The Mongol Reply

by Benjamin M. Schutz

  “A haircut, of course. Why else would I be here?” Blake said, and reached out to help her up. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.”

  Tiffany Ames slowly extended her hand and placed it inside Blake’s. Gently, he closed his fingers and smoothly pulled her to her feet, backing away so she could escape from her prison.

  “You’re shitting me. You want a haircut?”

  “Yeah, it’s getting a little long on top and the sides. Just a trim.”

  Tiffany kept turning his request over in her mind, looking for the booby trap. She was sure it was a trick but refusing it might make him angry. She didn’t want him angry. That was for certain.

  “You want a shampoo?”

  “No, that’s okay. I just washed it last night. Trim is all.”

  “Why don’t you take this chair up here?” she suggested, pointing to the one nearest the front door.

  Blake walked over and settled himself in the chair. Tiffany snapped the loose hair from the smock and draped it over Blake’s chest. He watched her fasten it behind and counted the scissors and razors on the shelf.

  “This is how you usually wear it?” she asked.

  “Yeah, straight back. Me and Mike Ditka.”

  “Right,” she said sullenly and began to comb the hair to check the length.

  “Got a proposition for you, Tiffany.”

  She stopped, comb and scissors in hand, and looked at Blake’s face in the mirror. He returned her gaze.

  “Don’t get fancy in your thinking, Tiffany. I’ve got people right outside watching the salon. You can’t run from here. Why don’t you just cut my hair and listen to what I’ve got to say?”

  Tiffany worked slowly, trying to keep her hands steady. She didn’t want to cut him, at least not accidentally.

  “We’re not interested in causing you trouble, Tiffany. I think we’ve found a way that you can help us and not hurt yourself. Tom Tully’s in a heap of shit. You want to be as far away from this guy as you can get. You come down and make a statement, under oath, about your relationship with Tom Tully and we’ll do everything to keep it out of the papers. Nobody has to know, least of all your ex. We want to leverage Tully into settling this matter out of court. No public records. No media. Just quiet and dignified. Your statement will let us do that. If you don’t, we’ll subpoena you. Then we’ll call the Post and the TV stations. I’m not talking leak, I’m talking a flood. There won’t be ten people in this city that don’t know everything about you. Last night included. We’re already checking out motels at training camp, here in town, away games for the last two years. We’ll put you and Tom together whether you help us or not. Your only hope of keeping this quiet and going on with your life is to co-operate. You help us and we’ve got no reason to hurt you or your child. What’ll it be?”

  Tiffany, whose life had become a maze with moving walls, desperately wanted to see an exit, even if it turned out to be painted on the bricks.

  “All right, all right. Let’s do it. I just want out of this.”

  “Excellent.” Blake stood up and reached back to undo the smock. Tossing it over the chair’s arm, he checked himself in the mirror. “Nice job,” he said and followed Tiffany Ames to the front door. He waved Rachel off while Tiffany locked up.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Morgan Reece waited for his new patient. In the evening, after his secretary left, he utilized a light system to tell him that patients had arrived. A switch in the waiting room turned on a light in his office. He’d had to give the woman the access code to the front door three times. She was clearly distressed and disorganized, but wouldn’t say why. She said she was at work and didn’t have any privacy. He offered her his last appointment of the day: seven p.m.

  The light on his desk lit up and Reece went to the waiting room. His office suite had two consulting rooms in the back. One for therapy and interviews. The other room was for testing. The therapy office had two leather recliners, a love seat, a wall of cabinets with books, tests, and hidden from view, toys for his child patients. A desk and file cabinet stood against the far wall. The hall from these two offices ran past his records room, the secretary’s space to the foyer and the front door. The waiting room was off to the left of the secretary’s space.

  Reece walked around the corner towards the waiting room, his fingers drumming lightly along the top of the half wall that enclosed his secretary. He poked his head in and saw his new seven o’clock: Thelma Bouchard.

  “Ms. Bouchard, I’m Dr. Reece.”

  Thelma stood up and smiled. She walked over on extreme heels and held out a boneless hand for Reece to shake.

