golden spiel, he’ll have to answer questions, and he won’t be prepared for that. I promise you.”
“He’s a very intelligent man.”
“And an excitable boy. I saw him shortly before I phoned you this afternoon, Sylvia. He’s hopped up and strung out, as we hip Village types put it. My guess is he’s popping Dexies like they were Lifesavers. And they’re not. Life savers.”
She nodded, but said nothing. Patient/doctor thing again.
I leaned forward, took advantage of the nice rapport we’d established. “Look. I’m not asking for you to reveal anything about Bob. Frankly, I think I already understand him perfectly. His father made him feel worthless, and now he’s beating his dead dad at his own game, the funny-book business. Then this Doc Frederick comes along, playing disapproving Daddy again, not just where Bob’s concerned but everybody in America, which Bob is resentful as hell about. Pissed-off is the psychological term, in case you skipped class that day.”
Her chin lifted, and her eyes were no longer hooded. “That wasn’t bad. Maybe you should take night school and join my profession.”
“Maybe. I do some of my best work with a couch.” I gave her half a smile and she gave me the other half.
“So you’d like me,” she said, “to advise Mr. Price not to testify.”
I flipped a hand. “He volunteered. He can back out the same way. He can give a statement to the press saying he did not feel he could get a fair hearing in that kind of witch-hunt atmosphere, and just walk.”
She was thinking.
“Well?” I asked.
She sighed. “I agree with you. I know what lousy shape Bob is in. He didn’t get those pills from me, by the way. I’m not a medical doctor, remember.”
“I remember. So will you advise him to bail out?”
Her eyes, her smile, were unfathomably sad. “Jack, I have. I already have.”
Shit.
“I was afraid of that,” I said. This time I sighed. “He is strong-headed. Would you call him, and give it one last try?”
“Certainly. I’m happy to. But I don’t hold out much hope. Was there...anything else?”
She just might have been fishing for a date—hey, I am pretty cute—but then I recalled Maggie’s other agenda.
“Sylvia, I need to ask you about another patient of yours.”
This time her smile wasn’t at all amused. She folded her arms. “Really, Jack? Maybe I should hand my notes over to you on all of my patients.”
“Just Will Allison.”
Her head moved to one side, slightly, and she frowned in thought; the arc of platinum hair covered her face slightly. “Will?”
“Yeah. That kid really lost his head the other night at the Strip Joint. The Barray Soiree?”
Her expression softened but her eyes remained sharp. “Oh. Yes. I saw that.”
“Listen, I’ve been around violence. I was an MP during the war. I thought there was edge in that kid’s attitude. I had the weird feeling, if he hadn’t been camera-shy, he might have slugged that Lehman character, and maybe Barray, too.”
“...What do you want to know?”
“Would he do something violent like that? Could he? More generally, does the boy have mental problems that make him a bad risk for us?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re thinking of taking him on as a cartoonist for Starr?”
“Very preliminary thinking, but yeah. What do you say?”
“I really can’t say, Jack.”
I winked at her. “Which translates as, the kid’s screwed up. A bad risk.”
“I didn’t say that!” She touched her forehead. “Jack, completely off the record...nothing you can hold me to...I will tell you I think Will’s just a young, insecure kid, messed up but no worse, or more dangerous, than any other typical young guy starting out in a tough field. You can report that to Maggie Starr, but I won’t put it in writing.”
“Fair enough,” I said.
But something she’d said nudged me: I won’t put it in writing.
“Listen, what’s your opinion of Dr. Werner Frederick? He isn’t your
“He’s a very intelligent man.”
“And an excitable boy. I saw him shortly before I phoned you this afternoon, Sylvia. He’s hopped up and strung out, as we hip Village types put it. My guess is he’s popping Dexies like they were Lifesavers. And they’re not. Life savers.”
She nodded, but said nothing. Patient/doctor thing again.
I leaned forward, took advantage of the nice rapport we’d established. “Look. I’m not asking for you to reveal anything about Bob. Frankly, I think I already understand him perfectly. His father made him feel worthless, and now he’s beating his dead dad at his own game, the funny-book business. Then this Doc Frederick comes along, playing disapproving Daddy again, not just where Bob’s concerned but everybody in America, which Bob is resentful as hell about. Pissed-off is the psychological term, in case you skipped class that day.”
Her chin lifted, and her eyes were no longer hooded. “That wasn’t bad. Maybe you should take night school and join my profession.”
“Maybe. I do some of my best work with a couch.” I gave her half a smile and she gave me the other half.
“So you’d like me,” she said, “to advise Mr. Price not to testify.”
I flipped a hand. “He volunteered. He can back out the same way. He can give a statement to the press saying he did not feel he could get a fair hearing in that kind of witch-hunt atmosphere, and just walk.”
She was thinking.
“Well?” I asked.
She sighed. “I agree with you. I know what lousy shape Bob is in. He didn’t get those pills from me, by the way. I’m not a medical doctor, remember.”
“I remember. So will you advise him to bail out?”
Her eyes, her smile, were unfathomably sad. “Jack, I have. I already have.”
Shit.
“I was afraid of that,” I said. This time I sighed. “He is strong-headed. Would you call him, and give it one last try?”
“Certainly. I’m happy to. But I don’t hold out much hope. Was there...anything else?”
She just might have been fishing for a date—hey, I am pretty cute—but then I recalled Maggie’s other agenda.
“Sylvia, I need to ask you about another patient of yours.”
This time her smile wasn’t at all amused. She folded her arms. “Really, Jack? Maybe I should hand my notes over to you on all of my patients.”
“Just Will Allison.”
Her head moved to one side, slightly, and she frowned in thought; the arc of platinum hair covered her face slightly. “Will?”
“Yeah. That kid really lost his head the other night at the Strip Joint. The Barray Soiree?”
Her expression softened but her eyes remained sharp. “Oh. Yes. I saw that.”
“Listen, I’ve been around violence. I was an MP during the war. I thought there was edge in that kid’s attitude. I had the weird feeling, if he hadn’t been camera-shy, he might have slugged that Lehman character, and maybe Barray, too.”
“...What do you want to know?”
“Would he do something violent like that? Could he? More generally, does the boy have mental problems that make him a bad risk for us?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re thinking of taking him on as a cartoonist for Starr?”
“Very preliminary thinking, but yeah. What do you say?”
“I really can’t say, Jack.”
I winked at her. “Which translates as, the kid’s screwed up. A bad risk.”
“I didn’t say that!” She touched her forehead. “Jack, completely off the record...nothing you can hold me to...I will tell you I think Will’s just a young, insecure kid, messed up but no worse, or more dangerous, than any other typical young guy starting out in a tough field. You can report that to Maggie Starr, but I won’t put it in writing.”
“Fair enough,” I said.
But something she’d said nudged me: I won’t put it in writing.
“Listen, what’s your opinion of Dr. Werner Frederick? He isn’t your
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