William Rabkin - Psych - A Mind is a Terrible Thing to Read

“I always wanted one of those.”

The rest of the drive was uneventful. Tara drove at exactly the speed limit, accelerating above it only when a light turned yellow as she approached the limit line. She pulled up outside the Psych offices and left the motor idling as Shawn and Gus got out.

As they walked up the short path to their front door, Shawn and Gus kept turning back, Shawn to give Tara one last wave goodbye, Gus to make sure she was really going. But every time they turned, the Mercedes was still idling by the curb.

Even once they had gotten inside and Gus had locked the door behind them, the Mercedes waited at the curb.

“She’s still there,” Gus said, checking the window after they’d been back long enough for Shawn to tear through the office fridge, searching for something to drink.

“And yet Coca-Cola Blak is gone,” Shawn said, settling for a regular red can. “Why is it that the truly momentous inventions are ignored by the public, while trifles like cell phones, the Internet, and artificial insulin are treated like miracles of science?”

“What do you think she’s doing out there?” Gus said, staring at the car.

“Idling.”

“That’s what her car is doing. What’s she doing?”

“I don’t know, Gus. Why don’t you ask her?”

“I want her to go away.”

“So tell her.”

“You tell her. She’s your psychic slave.”

“I’m afraid I gave up my power over her when I freed her from my control,” Shawn said. “Because you insisted, by the way. So if anyone’s going to give her an order, it’s got to be you.”

It wasn’t until fifteen minutes later that Gus was nervous enough to take Shawn’s advice. Opening the office door just wide enough for him to slip through without letting in any lurkers who might be waiting for exactly this chance, Gus squeezed out, slamming it behind him. He looked around. He was alone, and the Mercedes was still sitting at the curb, chugging away.

Maybe if I stand here and glare at her she’ll drive away on her own, Gus thought. He remembered Old Man Maccoby and how one of his stern looks could chase even the toughest of the neighborhood kids right off his lawn. If only Gus could summon up that force of crankiness in his gaze. He narrowed his lids and felt his irises contract. He was radiating waves of sternness directly at the Mercedes’ driver’s seat.

Nothing happened.

Gus sighed. He didn’t have Old Man Maccoby’s gift. And of course, he didn’t have generations of kids spreading rumors around the neighborhood that he had the dismembered parts of missing children hanging from chandeliers in every room, either. That might have helped with the intimidation. He was going to have to handle this up close.

Taking small steps-the only kind his still-stiff legs would allow-Gus walked as quickly as he could to the Mercedes. He stood outside the front passenger-side window and waited for her to roll it down. He could see her inside, sitting behind the wheel, staring straight ahead. Even after he knocked on the window, she didn’t turn to acknowledge him. Wishing he were anywhere else in the world-well, maybe with the exception of the impound shack-Gus pulled open the car’s door.

“I couldn’t help but notice you’re still here,” Gus said to her unmoving profile.

“I’m waiting,” she said.

“Waiting for what?”

“For Shawn’s next order.”

Gus let out a loud sigh of exasperation. “He’s not sending you any more orders. He’s freed you from psychic slavery. You’re free to do whatever you want.”

“And what I want is to wait for my next order,” she said. “Shawn knows I’ll always be there for him when he wants me.”

Gus stifled a scream. “He doesn’t want you. I don’t want you. Nobody wants you.”

“But when he does, I’ll be here. Now would you mind closing the door? You’re letting the air-conditioning out.”

Gus gave up, going back into the office and only peering out to confirm she was still at the curb every ten seconds or so. “How long do you think she’s going to stay out there?”

“I seem to recall her gas gauge was just about full when she dropped us off,” Shawn said. “She can probably idle for another six hours or so. Then she’ll have to go get gas.”

“What if she doesn’t? What if we go out there one day and find her mummified corpse sitting behind the wheel of her dead car?”

“Then we’ll know she can’t follow us anymore.”

“We can’t just keep waiting and hiding in here. We’ve got to do something proactive.”

“As opposed to what? Anti-active?”

Gus marched over to the desk and swept Shawn’s feet off the computer keyboard. “We don’t know a thing about this woman.”

“We know she’s got great legs. Fabulous fashion sense. And she deserves her own show on Cinemax.”

Gus typed furiously at the keyboard. “Maybe that’s enough for you.”

“I think it should be enough for any man.”

“I want to know what we’re dealing with. To start with, just how crazy is she?”

“Do you really need a computer to tell you that? And where are you planning to look? I don’t think there’s a Web site that lists every lunatic in the country by their dress size.”

“No, just their license-plate numbers.”

The computer let out a chime, and the screen filled with the uninspiring gray logo of the California Department of Vehicles. Gus went to the window and checked the Mercedes’ plate, then typed the letters and numbers into the form. After a moment, the computer chimed again and a page of information filled the screen.

“So who is our mystery woman?” Shawn said.

Gus studied the monitor. “Apparently her name is Enid Blalock, and she lives in Arcata. And according to this, she weighs three hundred forty-five pounds.”

“Wow, she’s really dropped a lot of weight,” Shawn said. “Do you think she did that for me?”

Gus barely wasted a glance at him. “She also has green eyes and blond hair, and she was born in nineteen forty-eight.”

“Don’t see a lot of women over fifty who look that good.”

“Shawn, she stole that car.”

“For all we know, there’s a perfectly good reason for her to be driving around Santa Barbara in a hundred-thousand-dollar car that belongs to some fat, divorced Realtor in Arcata.”

“Give me-” Gus broke off. “Wait a minute. How do you know that Enid Blalock is divorced?”

“Easy,” Shawn said. “Clearly she’s let herself go physically-I mean, three hundred forty-five pounds is more than a second helping of turkey over the holidays. Hubby loses interest, starts looking into other options. Enid catches him, and he buys her the expensive car to keep her happy.”

“So then she wouldn’t be divorced,” Gus said.

“The car’s three years old,” Shawn said. “You think hubby could keep it in his pants that long? So on strike two, she takes him to court.”

“Okay, fine,” Gus said. “So how do you know she’s a Realtor?”

“This is California,” Shawn said. “When was the last time you met a divorced woman who wasn’t?”

Gus had to concede that point. “That doesn’t change the fact that Tara is driving around in her car.”

“Enid Blalock could be her mother,” Shawn said. “Or maybe Tara works as a valet at Enid’s club, and she’s just looking for a really good place to park it. The point is, Tara is innocent until someone proves her guilty.”

“Next thing you’ll say is she’s sane until someone proves her insane.”

“I’m willing to stand up for this woman’s constitutional rights, even if you’re willing to throw them away.”

“Because she looks hot in a minidress.”

“That’s not part of the Constitution?”