  “Won’t you come this way, please.” Reece said and pointed around the half wall to the doorway on the left. He let Ms. Bouchard pass and was enveloped in her perfume.

  She was wearing a black beret, a black cape that hung like the folded wings of a raven and black tights. Depressive haute couture.

  “Where should I sit?”

  “Wherever you like,” Reece replied.

  She took the loveseat and kept her hat and coat on. Reece sat in his chair, leaned back until he was comfortable, put his feet up and waited. Thelma slipped her bag off her shoulder and looked around the office. She nervously fingered one of her large dangling earrings.

  “What brings you here, Ms. Bouchard?”

  She looked at her hands. “This is kind of hard to talk about, really. I have this problem. It’s a sexual problem.” She looked at Reece to see how he was reacting.

  Reece had spent years developing his poker face and it was working fine as he watched and waited for her to continue. Thelma waited to see if he’d ask what kind. When he didn’t, she went on.

  “I have this compulsion to have sex with strangers. I’m starting to get scared. You know AIDS and all. I don’t want to die, but I can’t seem to stop myself.”

  “You say ‘compulsion’?”

  Oh shit, Wanda thought. Why is this jerk asking me questions? I don’t fucking know. Why doesn’t he hit on me? What kind of an invitation does he need?

  “It’s a little warm in here. Can I take my jacket off?”

  “Of course. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Thelma took her beret off and ran her hands through her hair, pulling it up from her head and letting it fall slowly back down. She stood up and looked down on the doctor. Maybe she should just go over and climb into his lap? No. A little tease first. Make him come over the line to her. She undid the buttons to her cape and slowly slid it off her shoulders. The see-through blouse did the trick. Poor doctor. His eyes looked like they were gonna come out of his skull. Nothing to it, Wanda thought. Vinnie told her to get his attention, keep him occupied. That she knew how to do.

  Johnny Lentini hit the numbers Wanda had given him and slowly turned the doorknob. The door opened and closed quietly. He walked casually down the hall. First rule of theft. Look like you belong there. Secretary? He peered over the top of the wall. Desk was clean. He walked around the corner. No purse under the desk. Johnny walked back to the waiting room. Empty. The door on the right said “Bathroom.” Johnny pushed it open. Dark. Wanda was in with the putz. Johnny moved back around the corner and saw the three doors at the end of the short hallway. Doctors? Only one nameplate by the entrance. Maybe he rented the other offices. Fuck. He hated no-look jobs. Why couldn’t Vinnie wait? He’d go in as a fireman. Unannounced inspections were the perfect cover. You got to look anywhere you wanted, ask all the questions you needed, write notes to yourself. Just leave a receipt for the inspection. Tell them to post it in an accessible place. See you next year.

  Johnny tried one door handle. Locked. He pressed an ear to the door. Nothing. Then the other. With his ear to the door he could hear a woman’s voice. Wanda was still talking. He’d have felt better if he’d heard wet, slurping noises.

  Lentini went to the records room and pulled on the handle. Unlocked. Beautiful. The guy had no idea he was a target. Slipping inside, he scanned the records files. He pulled out
a shelf. It squealed. Lentini stopped, squatted down and peered at the folders. What was the system? Names, not numbers. Thank God. Alphabetical. Lentini thumbed back the names on the second shelf looking for Tully. These were the first letters A to H. He squatted down looking for the T’s. Terwilliger, Titus, Tjader, Tolan, Truman, Twayne. Shit. Where was the fucking file? Coming back here to B & E, the joint was such a hassle. Why couldn’t it be easy?

  Lentini looked at the top shelf. More files. Fifteen or so. Alphabetical, too. Open cases? Maybe the others were closed. He quickly flipped the tabs. TULLY. Thomas Jr. and Tina. Bingo. He pulled out his mini-camera. Vinnie said shoot the whole file. He opened it up and began. Click and flip. Click and flip. Christ, the damn file had to be two inches thick.

  Suddenly he heard Wanda’s voice as clear as if she was next to him. What the fuck? Shrinks were supposed to give you, what, fifty minutes, an hour? Johnny closed the file until it squealed again and slid himself into the space next to the file cabinet. He slid the folding razor out of its sheath in his waistband, snapped it open and held it up next to his ear. Don’t come in here, Doc.

