The Devil's Analyst

by Dennis Frahmann

  “What about his hands?”

  “Danny, you’re ridiculous. He has good hands. What do you want me to say? Get down here. I don’t know what to do with them. I can’t pass them along to anyone else.”

  “Okay.”

  Danny’s horrible feeling of doom was back. Ever since Lopez gave him a copy of The Dumping Ground and had told him about Oliver Meyers, Danny sought to convince himself that there was no link between the current Meyers and the Oliver he once knew. He always knew he was deluding himself. Even though Kenosha’s description fit a great many men, he was certain it would be the very same Oliver Meyers that worked at White Bark Pines nearly two decades ago in Wisconsin—the Oliver Meyers who wronged him.

  He had started to read Lopez’s novel the night before. The similarities between its plot line and Danny’s summer with Oliver were beyond coincidence. Only one explanation existed—Oliver provided Lopez those details. It was such a breach of their privacy that Danny didn’t know what he would say or do were he to encounter Oliver.

  Not everything in the novel exactly mirrored his real life. His memories were certainly richer and more detailed than those in the novel. But that would have to be the case between the memories in one’s mind and a story put to paper. As happened in his real life, the novel concerned an older college-bound kid working at a summer resort and a younger boy from a nearby town. They went on their daily trash dumping detail. In the novel, the younger boy was the one who took the sexual initiative. But it hadn’t been that way at all. Was that the way Oliver portrayed it, or had Lopez deliberately rewritten history in his attempt to tell a story?

  In real life, the first week or so of the dump runs had all been gloriously sunny days—the kind of Wisconsin June that celebrated deeply blue skies and puffy cumulus clouds. Families from Chicago filled cabins with kids who made full use of the resort’s sandy beach and its swimming raft. They also generated a lot of trash. To most, emptying those large cans filled with food scraps and used paper goods in the pickup bed might have seemed a dirty job. To Danny, it was never unpleasant as long as he was able to gaze at the shirtless Oliver. Sure, he tried to be discreet so Oliver wouldn’t know he was staring. Since all the boys who worked at the resort stayed in the same bunkhouse, he didn’t want to create trouble. But Oliver knew. He definitely knew.

  But on a day when the blue skies went missing in action, and the smell of rain showers were stronger than the odors from the back of the truck, Oliver kept his shirt on. Danny was disappointed. Oliver’s behavior was understandable of course. It was cold and wet. But whether it rained or not, the resort’s kitchen never faltered in generating a steady stream of trash, and they still had to take the daily run to the dumping ground.

  After they emptied all the trashcans, about the time that Oliver would normally lie back against the hood of the truck and smoke his cigarette, he instead pulled off his shirt. He complained that it was completely wet from the on-and-off showers. Bare-chested, Oliver jumped back into the cab of the truck. Danny’s own clothes were equally wet but he let them cling to his shivering torso. He reentered the passenger side. Something new was in the air—not trash, not rain, but a scent that was enticing and scary at the same time.

  Oliver was in no hurry to return to the resort. Instead, he pulled out his pack of cigarettes, took a stick out, and lit up. “Just because it’s raining doesn’t mean I’m hurrying back.”

  He tapped the pack to push out another cigarette to offer to Danny, who shook his head no. He had never smoked.

  “You know what I like to do on a rainy day like this?” Oliver asked.

  He blew some smoke in Danny’s direction to force him to look in Oliver’s direction. Oliver was rubbing his crotch and his pants had started to tent. Danny quickly glanced away. He could hear Oliver unzip and tug. He continued to look out the rain-swept passenger window and into the now misty wood. He remembered hoping a bear would show up so that they would have to leave. It wasn’t a secret what Oliver was doing. The bunkhouse didn’t have a lot of privacy. Technically, each worker had his own room, but the walls were like paper, so he knew the other boys often jacked off, some obviously not caring what others heard. As for himself, Danny wasn’t innocent of this, but he always tried to be extraordinarily quiet.

