The Art of Forgetting

by Peter Palmieri

  He glanced over. It wasn’t Kaz in the passenger seat. It was his father. Andrew Copeland, in his Chicago P.D. uniform, was hunched on his side. His hair was matted, dark and wet. A burgundy stream trickled off the tip of his nose. He moved his lips trying to speak.

  “Don’t say anything, Dad. I already know. Roy told me everything.”

  Andrew Copeland closed his eyes, swallowed and raised his heavy lids. He again moved his parched lips and managed to emit a feeble sound.

  “It’s okay, Dad. I already know.”

  Andrew’s eyes opened wide, he reached and grabbed Lloyd by the shirt collar, pulled him close. His mouth opened wide and he shouted, “MABEL!”

  Lloyd awoke with a start, breathing hard and fast. He glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. It was five-thirty. He lay in bed for the next hour, reflecting on his dream. Just after six-thirty he called Nick De Luca and told him, “I have some hunches.”

  When he hung up the phone, Lloyd got out of bed. He fed Frederic and went for a jog around Mills Park. This time, on the way home he stopped across the street from Erin’s house. He gazed at the window of her living room, leaning on a parking meter as he stretched his quads.

  A scratchy voice to his side said, “O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?”

  Lloyd jerked. A tiny woman in a gray raincoat stood on the sidewalk next to him, looking up with pale eyes, her knotted hand holding a fish-net shopping bag, a pink handkerchief tied over her blue-white hair. She started laughing. “You’re surprised an old lady can still recognize that look in a young man’s eyes?”

  Lloyd smiled at her and shook his head.

  The old woman stepped around him, said, “Ah, to be young again!” and shuffled down the sidewalk. Lloyd followed her with his eyes until she turned a corner. He looked back at Erin’s window and thought he saw a shadow. He flinched, took a side-long step, turned and broke into a run.

  At home he took a shower, put on jeans and a fresh shirt. His hair still wet, he dialed Uncle Marty’s phone number. When Bender answered, Lloyd said, “I made my decision. I’m not going to take any deal.”

  Chapter 42

  “I need to speak to your brother,” Lloyd told Erin when he phoned her that evening.

  “Are you asking me for his phone number?” Erin asked.

  “Oh, I already talked to him on the phone. No, I need to see him in person,” Lloyd said.

  “Okay.”

  “But I kinda wanted you to come with me. Are you doing anything Saturday?”

  “I don’t know. I was thinking of driving to Lincoln Park to see some old friends.” Erin said.

  “Don’t,” Lloyd said.

  “You’re telling me I can’t go see a couple of old girlfriends?”

  “What I mean is, can’t you do it another day? I really need to see you Saturday.”

  There was a light shower Friday night, but by the morning the clouds cleared to unveil a deep blue sky. The warmth of the sun would soon dry the streets and the city came to life with the eager anticipation of a Midwest summer day.

  Erin answered the door wearing a sleeveless knit blouse, Capri pants and Espadrilles. She gaped at Lloyd in his sleek, dark, silk Italian suit and whistled.

  “Nice threads. You’re making me feel a little under-dressed,” she said.

  “You look ravishing,” Lloyd said.

  “Yeah, right.” Her cheeks flushed as she smiled. “What, are you trying to impress my brother? Or do you have a job interview later?”

  Lloyd shook his head. “I just wanted to, you know, look good for you,” Lloyd said.

  “Oh, hush. Come in, will you? I have to get my purse.”

  Lloyd stepped into the living room and Erin shut the door behind him. She marched to the kitchen and called out, “You want a glass of water or something?”

  “No thanks.” Lloyd looked at the moving boxes still stacked in a corner of the room. Erin returned with her purse. “You still haven’t unpacked,” Lloyd said. “Aren’t you planning on staying?”

  “I don’t know Lloyd,” Erin said. “Should I?” Lloyd said nothing. The two looked at each other until Erin said, “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  They spoke little on the twenty minute drive to Naperville. The few, cautious words they uttered bounced back and forth with a courtesy bordering on obsequiousness which served only to load the air with a nervous tension.

