Jill cut her off, “Hill, yep, Jake was never seen again and Jill was arrested for loitering with intent.” Jake almost cracked a smile, especially when he saw the receptionist hadn’t the vaguest clue what to do next.
They had long grown accustomed to and become a bit weary of this reaction each time they met new people, but he’d have to say this was one of Jill’s better retorts. He knew her quick wit was an anxiety response on her part. He pulled the girl safely out of Jill’s crosshairs by saying, “We’re a little early.” And she plunged right back into Jill’s scope when she said, “Oh, great, he’s running ahead of schedule today, anyway.” She flashed an everybody wins smile.
“Suicide cancellation?” Jill blurted.
The girl’s eyes went big and she looked horrified, but since Jill had asked it in the form of a question, her face indicated she and her brain were struggling for an answer. “No, not that I’m aware of,” she squeaked.
Jake smiled and said, “We’re just joking.”
The girl looked somewhat relieved and said, “It shouldn’t be much longer.”
Jake grabbed Jill’s arm gently before anything else escaped her mouth.
They sat down in side-by-side chairs. Jill leaned over and whispered, “Sorry.”
He said, “I know. I think she’ll live.”
As they settled into comfortable wood and padded leather chairs, they continued to scrutinize the office. The magazine selection was a bit bigger than most and covered a broader span of subjects. There was Muzak on the overhead, but not at an annoying volume. All in all, it was comfortable. Jill finally selected a magazine and Jake followed suit. The New Yorker for her, Field & Stream for him.
They sat in silence for a few minutes perusing their pages. The silence grated on Jill. She finally said, “Good magazine?”
“Yeah it’s great. How’s yours?”
“I don’t know. I’m not reading, either.”
They abandoned their magazines and both began scanning the office again. Their heads scanned left to right, in synchronized viewing mode. Suddenly Jake’s head stopped moving. A split second later, Jill’s stopped, too. How had they missed it during the first inspection? They both stared at the requisite framed medical license on the wall. Jill saw Jake’s jaw tighten just a little, which usually made his ears jump in a cute way.
“If he’s wearing Birkenstocks, I’m outta here.”
Jill scoffed. “You cops. What is it about Birkenstocks and a Berkeley certificate that makes your brain shut down?”
“How much time do we have?”
Jill just shook her head and said, “Never mind.”
Jake leaned further back in his chair and Jill joined him. This felt safer somehow, as if they’d found a secret hideaway in plain sight. They spoke quietly.
“Thanks for coming,” he said.
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this for anything. I’ve been trying to tell people you’re crazy for years.”
“Are you nervous?” he asked.
She made a dismissive shrug and with great confidence replied, “Nope.”
“Why not?” he asked, like she had a secret that could save him.
She did. “If there was something wrong with you, well, I mean not counting the usual stuff, don’t you think I’d be the first to know?”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “Oh, look who’s talkin’. Didn’t you have your shirt over your head the other day?”
Jill raised her head in a haughty posture and sniffed, “That was therapy.”
“Ah!” Jake proclaimed as if he’d finally grasped some complex theory.
Then the receptionist opened the door. Not the exit door. The one that led back there. Where Jake’s future hung in the balance.
Jill’s eyes narrowed and she stared back there, where they played for keeps. Where a stranger would judge her husband and proclaim him fit or unfit to perform his duties. She could feel tension in Jake’s body. Heat and raw fear were suddenly palpable and they scared her. Jake’s right forefinger started tapping on the arm of his chair. His trigger finger. Tap, tappety tap, tap. She knew he wasn’t consciously aware that he did this. Twitching that finger. She had told him a few times before when he’d done it that it was a tell. “If we were playing poker, you just told me you have no idea how to play this hand.” And then, of course, the times they’d argued and she’d said, “Don’t you dare twitch that finger at me, mister!”
