Perri O'Shaughnessy - Unfit to Practice

Dr. Mai waited for her on the wooden deck outside the coffee shop in back. In the near distance, the American River, low in September, more like a creek in this spot, swished along. Dr. Mai wore the same suit, a bit thin at the knees, the same shirt, the same dusty sandals, and that somber visage, the look of the priest who can’t understand how the world could have sunk so low. She wondered for a moment what his story was, what persecutions he had endured, what had driven him from his homeland.

No time to find out today.

Sitting across from him at a rustic table, drinking from a glass of water, she gazed out at the scruffy dry grass and trees beyond. “I need to speak with Kao,” she said. “He is my client. I’m concerned about confidentiality.”

“I am his agent and adviser in all legal matters,” Dr. Mai said, not moving.

His demeanor toward her had changed indefinably, and she felt even more uncomfortable, but she had no choice. The information had to be conveyed today.

“You have accepted the offer?” he asked. “The money will be available when?”

“I haven’t called the company back yet. The offer is still on the table. Dr. Mai, I-I’m afraid another matter has come up.”

Dr. Mai unfolded a piece of paper in English with the signature Kao Vang and a date. “Kao Vang instructs you to accept the offer immediately,” he said. “This is what you call a power of attorney. I can sign for them.”

“Kao Vang didn’t write this himself,” Nina said. The paper appeared to have been copied by hand from a legal form book and was correct in form.

“He asked me to write it. He signed. He dated.”

“All right. We’ll get back to this in a moment. May I please speak to you about the matter about which I contacted you?” They had moved somehow to a very formal basis.

Dr. Mai pushed up his glasses. “Speak, then,” he said.

“Kao Vang’s file has been stolen,” she said. Keeping the story short and straight, she explained the circumstances. As she spoke, not sparing herself, Dr. Mai’s face fell into a grimace of pain and disappointment.

“I am very sorry. I want to say that directly to Mr. and Mrs. Vang,” she said.

He waved a hand at her, his face still screwed up with that awful expression.

“What is wrong?” she said.

“Sad how one ill leads to another,” Dr. Mai said.

“Where is Kao?”

Dr. Mai closed his eyes.

“Where is he? What’s going on?”

“Just get the money to me,” Dr. Mai said. “As soon as possible. Kao cannot talk to you right now. Just do what you have promised.”

“Does someone know about the insurance? Please tell me.”

“I love this family,” he said. “Kao is my wife’s nephew. My wife died in one of the camps. Kao is all the family I have left. I must support him, but it is sad.” He looked out the window, and she caught the same weary expression that she had seen in Kao’s eyes.

“Dr. Mai?” She reached over and touched his hand. “Dr. Mai!”

He turned his head toward her and said, “We mean nothing to you. Nothing at all. Just get the money.”

“It’s not true. I do care. And-and I fear I have-from your reaction I am very concerned. I must know if the Vangs are safe.”

“Just get the money. Please do your job. Get the money. Have your secretary call me when you have the money. That is all I have to say.”

“Let me help to protect the Vangs. I have a friend-”

“No more of your help.” He walked out on her, shaking his head.

N INA PICKED UP A SANDWICH in Meyers at the deli and ate it while driving, wondering how long a long Monday could last. A margarita might have temporarily eased her own misery, but that would only lead to more trouble, so she settled for a V8. Although Dr. Mai’s reaction had not been entirely unexpected, his vehemence unsettled her. To prep herself for her next appointment with the girls from the campground, she turned into the Starlake Building parking lot, mentally rehashing the meeting she had hosted in her office with Brandy and Angel four days before, on Thursday.

The two women had shown up at Nina’s office for an emergency appointment late in the afternoon. Although they refused to say why they needed to see her so hastily, Sandy squeezed them in before leaving to run an errand. “The girl that called sounded scared. Terrified.”

“An abusive husband?” Nina asked. Sad that that would be her first thought, but experience taught unhappy lessons.

“I don’t think so.”

One wore her peroxided hair short in rough layers, the other had swinging shoulder-length brown hair, but Nina needed only one look at their wide gray eyes. “You’re sisters,” she said, rising to greet them.

“Angelica Guillaume and Brandy Taylor,” the blond said, shaking her hand. “Call us Angel and Brandy. Thanks for seeing us on such short notice.”

They flopped into the orange client chairs, but Nina could see their casual ease was a pose. The muscles in their identically wiry legs remained tense, as if ready to propel them right back out the door. To give them a minute to orient themselves and calm down, Nina waited while they commented on her view of Lake Tahoe and admired the Washoe baskets on the wall. Nina quickly figured out that the blond, Angel, acted as leader. Twenty-three to Brandy’s nineteen, she wore a hip-hugging skirt and a tiny black cotton shirt that stopped just below the rib cage. Her face was in sharp focus: red lips, each lash carefully highlighted with mascara. Brandy, considerably taller and vaguer, wore a cotton floral skirt and loose sweater. She drooped behind her sister.

“What can I do for you?” Nina asked.

“Brandy saw a murderer,” Angel said.

Nina pulled out the legal pad. She took notes while they told their story in fits and starts with constant sisterly interruptions. The trouble had started right before Labor Day weekend, the week before.

“Brandy. You can’t just leave Bruce and run away to our house every time you have a fight,” Angel’s husband, Sam, said. “If you’re going to marry the guy, you’ve got to learn to work things out-”

“This wasn’t a fight. It’s over.”

The phone rang, Bruce again. Sam wanted to talk to him but Brandy snatched the phone away, slamming it into the cradle. “This is none of your business!”

“Like hell it isn’t!”

At that point, baby Jimmy and two-year-old Kimberly began to bawl. Sam, heading for the bathroom, the Tahoe cabin’s only refuge, tripped on a bag of groceries and let loose with a string of shouted curses. The children cried louder.

Angel turned off the kitchen faucet and saved the day, bustling in and plopping the kids in front of cartoons with crackers.

“We haven’t had a minute to talk, Angel,” Brandy complained. “I have nowhere else to go. I’m sorry if I’m getting on Sam’s nerves, but I’m hurting!”

“Don’t worry about Sam. He likes you, but he gets cranky when we’re all crammed in here like this. Listen, Bran, let’s do like we used to when Mom and Dad got weird on us,” Angel said. “Let’s split. It’s a long weekend. Just give me an hour to arrange the kids and someone to cover me at the salon.”

Unfortunately, by the time they had located two musty sleeping bags and properly provisioned themselves with graham crackers, chocolate, wine, marshmallows, and sweet rolls from Raley’s, the campgrounds at Richardson’s, D. L. Bliss State Park, and Nevada Beach were full. The ranger advised them to try the Campground by the Lake, right smack in the middle of South Lake Tahoe.

“Damn,” Brandy said. “Why didn’t we think of this? It’s Labor Day weekend, the worst time in the world for camping. We’re stuck in the center of town-unless you want to drive some more?”