Jonathan Kellerman - Blood Test

“She was a barracuda,” he said. “You had to hold her back or she got too aggressive. The last time we worked together was a stag party for an older guy who was getting married for the second time. A bunch of middle-aged men, salesman types, in this apartment in Canoga Park. They’d been drinking hard and watching fuck films before we got there. We were doing jock and cheerleader that night. I had on a football uniform and she was wearing a jersey top, a little pleated skirt, and sneakers. Pompons, her hair in pigtails, the works.

“Those guys were harmless old farts. Before we got there they’d probably been talking big, hooting at the movies like guys do when they’re nervous. Then we walked in, they saw her, and I thought a few hearts were gonna give out. She wiggled at ’em, batted her lashes, showed a lot of tongue. We had the skit all planned out but she decided to ad lib. The script says we do a little minor league fondling while trading suggestive lines — you know stuff like I ask her how she’d like to be my wide receiver and she says ‘Do it again, we like it, we like it!’ She was a lousy actress, by the way, real flat, no emotion. But the audiences seemed to dig her — her looks made up for it, I guess. Anyway, these old guys were eating it up and she got off on it. That’s probably what gave her the idea of getting really outrageous.

“All of a sudden she reached into my pants, grabbed my cock, did a bump and grind, started jerking me off, all the time gyrating at them. I wanted to stop her — we’re not supposed to go past the script unless we’re asked to.” He stopped, looked uncomfortable. “And paid to. But I couldn’t do it because it would have ruined the skit and been a downer for all those old guys.

“They were staring at her and she was groping me and I was smiling through it all. Then she let go and waltzed over to the guy who was getting hitched — pudgy little fellow with big eyeglasses — and slipped her hand down his pants. Everything got real quiet then. He was red as a beet but he couldn’t say anything cause it woulda made him look like a wimp in front of his friends. He got a sick look on his face, forced himself to smile. She started tonguing his ear, kept yanking his chain. The other guys started to laugh. To relieve their tension. Soon they were yelling out lewd comments. Nona was high, like she was really getting off on groping the poor sucker.

“Finally I was able to ease her away without it looking like a hassle. We got out of there and I yelled at her in the car. She looked at me like I was nuts, said what was the matter, we got a big tip, didn’t we. I could see it was no use talking to her so I gave up. We got on the freeway. I was driving fast because I couldn’t wait to get away from her. Then all of a sudden I felt her pulling at my zipper. Before I know it, my cock is out and she’s got it in her mouth. We’re going seventy and she’s sucking me off and telling me to admit it, I love it. I was helpless, just praying the highway patrol wouldn’t pull us over — that would be my balls, right? I asked her to stop but she had me and she wouldn’t let go until she finished me off.”

“The next day I complained to Rambo, insisted I wouldn’t work with her anymore. She just laughed, said Nona would be great in films. Later I found out she’d left, just walked out.”

Telling the story had made him sweat. He excused himself, went to the bathroom, and came back freshly combed and sprayed and smelling of aftershave. Milo started questioning before he sat back down.

“And you have no idea where she went?”

Carmichael shook his head.

“She ever talk about anything personal?”

“Nope. There was nothing personal about her. She was all on the surface.”

“No hint where she might be headed?”

“She never even said where she came from. Like I told you, we did three or four gigs, then she split.”

“How’d she connect with Adam and Eve?”

“No idea. Everyone gets into it differently. Rambo called me after she caught my act at Lancelot’s. Some find out by word of mouth. She runs ads in the underground papers and skin mags. Gets more applications than she wants.”

“All right, Doug,” said Milo, standing, “I hope you’ve been straight with us.”

“I really have, Detective. Please don’t pull me into this.”

“I’ll do the best I can.”

We left. Back in the car Milo checked in with the dispatcher. There were no important messages.

“So what’s the diagnosis on Surfer Boy?” he asked.

“Off the cuff? Personality problems, probably narcissistic.”

“Which means?”

“That he’s got low self-esteem and it expresses itself in self-obsession — muscles, vitamins, constant attention paid to his body.”

“Sounds like half of L.A.,” he growled and turned on the ignition. As we pulled away, Carmichael came out of his house in swim trunks carrying a surfboard, a towel, and tanning lotion. He saw us, smiled, waved, and headed toward the beach.

Milo parked in a no parking zone near the entrance to Western Peds. “I hate hospitals,” he said, as we boarded the elevator and rode up to the fifth floor. It took a while to locate Valcroix. He was examining a patient and we waited for him in a small conference room off the ward.

He came in fifteen minutes later, gave me a disgusted look, and told Milo to hurry, he was busy. When the detective began talking, he made a show of pulling out a medical chart, perusing it, and writing notes.

Milo’s a skilled interrogator but he struck out with the Canadian. Valcroix continued to chart, unflustered, as the detective confronted him with knowing the Touch visitors and his affair with Nona Swope.

“Are you through, Officer?”

“For the time being, Doctor.”

“What am I supposed to do, defend myself?”

“You might start by explaining your role in the disappearance.”

“That will be quite simple. There is none.”

“No collaboration between you and the couple from the Touch?”

“Absolutely not. I visited them once. That’s the extent of it.”

“What was the purpose of your visit?”

“Educational. I’m interested in communal societies.”

“Did you learn much, Doctor?”

Valcroix smiled.

“It was a peaceful place. They have no need for policemen.”

“What were the names of the people who visited the Swopes?”

“The man was called Baron, the woman, Delilah.”

“Surnames?”

“They don’t use them.”

“And you’ve only visited the Touch once or twice.”

“Once.”

“All right. We’ll be verifying that.”

“Feel free.”

Milo fixed him with a hard stare. The Fellow smiled contemptuously.

“Did Nona Swope tell you anything that would lead us to her family’s whereabouts?”

“We didn’t talk much. We just fucked.”

“Doctor, I suggest you rethink your attitude.”

“Oh really?” The squinty eyes became hyphens. “You interrupt my work to ask me stupid questions about my personal life and expect me to have a good attitude?”

“In your case personal and professional seem pretty enmeshed.”

“How insightful of you to notice.”

“Is that all you have to say, Doctor?”

“What more would you like to hear? That I like to fuck women? All right. I do. I crave it. I’m going to fuck as many women as I can in this life and if there’s a life thereafter I hope it will provide an endless chain of warm, willing women so I can keep fucking. Last I heard, fucking was no crime, or have they passed a new law in America?”

“Go back to work, Doctor.”

Valcroix gathered his charts and left, dreamy-eyed.

“What an asshole,” said Milo walking back to the car. “I wouldn’t let him near my hangnail.” There was an illegal parking warning from Hospital Security taped on the windshield. He ripped it off and put it in his pocket. “I hope he’s not typical of what they’re passing off as doctors nowadays.”