With Jake’s anxiety showing, at least to Jill, she knew it was all hands on deck time. So she did what she always did. She sat up straight, turned toward him and ran her hand through his hair and down to his shoulder. He turned toward her in this comfortable dance that brought peace and balance. They were eye to eye, foreheads touching.
She gave him a reassuring smile and said, “Easy, big boy. In just a few minutes we’ll be walking out of here and you won’t ever have to have that conversation with Cowell again.”
Jake’s eyes darted to the exit door and then back to Jill. She radiated absolute rock solid confidence. They both knew what was at stake here.
The receptionist who had been standing there in silence half coughed and said, “Officer Denton?” She said this as if calling him Jake would spark another outburst of God only knew what from Jill’s mouth. Jake stood up.
“Right this way, please,” she said and glanced at Jill.
As Jake reached the threshold to back there, he looked back at Jill. She winked at him and mouthed, “You’ll be fine,” as she flashed two thumbs up. Then the door closed behind him and he was gone.
Jill sat there utterly alone. Free to fall apart but not willing. It just wasn’t an option. Be good to him. Don’t make me come back there.
* * *
The receptionist opened the office door for him, and time seemed to slow down as Jake stepped across the threshold and absorbed his new surroundings. Jake thought he could feel Dr. Emmitt studying him. The doctor rose to greet him, but watched as Jake took in the environment. It was a nice, comfortable office with dark blue carpet, wood paneling around the room, several bookshelves with plenty of space to grow, and incredibly, a skylight just above the desk. It was actually between his desk and the two chairs facing the desk. It gave Jake the impression that the good doctor here had God on speed dial.
There were huge windows behind him that looked out onto a small blot of the original landscape—a piece of land the developers had left undisturbed when they put up this complex. A view that reminded these interlopers what this had once been. What was still there and had been for centuries. There were live oak and pine trees, manzanita, other shrubs, and in the distance, the other side of the canyon. Jake took comfort in the view and mourned for the greater wilderness that had been lost.
Jake had yet to make eye contact with the doctor. It was because he knew he had the eyes of a predator. Sharp, intense, and wary eyes. He knew he could scare this man just by looking at him. He had perfected something Jill called his “sniper glare” and it was the closest thing to rattles on a rattlesnake when it came to letting someone know they were perilously close to a point of no return. “Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!” No place for that here, though.
Jake let out a sigh. He was putting off the inevitable. The horrible reality was he was going to have to sit down and answer this man’s questions. And if he gave the wrong answers, his life would be forever changed. The thought that his future was in someone else’s control was nothing short of terrifying. He had always been the master of his own destiny. Relied on no one but himself. And to know his professional future was, in this man’s hands, torture.
The receptionist said, “Dr. Emmitt, this is Officer Denton,” and closed the door on her way out.
Finally, Jake’s eyes met Dr. Emmitt’s (who looked barely old enough to shave), and time resumed its normal pace. Jake smiled sheepishly and said, “I’m sorry.”
“Not at all. Welcome,” Dr. Emmitt said and offered his hand. Jake looked down and was delighted to see the good doctor s
ported sensible loafers, not sandals. At least that’s what he wore here in his office. Jake saw no point in thinking beyond that. What he had in the closet at home was his business.
The two men shook hands. The handshake was quick and firm. Jake noted the man’s comfortable and confident grip. Jake often tested the handshake waters, applying pressure as necessary. A politician or a door-to-door marketer was likely to feel the bones shift in his hand. He had a special handshake for guys who were shaking his hand but eyeballing Jill at the same time. He’d studied faces, gauged reactions, and perfected techniques. When he rolled their knuckles there was no doubt of the message conveyed. His politician handshake said, I’m on to you, Skippy, don’t blow smoke up my ass. He’d yet to find a Hallmark card that conveyed that message quite as well.
In the presence of Dr. Emmitt, however, he was professional and respectful. No need to tweak this man’s knuckles, not with his future hanging in the balance. Besides, the guy had a very open and friendly face. Normally this sort of boyish face would put Jacob on edge immediately. Boys were not meant to hold authority. Since suspicion usually rose in him immediately, Jake was surprised to discover he believed this man. That he was exactly what his face and handshake said he was. Young, but sincere. He hoped to God his instinct was right. He needed it to be right. For everything to be all right.