  Morgan Reece thought he’d heard something in the office. “Excuse me for a second. I think someone has come in, and I have no other appointments.”

  He closed the door behind himself and went to check the waiting room. Empty. He walked around the secretary’s desk, turned immediately and pushed open the bathroom door. Also empty. Once inside, he flipped on the light and ran water in the sink.

  Reece filled his hands with warm water and then put his face in them. Then he reached out to get a paper towel and dry off.

  He remembered one of his first custody cases. He went out to do a home visit. The mother was an exotic dancer. She came to her hearing dressed for work. High heels, mesh stockings, a neon green sheath held together by a pin next to her left breast and slit all the way up the side. She crossed one leg over the other and gave old “Sleepy” Duncan a good look-see from her ankle to her armpit. When she commented on how the nice doctor came out to pay a call on her at her home, “Sleepy” came to real fast. Reece was so glad for the female social work student he’d brought along for that home visit.

  Stay in your area of competence, he reminded himself. Primary sexual disorders was not his. She needed to be referred on. A female therapist for sure. She hadn’t said anything about sex with female strangers. Not yet at least. She eroticized everything. She had stroked the shaft of the table lamp next to her, running her thumb around the rim just below the bulb the whole time she had talked. He needed to close things up, explain to her that this was outside his area of competence and make a referral. Once that was clear, he finished drying off, turned off the light and stepped into the hall.

  The records room was open. That was odd. Had he left it open? No, he never did. Unlocked, yeah. Open, no. He had been distracted by the Tully case before she arrived. He clearly remembered putting the case file back. Had he closed the door? Reece stepped towards the records room.

  Johnny Lentini peeked around the edge of the file cabinet and saw the shadow on the floor. Too bad, Doc. One swift slash, a sheet of blood as thick as paint, you’re dead before you land. Lentini tightened his grip on the razor.

  “Doctor Reece, are you okay?” Wanda called out.

  “Uh, yeah. Be right there.” Reece pulled the door closed and walked back into his office.

  Lentini relaxed, counted to thirty and slid the razor back into its sheath. He went back to copying the Tully file.

  Thirty minutes later, Morgan Reece escorted Thelma Bouchard out of his office, the referral to Dr. Maxine Crosby tight in her fist. He wrote up his notes on the intake, turned off the lights, locked his desk and went to the records room. Everything looked normal. Nothing was out of place. He filed Bouchard in Closed, turned off the waiting room music, the inside light and locked the records room. He darkened the waiting room, then stepped outside to lock the front door, more than ready to put this day behind him.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Morgan Reece almost forgot that he’d told Lindsay Brinkman that he would come by to pick up some climbing shoes. When he remembered, he was halfway between the store and his home. By the time he got home, it would be too late to call. What the hell, he’d swing by the store, get the shoes and go home. Still didn’t mean he had to go climbing.

  Reece walked into the store and scanned the merchandise. Books and maps to the left. Harnesses, ropes, anchors, carabineers and crampons all over the wall. Chalk bags, chalk, sunglasses, bug repellant, helmets on shelves and in bins. Tables of clothing for summer climbs, spandex and other synthetics, shorts, socks, shirts. Down jackets and parkas for winter or ice climbing. He saw shoes on the back wall and headed towards them. He stared at the models and admired the prices. Serious climbing meant serious money.

  “I thought you weren’t coming,” she said as she came up from behind.

  Reece spun around. “Oh, hi. Yeah, well I almost didn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “A lot of reasons. I had a rough day at work today. I just wanted to go home, go to sleep and forget it. I’m ambivalent as hell about climbing. It scares me, I think it might be exciting and …”

  “What are you afraid of?” she asked.

  “Falling. Getting killed. How’s that for starters?”

  “Not going to happen. We’ll be top-roping. You’ll be well anchored. I’ll belay the ropes myself. It’s the safest thing you’ll do all day. Climbers are obsessive about safety. Good ones anyway. And I’m a good climber. A good teacher. What else are you afraid of?”

  Reece frowned. “Isn’t that enough?”

