“I can relate. But he can’t go on like this, or I’m afraid that one of these times he falls down, he won’t get back up. If you take him on, he’ll be a wiseass and probably offensive. Knowing that, are you still interested in counseling him?”
She had been very interested. Furthermore, she was qualified. She hadn’t merely detected the degree of pain that had a stranglehold on Mitch Haskell, she had recognized it from a personal perspective. She had suffered similarly.
In the years since her life had been turned inside out by tragedy, she had fervently wished for enlightenment on thewhyof it.Why?Had there been a sanctified reason for it that was beyond her comprehension? Had she simply not grasped the higher purpose that had been served by her calamity?
Perhaps saving Mitch Haskell from himself could be that purpose.
But he’d robbed her of that opportunity, hadn’t he? Damn him! That kiss, a violation of the code of ethics, hadn’t been a minor setback. It had been a death knell… as he had known it would be.
From the medical office building, Mitch walked across the street to EATS, a landmark diner in downtown Auclair. It was especially popular with cops because they got a 10 percent discount.
The bell above the door announced his arrival. The floor was sticky, the red vinyl seats in the booths had tears from which padding sprouted, and the wall-mounted TV behind the counter was constantly on during operating hours.
Presently, a flamboyant personal injury lawyer, who called himself the King of Cash, was selling his services with evangelical zeal, promising thousands of dollars in reparation to anyone who turned their lawsuit over to him.
It was a little early for the lunch crowd, so there were plenty of unoccupied stools at the counter. Mitch claimed one and was greeted by Dodi, the waitress who’d been there almost as long as the building’s cornerstone.
“Hey, Mitch. Don’t you ever get tired of being so good-looking?”
He placed his hand over his heart. “Yes, but it’s a cross I must bear.”
She laughed. “How’s your day goin’?”
“Just swell.”
“That bad? How ’bout a muffuletta?”
“With everything.”
“Cold beer to wash it down?”
“Iced tea.”
“Sweetened?”
“Till it makes my teeth ache.”
She grinned, revealing a gap where one of her own teeth had been. “Comin’ up.”
While she was filling his order, Mitch swiveled on his stool. Through the café’s front windows he studied the building he’d just left. It had seven floors and few aesthetic attributes. It was at least a century old, but many notable doctors in the community had their offices in it, including Andrew’s pediatrician. He didn’t have a private exit door that Mitch knew of.
He counted up six floors and picked out the window with the half-closed blinds. He wondered how her session was going with the patient who’d followed him.
He wondered who in her gene pool had gifted her with those legs, and a long ponytail that was straight and sleek and the color of polished mahogany, and eyes that had a damn near inescapable magnetic field.
“Here you go.” Dodi slid a plate onto the counter, then used a treacherously long butcher knife to quarter the generous sandwich for him. Glancing up at the TV, she reached for the remote and turned down the volume, muttering, “I wouldn’t let that loudmouth handle a citation for not picking up dog poop.” She reached for a plastic jug and poured strong tea into a glass of ice. As she thumped it down in front of him, she asked, “Where’s your buddy?”
“Bowie?” He shrugged. “Haven’t seen him today.” Dodi eyed him knowingly. He took a sip of tea, then said, “You’ve heard.”
“Heard? Every cop who’s darkened that door in the last two days has related a version of y’all’s falling out.”
“Well, all the versions you’ve heard probably have at least one grain of truth.”
“Hate to hear that, Mitch. Is he gonna fire you?”
“Not if I keep my nose clean.”
“Do your best.”