  “You’re not even going to look at what I’m doing?” Oliver’s voice had a friendly, maybe mocking, tone of laughter, challenging Danny to turn and watch.

  “Nah, that’s okay.”

  Oliver actually laughed. “Hey, you think I don’t know how you’re always looking at me, watching me. Just like a little puppy. I keep expecting you to sneak into my room at night and try to get a close-up look. Course, I’m a pretty heavy sleeper. For all I know, maybe you have.”

  Danny turned to him angrily, “I would never do that.”

  Oliver smiled broadly. He used one hand to tap the ash of his cigarette, but didn’t stop stroking with the other. Danny had never seen another man’s erect penis. Oliver seemed so much bigger than he expected.

  Oliver tossed his cigarette out the open window. With his hand now free, he moved over to grasp Danny’s wrist. “You should touch it,” he said.

  Danny wanted to protest, but he let it happen, and the hot skin felt electric.

  Danny never forgot that moment—even after everything Oliver would later do.

  As Danny and Cynthia drove toward the Premios office in downtown Los Angeles, Danny continued to grasp at the small hope that he would discover the person waiting was not the person he feared seeing, but as soon as they walked into the office he could see that the waiting person was Oliver. The rainy day in the Ford truck returned. Danger faced him, and he couldn’t force himself to turn away. Oliver looked at Danny. He clearly recognized him, knew who he was, remembered what had happened, but still said nothing.

  “Good, you made it,” Kenosha said. “I was afraid you would change your mind. They’re predicting such a heavy rain.”

  She made the introductions and ushered them into the conference room. Soon she was back with cups and a carafe of coffee. Danny felt wooden, yearning to find a way out, unable to mumble even a courtesy. He could tell that Cynthia was puzzled. Colby spoke first, “Kenosha, I think you can leave us now. This is more of a private conversation.”

  Kenosha paused for a moment waiting for a signal from Danny as to whether he wanted her to leave. But he wasn’t helping her much. He was amazed how much Oliver still looked like the teenager back in 1985. He had thickened a bit with age, and Danny could see that his hair was already starting to recede, but he still had beautiful hands and now his nails were well manicured. Just as he found Jesus Lopez both compelling and threatening, he felt the same about seeing Oliver.

  “What do you want?” Danny asked, and he knew without seeing Cynthia’s expression that his tone was rude. But if they wanted to talk to him they could have come to the house. Colby knew where they lived. Better yet, they should have waited for Josh. He was the real leader of Premios.

  Colby answered, “I know it’s a stressful time, and although you’ve never met my partner . . . “

  Oliver interrupted Endicott. “Actually Danny and I have met. It’s been years, but we worked at the same resort for a summer. We were a bunch of kids, thinking we were living the movie Dirty Dancing.”

  Cynthia brightened, “You worked at White Bark Pines? Sometimes my parents and I drove down there for dinner. Were you a waiter? Maybe you served us?”

  As he answered, Oliver kept his eyes on Danny, but Danny refused to let their eyes meet. “No, I worked in the kitchen and in the yards. I’m sure I would have remembered meeting you.”

  Colby seemed confused. Clearly, he had never heard of a connection between Danny and Oliver. “Well that’s interesting. Of course, I know Oliver’s from the Midwest and he told me once that he vacationed as a kid near Lattigo, but this is news to me. Maybe that explains why Oliver has always been so eager to help out.

  “Cynthia, we heard about your missin
g husband and the suspicions about the missing cash. Obviously we don’t know your husband well, but he is a fellow investor in Premios, and while Oliver’s never met him . . .”

  He stopped for a moment as a new thought percolated forward.

  “Or have you?”

  Oliver shook his head no.

  “The whole scenario is so strange. As investors, we need to ensure that no suspicion interferes with the planned public offering of Premios. It wouldn’t be fair to you or Chip to let any momentary confusion lessen the value of your investment. While we are certain there is a good explanation for what’s going on, we just need to find Chip. And I’m sure you would agree.

  “That’s why we wanted to meet. You need to know that we’re on your side. That we will do anything we can to help. All you need to do is ask.”

