in his voice. Was he actually flirting?

'That's a nice thing to say, Harry,' sheresponded. 'Especially considering that at this point, you've known me longerin the DTs than out.'

'Tell me, what tipped you over the edge?'

'You mean drinking?'

'Yes.'

She laughed.

'You think there has to be some tragedy,some horrid, dark event in my past that sent me reeling into the bottle?'

'I … um … I guess that's what Iassumed, yes.'

'Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you.There's certainly a lot in my past that I wish had never happened. But nosingle cataclysmic tragedy. In fact, if anything, alcohol was a godsend — atleast for a while.'

Maura talked of her upbringing bywell-to-do parents — her summers at riding camps, her years in boarding school,and finally her abbreviated enrollment at Sarah Lawrence. By then, rebellionagainst her parents' lifestyle and hypocrisy had opened a gap between them thatwould never be bridged.

'Eventually, my. . my father sufferedsome big financial reverses and my mother left him. He died in a car crash.. somewhere outside of Los Angeles — far from sober, in case you were wondering… A woman in the car with him was also killed.'

When she spoke of her father, Harrynoticed a striking change in her expression and her voice. The muscles aroundher jaw tightened. Her speech became strained and halting. An opaque shadeseemed to descend over her eyes — a protective membrane, shielding herfeelings.

'What about your mother?' he asked,anxious to help her off the subject.

'Mother's still alive. But neither Tom norI ever hear from her except every other Christmas or so. I doubt she's sobervery often either. Probably because my parents never even spoke of suchmatters, for as long as I can remember I've been acutely sensitive to things inthe world that were tragic or unjust.'

She told of spending several years tryingto write the great American novel, including two years on a Navajo reservationin Arizona. But her writing lacked fire, and her experiences with the Navajosand others who were poor and oppressed only seemed to heighten her sense ofimpotence. It was as if the harder she struggled to have her life make sense,the less it did.

'One day, not so much for answers as fortherapy, I dusted off my paint box and stretched a few canvases. I had takensome lessons in high school, but never got into it. This time, from the verybeginning, painting felt right to me. I wasn't bad either, but nobody seemed tonotice my work. Then a wonderful thing happened to me — Southern Comfort. I discoveredthat drinking freed something up inside me — or maybe smoothed the rough edgesoff. I don't know. But I do know that the more I drank, the better I painted.'

'Or at least thought you painted,'Harry corrected.

'No. You may not want to believe it, but Ireally was better. The galleries saw it, and so did the people who buyart. For a time, my work was in great demand. I actually bought that buildingmy apartment's in. Then, without my realizing it at first, I began spendingmore and more time either drinking or sleeping off hangovers, and less and lesstime painting. It's been about three years since I did anything anyone wasinterested in. I don't remember my last sale.'

'You never got treatment from an alcoholcounselor or tried AA?'

'For what? There were always reasons Idrank — relationships that were in the dumper, injustices, bad reviews,professional snubs. I saw a therapist for a while. She said I just had anartist's temperament and passion. And besides, I always sincerely believed Icould quit whenever I wanted to. Now, after what's happened to me, I'm not sosure.'

'That's a start.

'What?'

'Realizing that you may not be able toquit any time you want to. .'

The restaurant Harry had recommended wason Ninety-third near Lexington. They entered Central Park at Ninety-seventh. Itwas eight-forty-five, but there was a fair amount of lingering daylight. Theytook a paved footpath down to the reservoir. The air was warm and still, thewater mirror-smooth.

'I really love this city,' Harry said.'Especially the park.'

'Do you often walk through here at night?'

The walkway around the reservoir, as faras they could see through the gathering dusk, was deserted.

'This isn't what I would consider nightyet, but the answer is yes. I don't tempt fate by bushwhacking, but the roadsare safe enough here.' He skimmed a small stone across the water. 'Ta da.Thirteen skips. A new world record.'

'How come I only counted eight?'

'I can see I'm going to have trouble withyou.'

Enjoying the quiet comfort they were feelingwith one another, they headed up a wooded path toward the road. The lastvestiges of daylight had given way to evening.

'Listen, Harry,' she said. 'I've beenthinking, and I want to propose a deal. You think I should be going to analcohol counselor or AA. I think you should be seeing a heart specialist tohave that pain of yours checked out. The deal is this: you agree to face up toyour problem, and I'll agree to face up to mine.'

'I already promised you I'd do it.'

'I'm talking about soon. If you want, I'llgo to one of those meetings tomorrow.'

'Believe me, it's not angina I've beenhaving. I know angina. It's just that I'm overly aware of chestdiscomfort because of my family history and — '

'Deal or not?'

They stopped and looked at one another. Harryswallowed at the dryness that had recurred in his throat.

'Deal,' he said. 'Provided you agree notto take a drink of any sort of booze without calling me first and giving me achance to dissuade you.'

'Deal.' Her smile was warm and hopeful.Then suddenly, her expression changed. Her eyes widened. 'Harry!' she cried,staring over his shoulder.

'Not a word, neither of you!' the manbehind Harry growled.

Harry recognized the voice immediately. Itbelonged to the larger of the two men from Desiree's apartment. Harry startedto turn, but the thug, several inches taller, locked an arm under his neck andthrust a gun into his ribs. Maura instinctively whirled to run and collidedwith the man's partner, who had come charging down the path from the road,cutting off any attempt to escape in that direction. The spot they had chosenwas totally hidden from the road above and from the reservoir below. Mauracried out as the shorter, stocky one grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm highbehind her back. Then he forced her off the path and up the hillside into thedense woods. Harry's captor shoved him rudely after her.

