Dr. Knox (28 page)

It was quiet on the roof. The wind was small and soft in the rust-colored sky, the traffic was distant, and the usual nighttime soundtrack, of shattering bottles, shouted curses, sirens, was muted. Still, my head was full of a chanting chorus: Arthur and Lucho and Lydia, their anger, fear, and disappointment. Not that they'd said much more to me after I'd given them my news. Lucho had joined Arthur in the file room, and the two of them had spoken in low, tense tones while Arthur typed madly. Lydia hadn't moved from the waiting room chair—had barely moved at all except to stiffen when I'd tried to talk to her again. When her shoulders began to shake I'd retreated to my office, and re-emerged only when I'd heard them heading for the door.

“I thought you guys should know about Bray,” I said. “But I don't want you guys to—”

“You don't want us to what, doctor?” Lydia said, turning. Her eyes were red and wet. “To worry?”

“Bray's not…That stuff he talked about is not going to happen, Lydia. I'm going to make this right.”

Her mouth puckered, as if she'd tasted something spoiled, and then she left. Lucho and Arthur followed, and after I heard their cars pull away, and listened to the A/C push stale air through the vents for a while, I'd gone to the roof.

The little wind flicked at the lapels of my jacket, and I was surprised to find I was still wearing it.
Like Parents' Day at Choate,
Mandy had said. I took it off and folded it over the low coping and rolled up my sleeves. I sat on the lawn chair, and its metal joints creaked. So did mine. I sighed, and life seeped from my bones.

The shaky, leaden, post-call feeling swept over me, and I closed my eyes. The nighttime city vanished and was replaced by jagged pieces of the very long day: the fish like ancient coins in Bray's fountain; the thrum of chopper rotors running in my chest; the cut flowers in Amanda Danzig's office, the sunlight on her desk and on her glossy blond head; Elena with her hands in her lap, staring out the bedroom window; Bray's somber library; the shield and maces of the Bray sigil, the Latin motto; the look in Lydia's eyes.

I rubbed a hand over my face, thought about Sutter's words:
The old man is going to war. He rolled out the shock and awe today to tell you that—to tell you that your choices are surrender or suicide.
No matter how long I stared at it, I still couldn't see a third option—a way to make it right for Lydia and Lucho and Arthur that wasn't paid for by Elena and Alex.

I reached into my jacket and pulled out my phone and the card Conti had given me. I looked at the number and wondered who would answer if I called, and what I could possibly say.

The old man is going to war.

Sutter's words were loud in my ears, and as I listened I wondered:
Why now
? What had made Harris Bray decide on war today? Why not tomorrow? Why not yesterday, or last week? What had happened?

I sighed and called Nora again. And once again listened to the rings, and then her message. “You have reached…” It was the same message as always, but somehow her voice was unfamiliar to me, and impossibly remote. I hung up before the tone.

I looked at Conti's card, and put my finger on the number.
Why today?
My phone chirped suddenly, and I nearly dropped it. I caught it and thought it must be Nora. I checked the screen, but didn't recognize the number. I didn't recognize the woman's voice either, not at first.

“Doctor—you're still alive!” she said. “That's a nice surprise.”

“Mandy?”

Her laugh was bright and brittle, her speech overly precise. “One and the same, doctor. And so very glad to hear that Tiger didn't misplace you out the chopper door.”

“Are you drunk, Mandy?”

“Not nearly enough. How about you?”

“Not at all, sad to say.”

“No? That is plain unacceptable, my good doctor—we'll have to fix that. What do you like to drink? Do you favor rye whiskey? Do you perhaps like a good Sazerac? Because I mix a very fine one, and I've had lots of practice tonight.”

“I don't know that I've had a Sazerac.”

“Well, that's a real void in your education, doctor—one I'd be more than happy to fill, if you'd like to meet for a lecture and demonstration.”

“It's late, Mandy. I think I'm fine where I am.”

“Oh, you
are
fine, doctor,” she said, and giggled. “And pray tell: where exactly have I reached you?”

“At my place, on the roof.”

“As it happens, I'm not far from you.”

“What the hell are you doing in this neighborhood?”