Dr. Emmitt said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Officer Denton. Or is it Deputy? Do you have a preference?” He motioned to the chairs across from his desk and Jake moved to the first chair.
“Either’s fine, but please call me Jake.”
“Okay Jake, please feel free to call me Sam.”
Dr. Emmitt walked back behind his desk and sat down. He had a file there, and he flipped it open. He looked down briefly, then leaned back, pressed his fingertips together, and studied Jake for a moment. Then he started a slow side-to-side swivel in his chair. Jake could feel himself tensing up. All the good feelings were gone now. He just wanted to choke this prick out. Jake now realized what it felt like when he gave people the sniper glare. It was this same sort of studied silence that put people on edge. Made them nervous. Only this time Jake was the one under the microscope. The predator was prey. This guy was giving him the shrink stare. And he fucking well hated it. Perhaps that was the point. Just when he felt he couldn’t stand it another second the doctor spoke.
“So, Jake, why are you here today?” He asked this as though Jake had just shown up unannounced. Like maybe he thought Jake was gonna hit him up for an investment in a time-share opportunity, or to buy a box of Girl Scout cookies or something.
“My lieutenant? He set this up.”
Still swaying side to side Dr. Emmitt said, “Yes I know, but why do you feel you’ve been sent here today?”
Head games. He’d read the guy wrong. Jake was losing patience, and he knew he couldn’t afford to. So he did a seat adjustment of his own and said, “My lieutenant thinks I need to talk about my shootings.”
Side-to-side, slow, hypnotic swaying. “But you don’t think it’s necessary?”
“No, I don’t,” Jake said. Crisp. Now the asshole was bobbing his head in a slow nod as if in deep, contemplative thought. Swaying and nodding. Like it was a fucking parlor trick. Who the hell does this guy think he is? Jake sat straight up in his chair and favored the good doctor with one of his sniper glares. And damned if the guy didn’t react at all. The ballsy prick was playing with Jake’s career, and Jake was about to get up, break some bones in his Berkeley hand and tell him he’d had enough. Thanks, but no thanks. Let Cowell do whatever he thought he had to do.
But then the doctor said, “You’ve never been evaluated for this before?”
Jake just shrugged and raised his eyebrows in response. Your move, Brain Boy.
* * *
In the lobby the receptionist was staring at Jill, who held a magazine in her lap. It was open, as if she were reading it, but Jill stared off at some distant thing. Slowly, as if she could sense the girl’s gaze, Jill looked toward the little sliding window and saw that the girl was indeed staring at her. Jill forced a quick smile and picked up her magazine, only then noticing it was upside down. Great. The receptionist was probably buzzing the doctor right this second to explain that the live one was still in the lobby.
Jill raised the magazine up until it covered her face and said softly, “Good, Denton. Very cool.”
* * *
In Dr. Emmitt’s office, Jake and the doctor were just looking at each other. At least the prick had stopped swaying, nodding, sashaying, whatever he was doing.
He finally looked down at the file and said, “So you are a patrol deputy, twenty years with the Sheriff’s Office, and you also serve as primary sniper on the SWAT team. Is that correct?”
Jake nodded once.
“Okay, thank you,” he said, still looking down. “And according to what I have here, you’ve had, uhm, seventeen confirmed, ahh, well it says here ‘kills’ in your fourteen years serving as a sniper?”
Another nod.
The good doctor sighed. “I feel we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot here, Jake. And I’m sorry about that. The truth is I don’t see many people like you.”
Jake said, “Well, that makes two of us.”
This made Dr. Emmitt smile, but Jake would not allow himself to smile.
“No, I guess you wouldn’t be anxious to run to someone for support.” The doctor chuckled. “Okay. Fair enough. We’re even. Let’s start anew and see if we can’t get this done and you’ll be on your way. I imagine this is the last place you want to be.”