'No sucker punches this time, asshole,' hesnarled.

Harry tripped on a thick tree root, butthe giant's grip across his neck kept him from falling. After twenty yards, theunderbrush and steepness of the hill made it impossible to continue. It wasmuch darker than it had been on the path.

'Okay, down on your knees, both of you,'the taller man ordered.

He dropped Harry with a sharp kick to theback of the knee. Maura, her hand bent up nearly to the back of her neck, waspowerless to resist.

'Nice body,' the thug said as he forcedher, face down, on to the ground. 'Real nice.' He kneeled on the small of herback.

'Shut up and just do what you have to do,'the other rasped.

'Leave her alone,' Harry pleaded. 'She'sno threat to anyone. She doesn't remember a thing. Nothing. You've got tobelieve me.'

'Shut up, dammit!'

Something solid — the man's fist or therevolver butt, padded somehow — slammed down on a spot just behind Harry'sright ear. Pain and a searing white light burst through his head. He pitchedforward and landed heavily, air exploding from his lungs.

'No! Please don-!'

Through a semiconscious haze, Harry heardMaura cry out. Then suddenly her words were cut off, replaced by a dreadfulgurgling. He could feel her kicking, her feet flailing desperately against theground beside his face. He lifted his head. His vision was blurred, but throughthe darkness he could see the man with the cinder-block build straddling Maurafrom behind, his beefy hands tight around her throat, pulling her head up as hestrangled her, bowing her back.

'No!' Harry cried, his voice only a harsh,impotent whisper. 'No, don't!'

He struggled to push himself up, but thebehemoth standing beside him drove him back down with a foot between hisshoulder blades.

Suddenly, the man on top of Maura grunted,pitched forward and to one side, then toppled like a stuffed toy down the hilltoward the reservoir. At virtually the same instant, the taller man cried outin pain and spun to the ground clutching his right arm. Instinctively, herolled over twice and scrambled for cover behind a large oak. Harry's head wasclearing rapidly, but he still could not figure out what was going on. Then hesaw the man's gun lying six feet away. He crawled unsteadily toward it,expecting the giant to beat him there. Instead, the man, still holding his arm,lurched to his feet and stumbled off through the brush.

Harry snatched up the revolver and thencrawled to where Maura lay. She was face down and very still, but she wasbreathing. He turned her over gently and cradled her head in his free hand.

'Maura, it's okay,' he whispered into herear. 'It's Harry. You're all right.'

His senses keyed, his finger tight on thetrigger of the revolver, he peered into the darkness, straining to see movementor a silhouette. The noise of his assailant's escape faded, replaced by asilence as dense as the darkness in the grove.

Harry checked the carotid pulses on bothsides of Maura's neck. They were bounding and sharp. His own pulse wasbludgeoning the inside of his head. Maura's eyes were open now, and she wassobbing softly. Harry continued scanning the woods. He set the gun on his legand caressed the side of her face.

'He was strangling me,' she said, tryingto clear the hoarseness from her throat. 'I couldn't breathe.'

'I know. Easy does it. You're okay now.'

'Wh-what happened?'

'I'm not sure. I think both men were shot,but I didn't hear any gunfire. Are you all right?'

'As soon as I stop shaking I will be. Ithappened so fast.'

'They work for that doctor you saw. Ithink they wanted to kill you and leave me alive, trying to convince the policethat I didn't do it.'

He helped her sit up, but continued tosupport her with an arm around her shoulder.

'Is someone out there?' she whispered,gesturing toward the darkness.

Again they listened. Again there was onlysilence. Holding the revolver loosely, he helped her to her feet. The throbbingin his head persisted, along with some dizziness. A mild concussion, hedecided. Nothing more. He touched the bruise behind his ear and winced from thepain. But there was virtually no swelling — no support for his story that theyhad been mugged. The two thugs knew what they were doing. Professionals. Butsomeone out here had beaten them both.

He and Maura helped one another down thesteep slope. The path, dark but still somewhat lighter than the woods, wasempty. Harry again rested his finger on the trigger of the revolver as theysearched slowly along the treeline.

'I was certain the bastard fell this way,'Harry said.

'Maybe he was just wounded, like the otherone.'

'He didn't roll that way, but maybe.'

'I'm not sure I like it here in the parkanymore,' she said.

'I think leaving may not be such a badidea myself.'

At that moment, she pointed at the base ofa tree several feet up the slope. An arm protruded from behind it, the limphand dangling palm up. They swung a wide arc and then approached the tree fromabove. The man who had so nearly strangled Maura to death was wedged againstthe trunk. He wore dark jeans and a black turtleneck. The side of his face waspressed into the damp soil. His visible eye was wide open, staring sightlesslyup the hill.

'Here,' Harry said, pointing to a spot inthe upper middle of the man's back. 'Look.'

Maura bent down and could just discern thedime-sized hole and expanding disc of blood.

'What should we do?' she asked.

Harry felt the man's jeans for a wallet,but knew there would be none.

'I didn't hear any gunshot,' he saidagain. 'Did you?'

'No, but I was busy listening to thepearly gates creaking open.'

'I think whoever shot these guys had asilencer.'

'So?'

'Professional killers use silencers.Maura, I think we should get the hell out of here.'

Maura rubbed at her neck.

'I'm with you,' she said.