“Well, not exactly your neighborhood, doc—I'm outside a club on Figueroa—a place some new Chinese partners wanted to see. They're still seeing it, but I got bored. I'm ten minutes by car from you. Maybe fifteen.”

“Tell me you're not driving, Mandy.”

She laughed. “I'm in back, all by my lonesome, doctor. It's a silver Mercedes—keep an eye out. I don't make house calls very often.” And before I could argue, she was gone.

It was ten minutes exactly, and the silver Mercedes was an SUV, with smoked windows, black leather, a fully stocked bar, and a raised partition between the driver and passengers. Mandy's spicy perfume wafted out when the rear door opened, along with the smell of whiskey.

“Look at you,” Mandy trilled. “You've still got your little outfit on.”

“It's been a busy day; no time to slip into something more comfortable.” I squinted into the shadows of the back seat. “I see you had no time either.” Mandy wore the same gray skirt and fitted blouse I'd seen her in in what seemed like a hundred years ago. Her hair was still slicked, but her blouse was untucked and unfastened by a button or two. Her eyes were shining and unfocused.

She grinned. “I did take off my panty hose, doctor. Now climb in here, before the wolves start circling. I've got a Sazerac with your name on it.”

I got in and shut the door, and Mandy's driver pulled away fast. I wasn't quite seated and lost my balance. I landed on my knees, with my cheek pressed against Mandy's thigh. It was firm and warm and fragrant.

“Talk about a cheap date,” Mandy laughed. “Not a taste of your cocktail and you're good to go! I
do
like your style.” I found my seat and Mandy handed me a glass. “Check that out.”

I took a sip, and heat and then a cool, evaporating sweetness spread through my chest. I nodded. “I could get used to these.”

Mandy had a glass of her own, and she took a drink and sighed. “That's life-changing, right there.” The Mercedes turned onto San Pablo, and she looked out the window at the line of tents and even more provisional shelters, the campfires made of garbage, and the figures hunched around them. She shook her head. “Speaking of which—yours could use some changing. Your ZIP code, anyway. It's like the fucking Dark Ages out there. Or a Bosch painting.”

I shrugged. “Poverty's not pretty; neither is mental illness. And by the way, this is your ZIP code too now—or your uncle's.”

She chuckled. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“He didn't tell you? Your uncle bought out my landlord this morning—all of his real estate holdings, including my building. That was one of several things he wanted to discuss.”

There was silence for a moment, and then a stream of profanities I didn't entirely catch, but in which “fucker,” “fucking,” and “high-handed motherfucker” featured prominently.

“Guess he forgot to mention it,” I said.

“Yeah,” she said, drinking. “But I shouldn't be surprised. Information only flows one way with him. You know that son of a bitch had my office bugged?”

“I connected those dots.”

Her button eyes narrowed. “So, once again, I'm the last to know,” she said, and laughed ruefully. “Once again, I fetch and carry and do the trench work, so he can swan in and…You know,
I
was supposed to take care of this shit with Alex—I
was
taking care of it—and then…Can you believe he
bugged
my fucking office
? That's trust for you, huh? That says,
I trust you with the future of this business,
right?”

It was my turn to laugh. “Let me get this straight, Mandy—am I supposed to feel sorry for you because your uncle robbed you of the chance to intimidate and coerce me, and to take Alex from his mother? Because if that's what you're—”

She wasn't listening. “This isn't the first time with him—it's not even the tenth time. I've had deals teed up in Alberta, in the North Sea, Nigeria, partnerships negotiated with the Indonesians and Australians, acquisitions agreed to, restructurings arranged, and in every case he comes in, in the eleventh
fucking
hour, and invites me to step away from the big table. To be a good girl and take a seat along the wall, so the grown-ups can do business. And by grown-ups he means the ones with dicks.

“I guess I should count myself lucky he didn't invite my moron cousin in this time. He does that, you know. I think he thinks that Kyle might learn something—by osmosis, maybe. As if—with all the brain cells Kyle has scorched. The only things that get through his thick skull lately are meth and vodka.” Another swallow and another bitter laugh. “Not that I'm judging.”