  Cynthia seemed touched. Skepticism was not a part of her make-up. Danny was convinced that these two were worried about her husband only because of their investment. They didn’t really care what happened to Cynthia’s husband and Danny’s friend.

  “We’ve hired a private investigator,” Cynthia said.

  Oliver was quick to ask, “And has he uncovered anything?”

  “Not yet,” she replied.

  “If he does, please keep us informed.”

  Danny started to tune out. This conversation could have been done with a phone call. Once before Oliver had demonstrated himself as beyond untrustworthy. He suspected that something unsaid was behind the man’s appearance today.

  Oliver reached over to tap Danny’s hand and pull him back into the conversation. “Before we go, Danny, I wanted to let you know that I am the one who insisted Colby set up this meeting. Ever since I discovered you were part of the Premios team, I wanted to see you. But I didn’t feel it appropriate. Maybe I didn’t dare.

  “But as awful as this situation is, I couldn’t let it pass by without trying to correct something horrible I once did to you.

  “Danny, I want to apologize for anything I ever did to hurt you.”

  INTERLUDE

  Session Eight

  I like to take risks. That’s just the kind of guy I am. But you already knew that. The thing is that when you’re smart and talented, it becomes harder and harder to find risks that really excite you.

  Danny’s a perfect example. At first, it was fun to play with him from afar, even though that often meant I didn’t get firsthand insight into how he responded. But tracking how he changed over time told me what I needed to know. There was something intriguing about molding him into that person who always sits on the edge of the fence, who can’t place his feet on either side of the delicate balance between daring and fearing. But to me, neither a gung-ho daredevil nor a slobbering introvert would be very interesting.

  Still there are only so many tricks you can play by yourself. Sooner or later, you have to involve others. That’s when the ground becomes slippery and the chase more dangerous.

  The problem is you never really know what’s going on in the mind of another. Maybe you think you do, doc, given your profession and all, but I assure you: you never know what your partner in crime really wants.

  So when you align yourself with new players, you have your goals and they have theirs. You can’t know who’s playing what game, and who thinks who’s ahead.

  But when the music stops playing, you just want to be sure you have a chair to sit in.

  And I fear the music is about to stop.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Reckoning

  Josh heard the bell from the front door. The buzzing sound disturbed him because it emitted a low buzzing as though it were about to give out. They had rewired the entire house when they put in an alarm system, including the entry system monitoring, and the elaborate system cost a fortune. Josh always wanted the best, and, for example, although they were sitting in the dining room, if they had been in the kitchen Josh could have looked at a small screen to see who was at the front door. If something were already failing, he would be making an angry call to the alarm company in the morning.

  The alarm system didn’t do much good if Danny and guests like Kenosha forgot to set it. Each time Danny brought up the idea that someone tampered with the cellar door, Josh wondered, but chose not to ask, if Kenosha bothered to set the alarm that evening. He knew she didn’t; she never bothered. At times, he too failed to activate the continuous video monitoring, but there were occasions when he preferred it not to be active. Still he liked to imagine the look on Kenosha’s face if he could have pulled up on his computer the video files for the night in question. It could have ended all discussion of any attempted entry—one way or the other. He didn’t really care, because he knew it ultimately didn’t matter.

  “I’ll get the door,” he said.

  He needed a reason to leave the dinner table. Francesca was dining with them in yet another useless attempt by Danny to cheer Cynthia. Earlier, arriving home from the downtown office, he heard Danny, Cynthia and Francesca making a great rumble of noise in the kitchen. When he walked into that room, it was a mess. Kettles and ingredients were everywhere. Every one of the six burners on the huge stove was flaring at their hottest settings. The industrial fan was sucking out the steam and heat with great brio. But he was happy to see Danny laughing, as were Francesca and Cynthia, so he said nothing. Besides, the kitchen smelled of slow-braised short ribs and a chocolate cake. If they had brought out a great red wine, it might not be such a bad evening. At least, that’s what he hoped.

