Victor Lavalle: The Devil in Silver

Dr. Anand leaned forward. “Is this your first time?”

Huey answered for him. “As far as our records indicate.”

Staff members noted this in their paperwork as well. All those pens writing on the tabletop at the same time sounded like a skateboard’s wheels on pavement.

“I want my lawyer,” the big man said. Wasn’t that what he should tell them?

Huey squeezed the big man’s shoulder. The silver diver’s watch appeared in his eye line. The big man blinked rapidly, as if the cop was about to conk him. Instead the cop explained, “It don’t work that way. You haven’t been charged with a crime yet so an attorney isn’t your right.”

The big man pulled at the handcuff attached to his right wrist. The metal thunked against the armrest. Even the orderly looked up now. Inside New Hyde this orderly counted as the muscle, the one to hold a thrashing patient down, separate two patients fighting over a kid-sized carton of milk. (Nurses did the same, but that was not what they’d been hired to do.) Now the orderly sized up the big man, tried to figure if he could handle the new admit once the cops, and their handcuffs, were gone. The big guy wore cheap khaki slacks and a button-down light blue long-sleeved shirt. Both in sizes you only find in Big & Tall stores. The new guy had size to him, no doubt, but it was the kind of bulk you find on bouncers at shitty bars; the kind of guys who wear overcoats to hide the fact that their bellies are bigger than their chests. A big man but not a hard man. He’d probably do more damage falling on you than punching you. The orderly came in a smaller package, but was made of denser material. He’d been a wrestler in high school and stayed in good shape. He felt sure he could maintain control later on. Threat assessed, he looked back down to his screen.

The big man pleaded, “If I’m not charged with anything, then you can let me go.”

Dr. Anand shook his head faintly. “Unfortunately, no. You’re categorized as a ‘temporary admit.’ Which means the police leave you in our custody for seventy-two hours.”

“Three days? I’m not staying here three more minutes!” He bucked in his chair. Dewey and Louie had their hands firm on his shoulders in an instant, keeping him seated.

Nearly the whole room scribbled notes after that. And instantly the big man saw that his usual headfirst routine wasn’t going far. Can’t bulldoze through this . He knew what he had to do then. Stay calm enough to convince them of the truth.

Dr. Anand leaned forward in his chair. “You’ll be with us for three days. That’s the law. It’s Thursday night. You’ll be with us until Monday morning. And in that time we’ll evaluate your mental state.”

“I can tell you my mental state.”

Dr. Anand nodded. “Let’s hear it.”

“I’m pissed.” Being mellow had never been one of his talents.

From the back of the room the orderly rose as high as he could in the chair. “Language, my man.”

The big man took him in. “You watching music videos or porn on your phone?” he asked.

Dr. Anand looked at the orderly.

“It’s off!” he said, as he fumbled with the device.

The big man grinned and said, “I’m going to call you Scotch Tape. ’Cause I see right through you.”

The orderly said, “Look here.…”

But Dr. Anand caught the orderly’s eye. If this was a contest of power, you can guess who won. The other staff members studied their laps, and silence choked the room. The orderly pulled his chair forward and set the cell phone on the tabletop, facedown.

A moment after that, the big man heard a snorting noise from the back of the room. It sounded like the radiators in his apartment. They would snort and hiss, too, at odd hours. Sometimes they produced heat, other times they just made a racket. The snorting stopped. The room didn’t get any warmer.

Dr. Anand returned his attention to the big man. He didn’t look angry, more like exhausted. “Why don’t we just start with a name . What should we call you?”

Huey had the big man’s wallet. He handed it to the doctor.

“You’ve got my name,” the big man said. His brown pleather wallet, old and overstuffed, carrying more ATM receipts than currency, sat in the doctor’s hand.

Dr. Anand shook the wallet. “I’m not asking what it says on your license. I’m asking what you like to be called.”

Why was this doctor talking to him like that? Like he was a dun-sky? He spoke so slow it seemed like another language. Being treated like a newborn only riled the reptile in the big man’s brain.

He said, “You can call me ‘Ed the Head.’ ”

Two staff members actually wrote this down, the others just looked confused.

Scotch Tape couldn’t control himself. From the back of the room he shouted, “I am not calling you no ‘Ed the Head!’ ”

The big man nodded. “Then call me … ‘Blackie Lawless.’ ”

Scotch Tape leaned forward and snatched up his phone as if it was the big man’s neck. “Watch it, white boy!”

Blackie Lawless was the lead singer of an eighties band called W.A.S.P., but the big man didn’t have time to give Scotch Tape a history lesson in heavy metal.

The cops shifted in their stances. They wanted to be done. Dr. Anand seemed the least exasperated by all this. He opened the wallet, pulled out the driver’s license, and read the name to himself.

“Your name’s not Edward. And it sure isn’t Blackie!”

The big man felt foolish. What was he really doing here? Giving a little shit to an orderly? Confusing a doctor? But to what end? He couldn’t think past the anger caught in his throat. In other places, his taste for pointless conflict made him seem a bit wild, lippy, a guy who wouldn’t back down. He liked that. But that’s not how they’d see it in a psychiatric unit. These people at New Hyde were evaluating him. He had to remember that.

Just breathe. Be calm. Speak to the doctor for real .

“Pepper,” the big man said in a subdued voice. “Everyone calls me Pepper.”

“Why do they call you Pepper?” Dr. Anand asked.

“Because I’m spicy.” He couldn’t help it, the words just came out. Now he looked at the doctor to see if this would earn a demerit, too. But Dr. Anand didn’t seem bothered.

The snorting began again. This time it seemed closer, no longer playing in the back of the room. It came from under the conference table. And it no longer sounded like a radiator. More like a living thing, but not human. A bull. The snorting grew louder. Pepper watched the table. He felt confused but refused to show it. What could he say that wouldn’t make him look like a grade-A lunatic? Then, once again, the sound abruptly cut out.

Dr. Anand put the license back into the wallet and balanced it on Pepper’s thigh. “Thank you for telling me.”

“I get to keep that?”

“This isn’t prison,” Dr. Anand said. “You have rights.”

“Except the right to walk out of here tonight,” Pepper said.

Dr. Anand nodded. “Except that one.”

The doctor turned in his chair again and spoke to the staff, but stared directly at the orderly. “Let’s all remember Pepper’s name.”

Scotch Tape wanted to howl but he also wanted to avoid getting written up again. Dr. Anand would probably already make a little note about the business with the phone. And it was 2011. If there was ever a year to be cavalier about employment, well, this sure wasn’t it. So Scotch Tape nodded and said, “Pepper.”

The snort came for a third time. It was even closer now. Immediately to his right. As if the animal had crept right up to his ear. Even worse, there was a smell. Musky and warm, like old blood. It made his throat close, and he wanted to wretch. The hospital’s staff members sat around the conference table taking notes, or watching him. Not one of them seemed to notice anything. How could they not smell that stink?