Reed Coleman - Hose monkey

“Well, I knew how close she and Cain were and I suspected it would be harder for her to come to terms with his death. But now we’ve reached the point where her behavior is too detrimental to ignore. And frankly, Marla, you’ve seemed a bit preoccupied lately.”

There was no arguing that. “Is she in-house today, Ken?”

“That she is.”

“I’ll set something up with her as soon as I wade through some of this paperwork. That work for you?”

“You’re the shrink. I’m just the juggler. Let me know how it turns out.”

Steven Mann was what Joe expected-affable but guarded, well-groomed and sharp. His office too held few surprises for Joe. There was the college degree from NYU, the law degree from Michigan, the framed letters from clients, the photos with politcos and sports figures, golf trophies, and model yachts. Mann took control of the conversation. He was used to it, comfortable with control. If you stripped away the niceties and the careful language, this is what he wanted to know of Tina:

1. How the fuck is your dad’s golf game?

2. Is your husband, the fucking murderer, going to survive?

3. Who the fuck is this clown with you?

4. What the fuck are you doing here wasting my time?

5. You’re still pretty hot. If your husband dies, how would you like to fuck?

Joe was no fool. Although he had been shown the door in disgrace, Serpe still had a nose for trouble, an ear for bullshit, and could read between the lines. He also knew when to talk and when to keep his mouth shut. During the preliminaries, he kept quiet and watched.

“So, Tina, what is it that I can do for you?” Mann asked.

“I think maybe Joe would be better qualified to explain all that. I’m going to step outside for a few minutes. There are some aspects of this I’d rather not witness.” She stood, smoothed her skirt and placed a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Come get me when…” She let it hang.

Joe waited for the office door to click shut before tossing the DVD on the lawyer’s desk.

“What’s this?”

“Blackmail. That a DVD player under the TV?”

“Yes.”

“Put it in.”

They watched only about five minutes worth, just enough for the lawyer to get the gist of it. Joe explained about the DVD being sent to Tina, about how he had checked out the motel, about his visit to Frank in jail and about how someone had apparently tried to run him off the road. Then he described the message written on his apartment wall in Mulligan’s blood.

“It’s deplorable, all of it, but I don’t see what I can do to help,” Mann said.

Joe went and got Tina.

“Well, it all adds up to blackmail, but so far Tina can’t find any unusual bank activity in any of their accounts. That leaves the business.”

“Not necessarily,” the lawyer countered. “Frank could have some accounts you don’t know exist.”

Tina spoke up. “No. Frank and I don’t have the greatest marriage, but I know in my heart that he wouldn’t keep money away from his family. It’s just not something he would do.”

“Tina… Need I remind you what is currently in my office DVD player? I’m certain there are many things you believed Frank incapable of, but.”

Joe didn’t like the way this was going. Mann was trying to turn the conversation away from where they needed it to go.

“Okay, maybe you’re right, Mr. Mann. Maybe Frank kept a slush fund or something. But you could help us eliminate the business as a possible source of money for the blackmailers. If he-”

“I don’t mean to cut you off, Joe,” Mann said, cutting Joe off, “but why come to me? Why not go to Frank’s accountant? I’m sure he would-”

“Not to cut you off, Mr. Mann, but the accountant won’t talk to Tina about the business.”

“That’s right,” Tina said. “I called him yesterday and he said he wouldn’t discuss any aspect of the business with me.”

“Tina, it hurts me to have to say this to you, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you the same answer. You have no legal standing when it comes to Mayday Fuel Oil, Inc. Now, if Frank should, god forbid, be convicted or if he should not recover from his injuries, then-”

Joe was out of his seat. “Are you nuts? This woman’s husband is facing second degree murder charges, he’s tried to hang himself in jail, it’s pretty clear he was being blackmailed, and you’re gonna stand on some legal technicality?”

“I don’t think I like your tone, Mr. Serpe.”

“You don’t?” Joe asked, grabbing one of the intricate model yachts that decorated the office. “Well, I don’t like a lot more than your tone.”

Snap! Joe cracked off the mizzen mast of the model ship. “What are you-”

Snap! Another mast fell prey to Joe’s strong hands.

“Listen, asshole, let’s forget about Frank for a second here. Apparently, someone tried to kill me, my cat’s been slaughtered and my girlfriend’s been threatened. So, I’m not in the mood for legalese and bullshit,” Joe said, sending the model crashing to the floor and grabbing a big golf trophy. “Club championship, I’m very impressed.”

“Tina… Please!” the lawyer implored.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Steven. I wonder if the state bar would be interested in the story of a lawyer who promised to get a minor her big start in modeling if she would only suck his-”

“That was once, almost twenty years ago, and I was very drunk,” Mann argued half-heartedly. “How many times do you want me to apologize for that? And I did make calls on your behalf.”

Tina was a bulldog. “What about the business, Steven?”

“All right,” the lawyer surrendered. “All right, but if you had just waited a few days this would have all been moot.”

The lawyer buzzed his secretary and asked her to bring in the Mayday file. Joe put the golf trophy back in its niche and took his seat. As the secretary entered the office, she gazed at the smashed model in the middle floor to which no one seemed to be paying the slightest bit of attention.

“Leave it, Lois. We’ll see to it later. The file, please.”

She laid it on his desk and left, shaking her head as she went. Mann opened the file, grouped certain papers together, skipped others. When he was satisfied that he had things just so, he spoke.

“Frankly, Tina, I can see how it might appear to you that Frank was being blackmailed. For all I know, he was. However, the business would not appear to be the source of funds for extortion payoffs.”

“Why’s that?” Joe asked.

Mann turned the document of sale so that Tina could clearly see it. “Because the business no longer exists.”

Marla remembered being in therapy herself and how her therapist would sometimes ask her to give voice to her tapping fingers or toes. “What we do,” her therapist would say, “is often more revealing than what we say.” Marla never forgot those words, always making a point to note not only what the residents said, but what they did, how they moved. There is nothing less valid about physical expression than verbal expression. This was especially true of the population she treated, which could sometimes be almost completely non-verbal.

Donna slouched in the seat, twirling her hair, not making eye contact with Marla. Usually, her face was like a billboard, an uncomplicated message for all the world to see. It was one of the things about doing therapy with this population that Marla so enjoyed. Most people wasted so much of their energies building complexities, masks and defenses meant to hide the truth of their natures from the world and themselves. Getting to the residents’ feelings was often not a problem for Marla. At times, their feelings were all they had. But there was a real downside to this proposition. With Cain, for example, his feelings were almost too raw, too much at the surface. Impulse control was frequently the issue that would bring people to her office.