“Hey, I thought we were going to meet downstairs.”
“I’m a few minutes early. I can wait.”
“Thanks. Be right with you.”
I took one of the chairs in front of her desk and she turned back to her computer. She made a call, switching back and forth between two databases as she spoke. The fact that she was busy gave me the opportunity to think up various topics we might discuss over lunch. Only, with my head about to explode, I didn’t feel like talking. I didn’t feel like eating or even thinking. At that moment the whole lunch idea seemed like a big mistake.
“Sorry about that,” Maggie said at last. “I’m in the middle of organizing a conference and it’s turning out to be a bitch.”
She grabbed her coat and we headed for the elevator. A minute later, we were waiting for the light to change at the corner outside the bank. A ripple of pleasure shot through me when she grabbed my hand as we crossed the street. Her gloved fingers curled around mine and held on tight.
We ended up at a pizza joint around the corner. I wasn’t interested in food, but Maggie ordered us a small pepperoni and mushroom pizza and a couple of Cokes. My broken left arm rested on the table as I rubbed my forehead with my right hand.
She touched my sleeve. “Are you okay? You don’t look well.”
“Since the mugging, I get these miserable migraines.” I braved a smile. “I have to admit you’re the bright spot in my day.”
She smiled. “How’s your case going?”
“I have a few more people to talk to.”
“You’re really treating this like a job. Have you thought about doing it for a living?”
“I did. I was an insurance investigator, remember?”
“No, I mean being a cop. Or a detective. It’s never too late to start over.”
“‘Fraid not. In fact, I thought about being a bartender. Just until I figure out what I want to do. My brother’s been on my back. Says I shouldn’t even think about work for another few weeks.”
“He’s a doctor. He should know.”
“He’s my big brother and he still thinks of me as a fourteen-year-old kid.” That came out sounding a whole lot angrier than I’d meant. “Don’t listen to me. I don’t know what I’m saying.”
She changed the subject. “Have you had a really good fish fry since you got back to Buffalo?”
I shook my head. A mistake.
“You’ve got to have one on Good Friday and I know the perfect spot.”
“I’d like that.”
“Great. I’ll pick you up at your house about six.”
“Good. You can meet Rich and Brenda, too.”
Her expression darkened, but amusement flashed in her blue eyes. “Uh-oh. Meeting the family already?”
“Hell, you’ve met Rich before.”
“As a client, not a person.”
I had to smile. “And you have to call him Richard. He hates being called Rich.”
“You call him that.”
“I know.”
“Are you sure you’re not still fourteen?”
I shrugged, and she grinned.
“Hey, you’ve got to go to the Broadway Market, too.”
“My mother and I used to do that every year when I was a kid.” I managed a smile at the pleasant memory. It was one of the few traditions we’d observed.
“I’m taking my mother-in-law on Friday.”
“Mother-in-law? I thought you were divorced.”
“Yes. I got the house, but Gary’s mother, Lily, lives in the downstairs apartment. She takes care of my dog when I’m at work. It’s a great arrangement.”
Our pizza arrived and Maggie doled out pieces for each of us. The aroma made me feel sick. Maggie dug in with gusto. She wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Mmm. This is great. Aren’t you having any?”
“I’d like to . . . but I don’t think it’s a good idea right now. Don’t let me stop you. Enjoy.” I took a tentative sip of my Coke. Much as I wanted to be with her, I was counting the minutes until I could get out of there and go home to my bed. I took out my prescription bottle. The last tablet. I downed it with a swallow of Coke.
She ate slowly and in silence, watching me, looking more and more worried as time went on.
“Sorry I’m not better company.”
“Hey, if you don’t feel well, you don’t feel well. I wish there was something I could do. Want me to call your brother?”
“He’ll pick me up at one o’clock.” I took another sip of my drink. Coke is supposed to help settle your stomach, but its sweetness sickened me. I pushed the glass aside.
The waitress came by. “Everything okay?”
“Can you wrap this?” Maggie asked.
“Sure thing.” She took the leftover pizza away.
“You want to take it home for later?”
I shook my head and winced. The waitress returned with a brown paper bag and the check. I fumbled with my wallet, pulled out a ten-dollar bill. My vision doubled; I couldn’t even see the amount on the slip of paper. “Is this enough?”
Maggie took the money and the check from me. “It’s fine.”
“No doubt about it. I make a great impression. Broke, sick . . . a real winner.”
“It’s refreshing to find a man with vulnerabilities. I can’t tell you how many macho jerks I’ve met in the past five years. Come on.”
She grabbed my arm, pulled me up, and helped me on with my coat. Then she paid the check and, with her arm wrapped around mine, guided me back across the street. She parked me in one of the chairs in the bank’s overheated lobby, then made a quick call to her office from the receptionist’s desk. Moments later she took the chair next to me. “I’ll wait with you until your brother gets here.” She took my hand and squeezed it reassuringly.
Embarrassment doesn’t begin to cover what I was feeling . . . except at that moment I felt so awful I would’ve accepted help from the devil himself.
When Richard’s silver Lincoln pulled up in front of the bank at three minutes past one, Maggie helped me to my feet and steered me toward the door. “Want me to go out with you?”
“No, please. Gotta have some dignity.”
“Okay.” She squeezed my hand again. “See you Friday night, right?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
The cold air hit me like a left hook, making the ten or so feet from the door to the car seem more like a mile. I practically crawled onto the back seat.
“How’d your lunch go?” Brenda asked as the car took off into traffic.
I sank back into the seat. “Fine.”
My voice must have sounded strained, for she turned to look at me. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve been better.”
I could see Richard’s eyes glance at me in the rear-view mirror. “I got us an appointment with my lawyer in twenty-five minutes. You up to it?”
