Andrew Neiderman - Deficiency

When he saw the number of cars there, Garret Stanley drove around the building and parked in the rear.

"You'd better go in there and bring her out here," he told Terri.

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

He reached into his pocket and peeled seven one-hundred dollar bills off his fold.

"Offer her this. I'm sure it's more than she's making weekly in there. Tell her I'm a private detective. Tell her anything," he said sternly, "but get her out here." Terri hesitated a moment. His penchant for rage rang an alarm bell in her mind. He saw it and softened his expression.

"Look," he said. "Be logical, Doctor. This is why I've bothered with you in the first place. If I walk in there, people who might have seen that picture in the paper will think it's me and create a scene even before I get to speak with the bartender. Naturally, she's going to wonder why I don't come in with you. This just helps alleviate those concerns," he said waving the bills. "Money is and always will be the great convincer."

Slowly, she took the bills from him.

"I don't want to frighten her," she said.

"After she's out here, just leave it all to me," he added. "I don't want to frighten her either. If I do, she won't be of any value to us, now will she? We're running out of time," he added, directing himself to her hesitation. She looked at him, opened the door, and got out. He reached over to keep her from closing it and looked out at her.

"Remember, Doctor, there are innocent lives at stake, deaths we can prevent," he warned.

She nodded and turned to the rear door of the tavern. As she walked toward it, she debated. She could call Will Dennis. She could have policemen around this place in minutes, but what would that accomplish? Even Will said he would have little or no chance of convicting the man of anything more serious than impersonating a policeman, while, if this story were true, the real killer would be out there raging on, each death her responsibility.

On the other hand, she still had this instinctive feeling that Garret Stanley wasn't exactly all he claimed to be. This was the man who had attacked Curt, after all, and had incapacitated a policeman. How far would he go?

The conversations in the tavern were so loud and spirited that the music of the jukebox was nearly inaudible. Seconds after she had entered, however, many people stopped talking, looked her way, and then began again with even more energy and interest. Griffy, who recognized her first, left the two men he was talking with and approached her quickly.

"Dr. Barnard, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, what brings you here? I hope it wasn't someone complaining about our food," he added smiling.

"No," she said. "I need to talk to your bartender, Darlene."

"Oh. Well, sure," he said after a moment. "C'mon." He escorted her to the bar where Darlene waited, curious, leaning back against the corner, her arms folded under her breasts.

"You know Dr. Barnard?" Griffy asked her.

She shook her head.

"No, but I've heard of her," Darlene replied, her eyes still on Terri.

"She wants to talk to you. Go on. I'll cover for you," he said and went around to serve the customers.

Terri looked at the two men sitting on her right, both watching and waiting. Darlene noticed her concern and moved through the opening.

"What do you want?" she asked immediately.

"Can we go out through the back?"

"Why?"

"I need you to speak with someone," Terri told her.

"Who? A cop?"

"Not exactly."

"What is this?" Darlene asked, obviously nervous and disturbed with the request.

"There's a man outside who is investigating not only what happened to Paula Gilbert, but others. He is not with the police, but he represents people who are so interested, I was told to give you this if you will speak with him," she added, turned so her body would block it and showed Darlene the bills. Darlene's eyes widened as she counted.

"Seven hundred dollars? Just to talk to him?"

Terri nodded.

"Why didn't he come in?"

"You'll understand when you see him," Terri said. She hated to add it, but she did, "Trust me."

Darlene glanced at the men trying to hear and to see what was happening and then shrugged.

"If you can't trust a doctor, who the hell can you trust?" Darlene asked, took the money quickly, and started for the rear of the tavern. Conversations stopped again and heads turned in their direction until they went in through the kitchen doors.

Dorothy looked up from the skillet as they began to pass through.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"I have to speak to someone. Griffy's covering the bar for me," she told her quickly.

Terri just nodded at her. As soon as she recognized her, Dorothy's face blossomed with surprise, but before she could say anything else, Terri and Darlene walked out.

"Over there," Terri nodded toward the car.

Garret Stanley kept his face turned away as they approached. Darlene's steps grew slower, more cautious. She glanced at Terri who didn't look all that comfortable herself.

"Who is this guy?" Darlene muttered.

Before Terri could provide any additional information, Garret opened the car door and stepped out. Darlene gasped the moment she set eyes on him. And so did Terri.

He had her police escort's .38 in his hand and he was pointing at the both of them.

"Get in behind the wheel, Doc," he said. "You," he told Darlene, "get in the back."

"What is this? What are you doing with him? This is the man. I thought you were a doctor," she told Terri.

"She is," Garret said. "So am I. Move," he ordered.

"This wasn't what you told me you would do," Terri protested.

"Don't make me do something else I didn't tell you I would do," he replied and pulled the hammer back on the pistol, keeping it fixed on Darlene. Terri looked back at the restaurant's rear door. There was no one around and it was too far to run back to it. With all the noise within, any shouts for help would not be heard. She nodded at Darlene.

"I'm sorry. You had better do what he says," Terri told her. Darlene looked at the gun. Garret Stanley held the rear door open for her and Darlene slipped into the back. He followed.

"What now?" Terri asked.

"Just drive away," he told her. "Slowly," he emphasized and turned to Darlene Stone.

He sat in the motel owner's chair and stared at the front door. When he saw himself reflected in the window of the door, he saw he was pouting. Nothing that he had done over the past twenty-four hours had pleased him. This was a totally new and unexpected feeling. In his mind he was really born the day he had escaped, whenever that was. Time itself was so confusing a concept. It made even his recent history vague, especially now with all these memory lapses. How long had he been happy, successful, traveling like a smooth rocket through space? Was he ever this unhappy and was it that he simply could not remember it?

Sitting there and struggling to understand made him more irritable than ever and it frustrated him that he had no one in particular to blame for his depression and dissatisfaction. Other people at least had parents to blame. Who were his parents? Obscure faces floated through his mind, wispy, faces of smoke, holding shape for a moment or two and then dissipating and disappearing somewhere in the darkness that clouded his thinking. There were bits of music, occasional voices, clips of sentences, words, all of the sounds coming at him over a continually interrupted transmission from a station so deep down in his memory, he could barely hear anything.

Not knowing who he was and from where he had come never bothered him as intensely at it bothered him at this moment: Surely it had something to do with his new physical problems. Whatever. Even that malformed, ugly creature he had stomped out back there had a history, had pictures and memories to cherish. Where did he leave his pictures, his memories?