by Frank Lauria
Orient dumbly picked up his suitcase and walked out of his cell.
"Good to see you, Owen," Andy Jacobs grunted, holding out a thick hand.
Orient took it. "Same here, Andy," he said.
"Just as I thought," Jacobs said gruffly. "I let you out of my sight for six months and I have to collect you in jail." A broad smile creased his jowly face. "Still good to see you though. In jail or out."
Orient shook his head. "The charges are kind of vague."
Andy Jacobs frowned and his voice rumbled louder with indignation. "Vague? That’s an understatement. They’re nonexistent."
He turned and glared at the cell guard who looked up at the ceiling.
"You mean I’m free?"
"Of course. And as soon as the warrant charges are cleared up in court, we’ll be in a position to file a countersuit." Jacobs took Orient’s arm and started walking to the stairs. His voice dropped to a loud whisper.
"The warrant they took you in on had expired months ago. They had no right to take you, Owen. But we’ll discuss all that in the car. These cells are wired."
Orient signed a release document from the station which Andy Jacobs countersigned "under protest," insisting that one of the officers witness the objection.
When they left the station, Orient saw the senator’s brown Lincoln limousine parked outside. Jacobs opened the door and waved Orient inside. "Come with me," he said. "You can tell me about it on the way to the City. You don’t have to worry. I have a security expert check the car once a week for bugs."
Jacobs sat silently in the back seat, glowering at the back of the driver’s head through the partition as he listened to Orient explain that Joker was a friend he had met casually.
"Apparently they believe he’s involved in some kind of traffic," Orient told him, "and they think I’m part of the conspiracy." As Orient spoke, he remembered the bag he had delivered to Pola for the Joker.
"Well, it’s always a good idea to be careful who your friends are," Andy growled. "But it doesn’t give anyone the right to arrest you without cause. The warrant was based on one telephone conversation mentioning your name. Issued in May and never renewed. Those things are only good for ten days. They thought they could pressure you. But your name is on all kinds of fugitive lists at the airports and docks. We’ll have to make a motion that it be stricken from the record."
"Is all that necessary?" Orient asked.
"Of course." Andy lowered his voice. "After we have the case dismissed, we’ll be in a position to file countersuit. All mention of this charge, all record must be removed as without basis in fact. A thing like this could damage your reputation as a physician. And your credit rating." Andy leaned over to him. "You are going back to work, aren’t you?" he demanded.
"I think so. That’s why I thought I’d like to let the matter drop."
Andy frowned and shook his massive head. "Not wise, Owen, not wise. It won’t take much of your time. I’ll attend to it. It offends me that people’s rights are so easily swept aside."
"Maybe you’re right, Andy," Orient sighed.
"Of course I’m right. And you’ll see it won’t take more than a few days." He turned and picked up the microphone dangling next to him. "What am I doing Thursday, Hank?" he rambled into the mouthpiece.
The driver snapped on the seat light and studied a list attached to the dashboard. He looked up into the rear-view mirror and Orient heard his voice on the instrument in Andy’s hand. "Free until noon lunch, Mr. J."
"Put me down for court that morning." Andy replaced the microphone and frowned triumphantly at Orient. "There, you see. By Thursday it will be all over."
Orient looked out the window. The car was on Riverside Drive going uptown along the Hudson River. "Where are we going now, Senator?" he asked.
"Going to your house, of course," Andy pulled a pocket watch from his vest. "Then I’ve got an appointment at the Lawyer’s Union." Orient smiled. "You must remember that I sold that house six months ago."
"You did, Owen." Andy jammed the watch back into his pocket. "But the buyer couldn’t meet the first payment. He lost money in the market and had to file papers. Since then, no one’s been interested. So you still own a house. But your tax is coming due and you’re going to have to find some way to cover it."
"You mean the house is still mine?"
"For another few months, until you decide to handle the financial end of it. Personally, I hope you decide to hold on to the place."
Orient didn’t answer. He found that it pleased him somehow to think that there was a place in his memory he could return to, and rest.
It took Orient a short time to find a job as a physician in a private hospital. For a few months he put all his concentration on relearning the skills and reflexes of the journeyman doctor. Soon he found that he was able to fulfill his responsibilities as a physician and had free time for his personal projects.