“Short of a dentist’s chair, that’s about right.”
“Well, I’m above dentistry. Thank God.” And this time they didn’t have to pretend they weren’t smiling, they just let the smiles come and wore them well.
The doctor sat upright in his chair and looked at the file again. He said, “Well, let me back up from the number of, uhm, encounters.”
Jake was amused that the man had trouble saying the word kills.
He said, “Can you tell me about your first experience?”
“My first kill?”
“Yes.”
Without hesitation Jake said, “Daylight, multiple obstacles, seventy-eight yards, no wind, head shot through a glass window.” He had rattled it off so quickly and succinctly he even surprised himself. He wondered what the doctor would make of him having such knowledge at the forefront of his brain, readily available. Would he find it ghoulish or morbid?
Dr. Emmitt said, “How about, say,” as he looked at the file, “your ninth? Do you recall that?”
Again, as if by rote it spilled out of Jake’s mouth. “Night shot, one obstacle, fifty yards, fifteen-mile-per-hour breeze coming from the west, open head shot.”
Now they were both into it. How well could Jake recall them all? Dr. Emmitt pressed on, “Your fourteenth?”
“Thirteen and fourteen went together. Early evening, cop killers, multiple obstacles, one hundred five yards, stiff twenty-mile-per-hour wind from the north, head shots through two separate windows.”
Dr. Emmitt forged on as if Jake were some sort of autistic savant. “What’s an obstacle?” he asked.
“A hostage,” Jake answered.
This put a pause on the rapid-fire exchange.
Dr. Emmitt sat back again. “Really?” he asked. “They’re not people? Human beings? They’re objects?”
Jake said, “The second you make them people, you lose your edge.”
Dr. Emmitt picked up a pen and started writing in the file, which made Jake worry. He looked up and said, “Do you always remove yourself from the emotional aspects in this manner? Dissociate? Compartmentalize?”
Jake paused to see how this definition fit in his ear and was surprised to see that was exactly what he did. He finally shrugged and said, “It’s the only way. Hostages are obstacles to shoot around and bad guys are nothing more than moving bull’s-eyes on a target.”
Dr. Emmitt said, “I see.�
�� Then wrote in the file again.
Jake hoped he wasn’t being too honest. He didn’t really know any other way to be, but he wasn’t sure if his answers would save him or condemn him. He was completely out of his element here.
The doctor finished writing, sat back, and said, “Well, no matter how you rationalize it, you really are killing one or more other human beings. How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t get off on it if that’s what you mean,” Jake growled.
Dr. Emmitt raised one hand and said, “No, no, of course not.”
Jake felt he had to explain to this educated man what the streets were really all about. “Look,” he said, “most of these people forfeited their rights to be ‘human beings’ a long time ago. They don’t play by the rules of humanity and they don’t care.”
“So they deserve it?”
“When they harm other innocent, law-abiding people, you bet they deserve it.” The second it came out of his mouth Jake wanted to snatch it back, but he couldn’t unring that bell. At some point, this guy might go completely Berkeley on him and ask him to turn over his weapon. He could do that. He held that power.
They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a moment. Finally, Dr. Emmitt said, “How have you been able to do this job for so long without it affecting your emotions?”
Jake leaned forward. “The bottom line?”
“Please,” said Dr. Emmitt, “that’s why we’re here.”
“I don’t know them,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
Jake rushed into the void, anxious to clear this up. “The people I’ve shot. I don’t know any of them. I’ve never even known a hostage. I’ve just been lucky, I guess.”
Dr. Emmitt nodded and he weighed Jake’s statement. “If, by chance, you knew any of the people involved, could you still take the shot?”
Jake took a moment to look out the window and ponder this very point. The precise point Oz tried to drive home to him. Jake looked back at the doctor and said, “I’d like to think I could still do my job, but I won’t know the answer to that until it happens.”
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