  He wanted to be in a good mood. His stop in Chicago had given him the information he needed to be the victor in the fight ahead. There was just one remaining bit needed, and the person he expected at the door should be carrying that information.

  Just as Josh stood up to go to the entry, Danny said in puzzlement, “Who could be at the door? Didn’t you close the gate and set the alarm when you got home?”

  In fact, Josh had kept the gate open because he was expecting someone. What he failed to do was alert Danny to the anticipated visitor. He knew Danny would oppose Jesus Lopez stopping by, but sometimes, he had to do things Danny didn’t like just so the two of them would be safe. Besides, he couldn’t understand what Danny had against his old professor. Sure, the guy was a bit out there with the creepy stuff he conjured up. But they were just stories. For a writer, Danny lacked appreciation for the power of the imagination, just like he didn’t understand how nasty real life could be.

  Josh decided to be blunt since it was best to get it over with. “It’s Jesus, I asked him to bring something by.” What passed over Danny’s face surprised Josh, because it seemed something greater than anger. Maybe he had made a mistake. He was too eager to get this information; he should have waited to see Jesus in the morning.

  “Don’t worry,” Josh continued, “I won’t ask him in. We can talk in the foyer. He’s just dropping off some files I need.”

  Cynthia was listening intently. “Is that the man who had breakfast with Chip? I’m coming with you. I want to meet him because Danny is always giving me excuses why we can’t.” She picked up her wine glass and stood.

  “Hey, I’m always up for seeing brilliantly crazy novelists. The world has so few of them,” Francesca stood as well. Josh realized she was drunk. They were well into their third bottle of Bordeaux.

  Josh could see this was going in the wrong direction. He needed to get them all seated again before Danny grew too upset. Besides he had real business to discuss with Jesus that couldn’t involve third parties. “Just wait here and eat dessert,” he suggested, “I’ll bring Jesus in for a quick hello when we’re done.”

  “No,” Cynthia said firmly. “You’re just in league with Danny. You’ll let this Lopez guy slip away and I won’t get to ask him anything.”

  What could he say? He knew how to change things on the fly. It would be better if Cynthia hung on to her hopes, and maybe seeing Lopez would help. “Come along if you want.”

  Reluctantly Danny stood as well. He gulped the la
st of his glass before refilling it with the rest of the bottle. His glare warned Josh of trouble ahead. There was always trouble ahead.

  Insistently, the doorbell sounded again. Something was definitely failing in the system, but Josh stepped quickly to the entry. He’d worry about the alarm system later.

  The four of them entered the foyer, a two-story space where a tiled staircase curved up to a second floor landing—one way led to the musician’s overlook to the large living room and the other to the hallway connecting the two main bedroom suites. A vaguely Spanish wrought-iron pendant hung from the center of the room. It cast a yellowish light over the group of four as Josh opened the door.

  For a moment, Jesus Lopez appeared startled, but then broke into an infectious grin. “A welcoming party. How kind? And here I thought you just wanted to get the resumes of my most promising students. What’s up?”

  Josh noticed that Jesus’s look lingered on Danny. Why was he trying to read him? What was up with that?

  Cynthia jumped in. “I’m Chip Grant’s wife. I wanted to meet you, and everyone followed me. People tell me that you’re the last person who saw my husband.”

  Jesus looked appropriately concerned. “I’m sure many people have seen your husband since me. Perhaps he just needs a few days for himself.”

  Cynthia eyed the lanky writer “Is that what you really think?”

  Jesus smiled sadly and simply replied, “Have faith in your husband.”

  Josh feared that Jesus was a matador flinging a red flag in front of an already moody Danny. Once again, he regretted his decision not asking Lopez to come to the office. “I’m sorry I asked you to come all the way out here. I’m sure you have better things to do this evening, so let me just take what you brought over, and we can plan to talk tomorrow by phone. I should go back to our guests.”

  It seemed a clear enough hint to all of them.

  “Stop,” Cynthia demanded, “I want to hear how Chip acted at breakfast.”