No, I was tempted to wail, but he wouldn’t need to consult an attorney if it hadn’t been for me. “Sure.” I closed my eyes and sank back against the leather upholstery, hoping I could survive another hour.
* * *
Richard’s late grandfather had been a partner in the local attorneys’ office that still handled Richard’s affairs. Morton, Alpert, Fox, and Jemison had been, and still was, one of the most respected firms in town. That they’d kept the old man’s name years after his death reaffirmed the respect he’d commanded.
Daniel Jemison, son of the last of the original partners, was about Richard’s age. Dressed in a drab gray suit, white shirt, and dark tie, the trim, sandy-haired lawyer didn’t impress me as a man with much imagination. Throughout Richard’s narration, Jemison’s face remained impassive; only a raised eyebrow now and then betrayed he was even listening. I sat hunched in my chair, massaging my forehead, wishing the steady thumping would stop.
When Richard finished, Jemison swiveled his chair to gaze out the window, which overlooked the HSBC Arena, home of the Buffalo Sabres hockey team. We waited for long moments before he finally spoke.
“My advice is to go home and devote yourself to TV reruns.”
I glanced at Richard in the adjacent chair. He looked as baffled as I felt.
“I beg your pardon,” Richard said.
“Don’t do anything. Don’t even leave the house if you can manage it.”
I leaned forward in my chair. “But I know—”
“Whatever you ‘think’ you know is immaterial, Mr. Resnick. There are any number of possible litigants who could drag you into court. The woman you suspect. The police. Any of the people you’ve interviewed. It wouldn’t hurt for you both to leave town—lose yourself in a big metropolitan area: New York, L.A. Let this whole situation blow over.”
The pain in my skull flared.
Richard stood. “Thanks, Dan. And thanks for seeing us on such short notice.”
Jemison rose. “Always a pleasure.” He shook hands with Richard, but I turned away before I’d have to.
I shuffled out the door to the reception area.
Brenda put down a magazine, rose from her seat, and joined me as I headed for the elevator. “You look awful.”
“That’s just how I feel.”
“Did it go badly?”
“You’ll have to ask Rich. I just want to go home.”
Richard had joined us by the time the elevator arrived. We rode down in silence with several others. The walk to the parking garage seemed liked miles. Several times I almost stumbled on the sidewalk. It was only Brenda’s steadying grasp on my arm that kept me upright. I tried to catch a glimpse of Richard’s expression, but he kept a pace or two ahead of us until we got to the car. He opened the back door and helped me in. A minute later, he’d started the car and we headed home.
I shut my eyes, concentrating all my energy on controlling my gag reflex. I was determined not to throw up on Richard’s beautiful leather upholstery. I heard them conversing quietly, but couldn’t spare the effort to listen.
It seemed a long time before Richard pulled up the driveway and stopped the car by the back door. Brenda helped me into the house, and I waved her off as I staggered to my room. I pulled off my raincoat, the tie came next, then I blindly fumbled with the belt at my waist. I kicked off my shoes and walked out of my pants, all the while ripping open the Velcro fasteners on the brace, and dumped everything into an untidy pile on the floor. Then I crawled onto my bed, wrapped myself in the spread, and collapsed.
My pulse pounded through my skull. Sound and light were my enemies as I huddled into a ball of misery, pain, and despair. I hadn’t felt this bad since I’d regained consciousness back in the hospital after the mugging.
I heard a faint rustle and cracked an eye open far enough to see Brenda picking up my clothes, hanging them on hangers. “Hon, you really shouldn’t take off that brace.”
“Not now,” I murmured.
“You going to be sick?”
“Maybe.”
She bent low by my bedside. “If you can’t get to the john, the wastebasket’s here. Okay?”
I tried to nod and ground my teeth against the nausea. Then she was gone.
It’s scary that a headache can be so thoroughly incapacitating. This was worse than the worst hangover.
I lay there, barely breathing, as even that sound jarred my brains. It seemed like hours before I dozed off. At some point I found myself in the tiny bathroom, worshiping the porcelain god with the dry heaves, but the next thing I knew, it was dark and Brenda was back in my room. The light from the hallway gouged my eyes like knife thrusts.
“Jeffy? You want some dinner?” she asked, her voice gentle.
I groaned. “No.”
“How about soup?”
It seemed like she’d asked me to explain a complicated math problem rather than answer with a simple yes or no.
Then Richard crouched beside me, his face only inches from mine. “When was the last time you took your medication?”
I had to think about it, and thinking was an effort. “Lunchtime. I—I ran out.”
“Jesus,” he swore, and then he went away, too.
Sometime later, I came to again and found the bedside lamp blazing. I covered my eyes with my hand, surprised to find my face damp. Sweat? Tears? I wasn’t sure.
I barely managed to raise myself from the oblivion of misery. Richard hovered somewhere above me. I heard him talking, but caught only fragments. “Ease the pain . . . non-narcotic . . . better by tomorrow . . . .”
A needle pricked the inside of my right arm. He kept on talking, his voice a soothing croon, and I sank back into a fog bank of exquisite pain.
Whatever that magic syringe contained must have done the trick, for although I tossed and turned all night, plagued by dreams of teenagers wielding baseball bats and clubbing me senseless, I did sleep. When I woke the next morning, the pain was bearable.
At some time during the previous day, someone had taken off my dress shirt and the brace was back on my arm. They’d taken good care of me. Now I needed find out if Richard intended to throw me out on my ass. I couldn’t blame him if he did.
I stumbled from bed and found a navy velour robe draped across the top of my dresser. I put it on, awkwardly knotting the belt at my waist.
I must have looked a sight when I staggered out into the kitchen and found Richard and Brenda seated at the table with the breakfast dishes still in front of them. “Any coffee left?” My voice sounded husky as a chain-smoker’s.