  “Turn left at the next street,” Erin said as they drove through a lush, tree-lined avenue past the country club. “There it is. At the end of a cul-de-sac.”

  “Wow! Looks like a museum of modern art,” Lloyd said. The house was an imposing structure with clean straight lines and an immense window that shot up the entire height of the home on one corner. “Who’d have ever thought?”

  Sean Kennedy answered the door in some sort of designer track suit, a huge grin on his face. “So, you kids are hanging together these days?” He tapped his outstretched index fingers together a couple of times.”

  “Something like that,” Lloyd said.

  Erin lowered her head.

  Sean gave Lloyd a hug then stepped back and ironed away non-existent creases on Lloyd’s suit jacket with the back of his hand. “Sorry brother. I don’t want to mess up your look,” he said with a wink. “We’re sitting in the kitchen. You kids want some pancakes, orange juice?”

  “I’m fine,” Lloyd said.

  “Good, because my wife’s at the hair salon and the housekeeper took the weekend off.”

  The kitchen was one of those overdone affairs with lacquered cabinets and professional grade twin stoves that one only sees in architectural magazines. It opened onto a breakfast nook that was larger than most formal dining rooms. Standing next to an ultra-modern stainless steel table was a man, perhaps in his late fifties, with wispy blond hair, sparkling eyes and a pleasant smile. He wore a sensible sports coat and a crisp silk tie with a matching breast pocket handkerchief. The gentleman emitted an aura of relaxed comfort (and not a hint of conceit) with the uncommon ease of an aristocrat. There could not have been a starker contrast between his appearance and that of Sean Kennedy if it had been set up deliberately.

  “This is Stewart Bennett,” Sean said. “Stu, this is my old friend Lloyd and my sister Erin.”

  “Enchanted,” Bennett said with an English accent that exuded refinement. He shook hands cordially and waited for the rest of the party to take their seats before sitting himself.

  “Like I told you over the phone, Lloyd, my expertise is strictly commodities,” Sean said. “Stu, on the other hand is the guru of bio-tech. And he insisted on meeting you in person.”

  “Forgive me for saying so, but some things are best not discussed over the telephone,” Bennett said.

  “Thanks for coming,” Lloyd said.

  “If you want to know what’s shaking in the bio-technical and pharmaceutical companies, you gotta talk to Stu Bennett. If he doesn’t know about it, not only has it not happened – it’s not gonna happen,” Sean said.

  Bennett smiled, turned to Erin and said, “Your brother takes particular pleasure in inflating my ego. And I take pleasure in indulging this curious affectation of his.” He turned to Lloyd, furrowed his brow and said, “Sean tells me you have a consummate interest in a specific company.”

  “Cardio-Prime Technologies,” Lloyd said.

  “Oh yes, the global leaders in cardiac monitoring technology,” Bennett said in a near mocking tone.

  “I got that much from their web site,” Lloyd said.

  “Of course. What sort of information were you looking for?”

  “I want to know if they’re developing a treatment for dementia,” Lloyd said.

  “I see,” Bennett said. He picked up a tiny silver spoon and began stirring a cup of tea. “There are different levels of information that I manage, you must understand. There is information that is a matter of public record and then there’s information of a more sensitive nature.”

  “Yeah, and past perfor
mance is no guarantee of future success,” Sean said. “Tell us something we don’t already know.”

  “One can’t be too careful in the current political climate,” Bennett said. “Washington is trying to lay the blame for all the nation’s ills at the front door of Wall Street whilst conducting, shall we say, less than transparent transactions through the back door. Individuals in my position are sanctified by law-makers in smoke filled rooms and crucified by the very same people on the telly before the turn of the news cycle. One knows not who to trust anymore.” He took a sip from his cup and dabbed his lips on a folded paper napkin.

  “Damn Brits!” Sean said. “We always have to go through the same song and dance. Just lay it on us already, Stu.”

  Bennett leaned slightly towards Lloyd. “May I be so bold as to inquire what the nature of your interest in this company is? Or should I just lay it on you? Are you planning to invest in Cardio-Prime Technologies?”

