years ago,” the little man answered.
“Got any relatives around here?”
“Just a brother, in Tampa.”
“Here’s what we’ll do: you’ll make two phone calls. One to the bank explaining that something urgent made you take a leave of absence for two months starting tomorrow. The second call will be to your brother explaining you’re leaving for the Cayman Islands for some secret federal transactions and won’t be able to contact him for a while.”
“What’re you going to do with me?” the man asked.
“Nothing bad. I’ve already told you: one of our men will borrow your identity for two months. Meanwhile you’ll be comfortably hidden somewhere: TV, liquor, and if you want, some fine chicks even. Then, after two months, we’ll let you go. You’ll claim the Mob have kidnapped you and you’ve just managed to escape. Can you picture that? The papers will roar: Drumond, the man who defied the Mob! If you’ve got any smart insurance, there might even be some money in it.”
“And if I say no?” the little guy ventured.
“In that case, I’ll have to let my bosses know about it. And that’s not good as they’ll send a garbage collector here, to be sure.”
“And if I cooperate, you won’t harm me?’ Drumond asked distrustfully.
“I promised you, didn’t I?” Thanatos reassured him. “Come, let’s make those calls now!”
They climbed down together. Drumond went ahead and Thanatos followed two steps behind, gun still in hand.
“Nice answering machine you’ve got there,” Thanatos said.
“The latest Panasonic,” the expert boasted.
Thanatos kept it in mind as something that might come in handy. While the man was speaking on the phone, he picked up a photo album from a small table and looked through it. By the time he finished, Drumond had made both calls.
“Nice dog,” Thanatos said pointing to a picture showing Drumond next to a Great Dane.
“That’s Trully. He died last year. I cared about that dog a whole lot,” Phil said somehow encouraged by the guest’s kindness.
Thanatos seemed a little embarrassed. He looked down. Only his gun was still pointing at Drumond menacingly.
“I’ve got him on tape,” Drumond went on. “Would you care to see it?”
“Sure, you can take the tape with you. There’s a VCR where we’re going. Who knows, maybe you and your beloved dog can get together again sometime.”
“What shall I take with me?” Phil asked.
“Absolutely nothing. You’ll get into these clothes,” Clyde said throwing him a bag. “We’re leaving when you’re ready.”
“Are we taking my car?”
“No, Phil. There’s a Ford Escort waiting for us.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Thursday, October 15
Years before psychiatrist Philip McGerr had stood out as one of the best practitioners at the hospital in Secaucus. His success was such that he eventually opened his own clinic in Bloomfield. Three years before he had started a psychoanalysis practice in Union Square. There came patients without serious psychiatric problems: just common people affected by their minor or major dramas, depressed or obsessed by certain phobias. Most of his colleagues were guided by the principle that there were no psychologically perfect people—only insufficiently examined patients. McGerr was much more lenient and he only provided a diagnosis after multiple tests. Sometimes his results were truly spectacular.
It was for the Union Square practice that he was heading for this morning. He got there a few minutes before ten. July, his attractive dark-haired nurse, had already placed the files of the day’s patients on his desk. The first file contained only several blank pages and a cover.
Philip remembered Cathy’s phone call, the sadness and despair in her voice. He was looking forward to their first session. At 10:00 a.m. sharp July announced ceremoniously, “Mrs. Du Nancy.”
A good-looking woman, still in her youth, came in. The doctor noticed she wasn’t wearing any makeup, not even lipstick. The dark rings around her eyes and the sad countenance didn’t manage to spoil the beauty of her face. Her figure was still slim but the doctor guessed she was putting up a great fight against cellulite. He stood up and welcomed her like an old brother-in-arms. For, after all, they had both fought a war which they had eventually won. Or had it been just a short-lived victory? Was that the reason for her visit, the doctor wondered.
“What’s the matter? Has Mark...relapsed by any chance?”
“No, it’s not that.”
“Alright then,” McGerr said waving his hand as if to drive away the memory of those unhappy days.
“It’s not alright, doctor. Our marriage’s going down the drain!”
“Why don’t you take a seat on the couch and tell me what it’s all about. I’m sure things are not as bad as they look. Your marriage lasted while he was an alcoholic. I’d say that’s a sign of stability.”
“We fought together to cure him, doctor, but I’ve never told you what I went through those fourteen months.”
“It’s OK. You can tell me now,” the doctor said sitting comfortably on a chair in front of her.
“Those months were a real nightmare. I gave him a triple dose of Disulphiram, as you had prescribed, before we went out in the morning. After work he would wander on a different street every day until he reached a bar. And dried it up. He didn’t even throw up when he got home. I enlisted him in AA. He attended the first meeting and when that ended he took everybody out for a drink. At the time, alcohol and hormones were chasing all lucidity out of his brain. He fooled around with all sorts of women: blondes, brunettes, fat, thin, it didn’t really matter. It bothered me he hadn’t traded me for only one woman but for the entire womankind. It’s kind of sad: a man can be faithful to a hockey team his entire life but not to a woman. One day I had to do a story in Chicago. I missed my plane and returned home. I found him in the bedroom with a young woman. He swore it was a professional meeting.”
“Maybe that’s what it was.”
“Of course that’s what it was. Only it was about her profession, not his. I wanted to die then. But then I pictured him at my funeral, leering at all my girl friends and decided to go on living. I lost my job trying to make him keep his.”
“I’ve always thought you wanted to leave the paper. How did that happen?”
“He had been missing from home for twenty-four hours. His boss, Julius Beck, had been enquiring about him. This man showed a great deal of understanding for his problems. He told me some big shots from Washington were coming the next morning. Mark had to be there and in a very good shape too. I had an interview with Mayor Giuliani scheduled for that evening. Instead of doing the interview I chose to look for my husband in all of the city’s ill-reputed places. I finally found him at Hells Kitchen. He