  “No. I want to know what to expect. You remember what you said about climbing being simple. Well that’s partly right. The rock is the rock. It doesn’t change very much. But people do. When you climb by yourself, you can’t have a bad day. It can kill you. You need to know yourself as well as you can every time you go up. Especially when you push your limits. I won’t flash a climb unless I’m sure I can do it. When you climb with other people, especially strangers, you need to know what to expect. So you can help them and not get hurt either.”

  “Okay. What else am I afraid of? I’m afraid of looking like I’m afraid. Of going out, trying it and chickening out, in front of other people. This is all about me licking my fear, not getting beaten by it.”

  “I understand. We’ll take it real easy. You’ll do fine. It’ll be good.” She reached out and squeezed Reece’s hand.

  Neither one looked down, but each counted the seconds until she took her hand back.

  Reece looked at her. She didn’t look anything like any woman he’d ever been attracted to. Totally uncharted territory. Physically and emotionally. He didn’t know what he wanted or how to get it.

  “Lindsay, we’re closing up,” boomed a ruddy blond with an abundance of muscles.

  “What size do you wear?” she asked.

  “Eleven, D-width.”

  “I’ll be right back.” She ducked behind a curtain. Lindsay returned and handed a pair of shoes to Reece. He shed his loafers, jammed a foot in, hauled the heel up and repeated the process with the other foot. He laced them up; Lindsay knelt down and felt to check the fit. Reece quickly scanned from her shoulders down her flanks to the swell of her hips and back to her face.

  “Can we continue talking, after we finish with the shoes?” Reece asked.

  Lindsay looked up. “Okay. We can get some coffee downstairs. The food court is still open.”

  “These are strange shoes. They’ve got soles right up to the laces,” Reece said.

  “That’s because when you climb you use all the surfaces of your foot. You brace yourself with the sides, the top. You need traction everywhere. This is more shoe than you’re going to need, but it’s what we had in your size.”

  Reece stood up and checked them out in the mirror. He sat down, unlaced them and slipped his feet back into his loafers.

  “How much is the rental?”r />
  “Twenty bucks. Don’t worry about it. You can pay for them at the climb.”

  She handed him the shoes; Reece took them and smiled. “Okay.”

  Lindsay stood up, went behind the curtain and came back fastening a waist pack. She said goodnight to the other employees and bounded down the stairs to the restaurant.

  Inside, they sat at a table along the wall facing the bar. The waiter brought their coffees and they declined dessert.

  “What did you want to talk about?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I had questions when we were talking. Now they seem, I don’t know …”

  “Go ahead. Ask me.”

  “I was wondering why you offered to help me with this.”

  “You have nice eyes. They’re kind. And I liked what you wrote about abused children and what you said when we met. You seemed to be a … I don’t know. I didn’t think about all this. I just thought it might be nice if you weren’t afraid of heights, I mean, you know, nice for you, and that was all I thought.”

  “And that was something you could do for me. Help me with that.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thank you. I’m kind of excited about shedding some of that fear. I think you’re very brave. Braver than I am.”

  “I’m not. There’s plenty of things that scare me. Heights just isn’t one of them.”

  Reece started to speak, but Lindsay held up her hand. “But don’t ask me what they are. I’ll see you on the rocks Sunday. Okay?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be there,” Reece said.

  Lindsay stood up, dropped a couple of bills for her coffee and said, “I’ve got to go. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Wanda stretched out in Vinnie’s hot tub. Too bad she couldn’t think of someone to share this with. She felt the jets of water massaging her. Best time she’d had being naked in quite a while. She poured herself another glass of champagne and sipped it slowly, savoring the chill in her throat and the warmth everywhere else. Why couldn’t every day be like this? What had gone wrong for her? Vinnie didn’t seem all that smart, and he sure didn’t work any harder than she did. Was it just ’cause he was connected? How come they didn’t teach that in school? A course on “How the Real World Works.” It ain’t what you know, it’s who you know. With a special class on how to identify who you should know. Maybe this was her chance. She knew Vinnie, Vinnie knew God, or so it seemed. She set down her glass, picked up the cordless phone and called the club.