  “Hell no,” Lloyd said. “I think someone affiliated with the company is trying to benefit financially by blocking my research.”

  Bennett raised an eyebrow. “I see. Well that’s quite a different kettle of fish. And do you have any idea who this someone might be?”

  “His name is George Lasko, Dr. George Lasko.”

  “I must confess the name is unfamiliar,” Bennett said. “But I might be able to provide some assistance, now that I’m satisfied that your pursuit is free of ignoble intentions.”

  “Is Cardio-Prime developing a dementia treatment?” Lloyd asked.

  “Not at all. The company is exclusively engaged in cardiac monitoring and pacing,” Bennett said.

  “Then I’m at a dead end,” Lloyd said.

  “Don’t lose heart just yet, my boy,” Bennett said. “There is still much to talk about that might be of some interest to you.”

  Sean looked at Lloyd and said, “What did I tell you about the damn song and dance?”

  Bennett continued. “You see, from a marketing stand-point, it makes little sense for certain companies to branch out into other pursuits. Just imagine if Bentley started manufacturing mopeds.”

  “They’d be pretty expensive mopeds,” Sean said. He turned to Lloyd. “I’d probably buy one just for the hell of it.”

  “I can almost see that,” Bennett said. “You, Warren Buffett and a couple of oil sheiks putt-putting down a highway with the wind in your hair. But the bigger point is that it would affect the status of their brand. So it’s not uncommon for corporations to create subsidiaries under a different name or to put their financial weight behind ventures in which they see the potential for profit.”

  “Are you telling me that Cardio-Prime has a stake in a pharmaceutical company?” Lloyd asked.

  “They do not,” Bennett said.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Bennett, but it sounds like we’re just going around in circles,” Lloyd said.

  “There’s a small outfit north of San Diego named DynaStim Therapeutics. Have you heard of them?” asked Bennett.

  “No.”

  “I suspect you shall, in the very near future. It was started a few years ago by a fairly odd couple: Carter and Hallman. Tony Carter is one of these child prodigy computer engineers who seem to spawn under the California sun, while Lars Hallman is a medical doctor.”

  “A neurologist,” Lloyd said. “Lars Hallman is a neurologist.”

  “You know him?” Erin asked.

  “I met him once. He was presenting a poster at a national conference a couple of years ago.” Lloyd paused. He raised his head, narrowed his eyes and stared at the ceiling. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “What is it Lloyd?” Erin asked.

  “Hippocampal stimulation,” Lloyd said.

  “What the hell is that?” asked Sean.

  “The hippocampus is a structure deep in the brain. It plays a key role in the regulation of memory. Lars Hallman has been tinkering with the idea of electrically stimulating the hippocampus to counteract memory loss.”

  “A sort of pacemaker for the brain,” Erin said.

  “Exactly,” Lloyd said.

  “Who the hell would want to have their brain shocked?” asked Sean.

  “There are nearly thirty million people worldwide who suffer from Alzheimer’s disease,” Lloyd said. “It’s the sixth leading cause of death in the United States and the only one in the top ten that has no form of prevention or cure. And I haven’t even touched on other forms of dementia and memory loss.”

  “The prospects for profit are simply astounding,” Bennett said.

  “So are you saying that Cardio-Prime acquired this DynaStim outfit?” Sean asked Bennett.

  “Well, no…” Bennett said with a sardonic smile.

  “I tell you,” Sean said, “it’s like pulling teeth with this guy. Just spit it out, Stu.”

  “This is where we cross into the realm of information that is not for public consumption. Information that should be unbeknownst even to me – except that nothing in this industry is unbeknownst to me. So let’s talk in terms of a hypothetical.”

  “More song and dance,” Sean said.

  “Imagine that you knew that a large corporation was about to purchase an unknown company with few assets but a huge potential,” Bennett said.

  “You could stand to make a pretty penny,” Sean said.

  “A fortune. Don’t even think about it, Kennedy,” Bennett said. “You wouldn’t look so charming in those jail pajamas.”

  “That would be considered insider trading,” Lloyd said.

  “It is the very definition of insider trading,” Bennett said.