He also found that Andy Jacobs’s estimate of how long it would take to untangle his legal affairs had been conservative. It was another six months and fourteen court appearances later before the case was dismissed. By the time it was finished, Orient had already replaced some of his videotape equipment and was cutting his first reel. The hours he spent away from the hospital were completely absorbed in the structuring of his visual examination of the psychic experience. The house remained empty except for the bedroom and study, both of which were crammed with books and pieces of electronic gear. As the days passed, he came to see that each moment had its own shape that he could understand. He became satisfied with his work and its reality filled his emptiness.
He was in his study one day, examining a series of color slides of occult symbols being projected on a screen from a microfilm reader, when he heard someone at the door.
When Orient answered, he saw a tall, bearded man wearing a hat and dark glasses climbing the stairs. His overcoat reached his ankles.
"Howdy, Doc," the man said happily. "You mind if I visit?"
There was something familiar about the man’s voice but Orient didn’t place it right away. Then the man lifted his sunglasses and he recognized the clear blue eyes. Orient grinned and stepped aside.
"Why the gear, Joker? Lose a big bet?"
Joker stepped inside. "Just being extra cool these days." He looked around. "You sure got a layout. You could turn this place into a first-class game parlor."
"Come in and relax." Orient led the way to the study. "Maybe I’ll let you talk me into it."
Joker lifted his hat and his orange-red hair spilled out. He took off his beard, put it in his overcoat pocket and then removed his coat. He threw everything down on a couch and sat down.
"Well, damn, Doc," he smiled broadly and leaned back, "you look together."
"Now that you’ve lost the disguise you look almost human yourself. I see you haven’t retired the birds yet."
Joker ran his fingers fondly over one of the green eagles embroidered into his brown silk cowboy shirt. "Not yet anyway. I’ve been out in Reno and Vegas working at my legal trade. Just in town for a sightsee, you understand. How was your little vacation?" he asked casually.
Orient frowned and sat down across from him. "You should have told me there was cocaine in that bag, Joker."
Joker hung his head. "I suppose so, Doc," he agreed. "But I figured there was better than an even chance you wouldn’t go for it. They would have snapped me off the street in a second, but the heat had no line on you. You were certified. And the stuff wasn’t going to a pusher. It was a legitimate deal." Joker looked up. "Just a transfer for a good profit." He smiled and leaned over toward Orient. "And you got to admit that a nice quiet vacation in Tangier was just the ticket."
"Some ticket," Orient said, looking down at his wrinkled hands. He shrugged and looked up, "Staying a while? There’s room here if you need a place to sleep. But no gaming parlors and no deals."
Joker slapped his palm on his knee. "Wouldn’t that be something? The fanciest, coolest, hardes
t-working gambling saloon in New York." He chuckled sadly as he considered it. "But we can’t do it. After coming so close to the Feds, I decided to just do my poker playing in Nevada. Man can’t concentrate on his work when he’s got to worry about the heat."
Orient leaned forward in his chair as he thought of something. "Listen, Joker," he said evenly, "maybe you could stay here a few days and help me work out some lab experiments with playing cards."
Joker thought it over. "You know," he said after a long pause, "I did some asking around on you when I first met you. Just being cool, no offense," he added quickly. "I heard about the psychic stuff you did. At one time I thought we could work something out for card games."
He held up his hand as Orient started to protest. "But then I thought it over again and decided cards wouldn’t be fun no more." He stood up. "I only got a few days in town and I promised this lady from Vegas I’d show her around. I just dropped by to make sure you were doing okay and weren’t sore at me."
Orient stood up and held out his hand. "Case dismissed," he smiled.
"Doc," Joker said solemnly as he shook Orient’s hand, "you got my word that from now on everything between us is absolutely cool." He pulled the beard from his overcoat pocket and put it on. "I didn’t want anyone to see me in case they’re watching the house."
"You really think they might be?" Orient said incredulously.
"Well, Doc"—Joker put on his dark glasses and began stuffing his long hair into his hat—"you can’t be too careful. Faye made me promise. She’s this lady from Vegas I’m with. This is her first time in the city and she wouldn’t forgive me if I got into trouble with my old friends. Faye is very particular about me staying respectable."
He pulled the hat down, buttoned up his overcoat, and ambled to the door. "Sorry I can’t stay and help you with your experiment. And I sure apologize for any hassle over that bag." He opened the door and turned to shake hands with Orient. "But you got to admit you learned something from that hand I dealt you. It’s just like Faye always tells me."
"What’s that?" Orient asked.
Joker lifted his sunglasses and winked. "Never trust a gambler."