I shook my head. “You're seriously complaining to me about the glass ceiling at Bray Consolidated?”

She made her small, manicured hand into a fist. “He bugged my fucking office!”

“You sound shocked. Is it such a surprise that a guy with his own private army might take his management style from Dick Cheney? I thought you were smarter than that.”

“I'm plenty smart, doctor—believe me. I'm the only one fucking smart enough to run that company for him. The only one with any kind of vision. The only one with balls.”

“And yet he doesn't trust you. So sad.”

She crossed her bare legs, laughed bitterly, and took another drink. “I sense a certain lack of sympathy on your part, doctor, to say nothing of empathy. They didn't cover this in med school—under the heading of bedside manner?”

“I'm weeping for you on the inside.”

Mandy took another drink and flipped me the bird. “Once upon a time he used to say I was the son he never had. What a bunch of bullshit.”

“He said that in front of Kyle? Because, if he did, it explains a lot.”

“He used to say it when Kyle was in the hinterlands—over in Europe, trying to play good soldier. Cap was definitely
not
impressed with his efforts. He stopped saying it when Kyle came back, though.”

I shook my head and swallowed some of my drink. “
The son I never had
—very nice. So what happened to make him pull the plug on us this afternoon? Did your uncle just suddenly recall that you don't have a penis, or was it something else?”

“Who knows? He probably thought I'd waited too long to start the waterboarding.”

“I gather he's not much for conversation. Personally, I thought we were doing okay, you and I.”

She looked at me, patted my leg, and sighed. “We were doing just fine, doctor. We were having a pleasant chat about custody hearings, and you were threatening me with reporters, and then—boom—we were done. Maybe your reporter talk pissed him off. Maybe he thought I should've just clubbed you when you mentioned it—like a baby seal.”

Strobing lights flashed past us—a prowl car running silent in a red-and-blue blur. I slid the window down, and warm air rushed in. I took a deep breath. “Maybe,” I said.

Mandy yawned. “Put that up—it's too windy.”

I looked out at the streets. We were on Olympic, just east of the 110. “Where are we going, Mandy?”

“West. The general direction of my place.”

I laughed and took another drink. “I don't think so.”

Mandy laughed. “Because of Dr. Yoga MILF? Are you guys, like, going steady? 'Cause I'll tell you, I sensed some tension last night. I think she was sort of pissed at you. Or maybe she's always that way.”

“A: don't call her that. B: I really don't know what she and I are doing, since she's not taking my calls. And C: yes, she was definitely pissed, thanks to your cousin and you.”

Mandy reached over and ran a fingertip around my earlobe. “So let me make it up to you,” she said softly. “I'm not as old as you apparently like, but I'm limber.”

I batted her hand away. “Don't you have a boyfriend or something?”

She laughed and stretched her legs into my lap. Her bare soles were hot on my thigh. She held up her hand and made a show of inspecting her engagement boulder. “I have a fiancé, which I guess is close enough, but he's in Shanghai right now. Anyway, he has nothing to do with us.”

I smiled. “It'll be an amazing marriage, I'm sure. But sleep would be the best thing for you right now, Mandy—”

“We can sleep. Eventually.”

“Sleep and lots of water. I don't think you're going to feel that great tomorrow.”

Mandy sat up, slid across the leather, and ended up mostly in my lap. Her lips were soft on mine, and her tongue insistent. She tasted of Sazerac, and when she pulled away she left the same heat and vanishing coolness on my lips.

She kissed my ear, and whispered: “There's the blah, blah, blah coming out of your mouth, and there's all the stuff going on inside. You've got to get your stories straight, doctor.”

“Mandy—”

“Too much talk,” she said, and she hitched up her skirt, swung a leg across me, and straddled my lap. Her mouth was hot pressing down, and her body was strong and lithe and burning. Her breathing was quick, her hips were achingly slow, and her spicy, whiskey scent was everywhere. I don't know how long our fevered grapple lasted, but we were on Melrose, in West Hollywood, when I came up for air. My shirt was open and so was hers. Her bra was a pale web of lavender lace, half falling off.