  “Well that’s got to be it,” Lloyd said. “Lasko divested in Cardio-Prime and dumped the money into DynaStim. And now he’s trying to protect his investment by blocking my research.”

  “You said the name was George Lasko?” Bennett asked. Lloyd nodded. Bennett got to his feet. “Please excuse me. I think I rather need a breath of fresh air.”

  Bennett pulled open a glass screen door and stepped onto the patio that was framed by a strip of perfectly trimmed lawn, and just beyond that, a row of stately sugar maples. Lloyd saw that Bennett took out his phone and started talking into it, taking an occasional goose step and turning on his heels in what looked like a strange mating dance for birds.

  “You guys want a cappuccino?” Sean asked.

  “Not me,” Erin said.

  “Lloyd?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Vanessa made me get this fancy integrated coffee system,” Sean said. “Cost me three-thousand bucks. And I can’t get anybody to drink coffee.”

  Lloyd smiled. He recognized the mannerisms, the facial expressions of his childhood friend and felt a tinge of melancholy.

  The sliding glass door opened and Bennett stepped back in, his brow furrowed.

  “Everything alright?” Sean asked.

  “A reliable source – and no, Sean, please don’t ask – informs me that there is no George Lasko in the directory of investors at DynaStim,” Bennett said. He stepped up to the table and rested his fingertips on the surface. “Sorry,” he added.

  Lloyd looked at Erin with a pinched expression. Erin caressed his cheek. “I’m so sorry, Lloyd.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Lloyd said.

  “When’s this trial thing going to take place?” Sean asked.

  “Tomorrow afternoon,” Lloyd said.

  “Damn!” Sean said. “Well, if this doctor gig doesn’t work out for you, I can always use a clerk. You look swell in that suit. That’s half the job requirement right there.”

  Lloyd smiled. “Thanks, Sean.”

  Bennett extracted a nickel plated case from the inside breast pocket of his blazer and extracted a business card. He handed it to Lloyd and said, “If I might be of any further assistance, please don’t hesitate to give me a jingle.” Lloyd looked at the card. It was of expensive stock with gold lettering that simply read, Stewart Bennett, Esq., along with a phone number.

  “W
ell, won’t you look at the time?” Sean said. “You kids really should get going.”

  “Are you trying to get rid of us?” Erin asked.

  Sean erupted in a nervous laugh. “Not at all. It’s just that… I got some dry-cleaning to pick up,” he said with a wide grin, rolling on his heels.

  “Is your brother always this thrilled about his laundry?” Bennett asked Erin.

  “I have no idea,” Erin said.

  Chapter 43

  On the drive back to Oak Park, Erin’s countenance wavered between expressions of defeat to bursts of outrage. Lloyd tried to act relaxed though inside his chest his heart pounded so hard he could feel a thumping in his ears. He kept glancing at his wrist watch to check the time.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” Erin said. “It’s all so unfair. Lasko set you up, didn’t he?”

  “I don’t know,” Lloyd said. “Something doesn’t quite add up.”

  “It adds up for me. Lasko’s a crook. End of story.” She reached over and put a hand on Lloyd’s knee. After a minute of silence she said, “What if you lose your job?”

  “How would you feel about that?” Lloyd asked.

  “I’d feel horrible, of course.”

  “How would you feel about me?”

  Erin squeezed his knee. “I didn’t fall in love with the doctor. I fell in love with the man.”

  “For the sake of full disclosure, I need to tell you something,” Lloyd said. Erin turned to face him. “Not too long ago, I met a man, a very, very ill man. His wife asked me to help him and I wanted to but I wasn’t sure that I could. You see, I had to be sure that the treatment wouldn’t hurt him even worse.”

  “First do no harm…” Erin said. “So what did you do?”

  “I really wanted to help him.” Lloyd paused, opened his mouth to speak but stopped.

  “Lloyd?”

  “I injected myself with the prions,” Lloyd said.

  “You what?”

  “I had to be sure I wouldn’t hurt him. It was my responsibility.”

  “Jesus Lloyd!”

  “For once in my life, I wanted to put someone else’s welfare above my own. This was my opportunity.”