Mel looked at me. “By any chance do you shave bunions and take Medicare?”
“He’s a shrink, Mel.”
“Okay. You do neuroses and take Medicare?”
“Coffee, please, Mel,” said Milo. “The usual.”
“Strong and black, Mr. Macho. You?”
I said, “The same.”
Mel said, “So decisive, Dr. Freud. Shouldn’t someone of your training be hinting, not delineating?”
I said, “If you brought coffee, it could theoretically be beneficial.”
Another wheeze. “Not bad, Doc, but don’t give up your day job. So we’re two for dinner?”
Milo said, “Three.”
“A crowd.” The old man braced himself on the table and leaned in close. “So. An ISIS guy is crawling through the desert. He sees another guy off in the distance and heads for him. Turns out to be an old Jew selling neckties. ‘Gimme water,’ he screams. Jewish guy says, ‘Got no water, just neckties. Good-looking silks, designer labels, terrific prices.’ ISIS guy goes nuts, threatens to cut off the Jewish guy’s head. Jewish guy says, ‘My fault all I got is ties? By the way, there’s a few rayons left, they look like silk and are even cheaper.’ ISIS guy is goingcrazy,now. Reaches for his knife to cut off the Jewish guy’s head and realizes he doesn’t have it. Doesn’t have nothing. Plus, he’s weak and tired and thirsty. Jewish guy says, ‘I also got some knits, very Ivy League, but if you want water, there’s a place a mile up.’ ISIS guy takes off. An hour later, he crawls back to the Jewish guy, looking even moreshtuppedup, tongue out, panting, he’s a mess. Jewish guy says, ‘What, you couldn’t find it?’ ISISmeshugenah—he’s barely talking, now, more like croaking—he says, ‘I found it all right, but they require a tie!’ ”
Without waiting for a reaction, he scurried off.
When I stopped laughing, Milo said, “He’s ninety-two, eats everything, I find him inspiring.” His eyes swung to the right. “This is probably our new buddy.”
A squarely built, shaved-head six-footer with skin the color of hot chocolate stood near the crowd. Fiftyish, gray sharkskin suit, black shirt, silver tie. After appraising the room, he nodded and headed forus.
Milo shifted to his left, allowing space for Marcus Coolidge to sit between us.
Coolidge said, “Good to meet you, Milo.”
“Same here, Marcus.”
“Marc’s fine.” Coolidge unbuttoned his jacket, revealing a trace of shoulder holster. As he slid in, his eyes shifted to me.
Milo said, “Dr. Alex Delaware, our consulting psychologist.”
“Doctor.” Coolidge and I shook hands. When he’d settled and smoothed his tie, he said, “Psychologist. You have one full-time?”
“Nope, as needed.”
“My situation, hard to say what I’d need, psychology-wise. Maybe some hypnotism, convince the predators they’re lemmings and herd them off a cliff?” Coolidge arranged a napkin on his lap. “Pastrami on its way?”
“We haven’t ordered yet.” Milo looked at the counter and nodded. Mel baby-stepped our way, carrying two mugs of coffee. It took a while for him to reach the booth. Placing the cups down with great care, he looked at Coolidge. “Finally, we get the chief of police?”
Milo said, “This is Detective Coolidge.”
“Two detectives and a shrink. Walk into a bar. Uh-oh, nope it’s a restaurant. You want coffee, too—is your first name Calvin?”
“Marc. I’ll take tea. Earl Grey if you have it.”
“Veddysophisticated,” said Mel. “What’ll it be food-wise, Oh Ye Three Magi?”
Milo said, “Detective Coolidge and I are having the pastrami.”
“I recommend with the fat,” said Mel. “Otherwise there’s no taste.”
“Absolutely,” said Coolidge.
