“Hmm.”
“But the kid is officially your employee, so I wanted to run it past you first. One or two unfortunate incidents ought to fix the problem.”
“Fine. Use him. But nothing fancy that would draw attention. Have him keep it low-key.”
“Absolutely.”
Thoughtfully, Busby reached for his drink and took a sip straight from the can. “You haven’t mentioned Mitch Haskell.”
“Oh, yeah. Forgot. He went to see a shrink yesterday.”
“So he gave in to Bowie?”
“Not entirely.” Roland told him about another quarrel between the two. “I’m told it was more heated than the previous ones. Haskell kicked his desk chair before storming out.”
“What set it off?”
“Haskell didn’t want to continue therapy. Bowie stuck to his guns. At this point, how the feud unfolds is anybody’s guess.”
“Hmm,” Busby said again. He wasn’t a big fan of guesswork. “Who’s the shrink?”
“A Dr. Dylan Reede.”
“What do you know about him?”
“It’s a her.”
“Interesting choice.”
“My plant says she was a random pick. And actually, the more I got to thinking about it, the more I believe a female is a good thing.”
“How’s that?”
“Maternal instinct. If Haskell talks to her about the death of his wife, she’ll mother him. Sympathize, urge him to stop drinking, make amends with Bowie, find a new love. Like that. Now, whether or not Haskell takes her advice remains to be seen.”
Busby said, “I don’t favor waiting to see. Why don’t we save ourselves the anticipation and simply eliminate the problem?”
“You want to hit Haskell? Now?” Roland’s tone implied rejection of the idea.
“Why not?”
“He’s got a spotlight on him because of his current battle with Bowie. As that drama unfolds, we’re not the only ones watching to see what’s gonna happen next between the two of them. With all the attention he’s getting, we’d be riskingexposure to make a move on him, especially during a week when you don’t want anything to go wrong.”
That was a reasonable point, but Malone’s reluctance didn’t sit well with him. For the time being, he tabled the subject and decided to give it more thought. “You think this El Paso can handle your problem with the homeless?”
“Oh, yeah. He’s a mean little bastard.”
“Tell him not to be too mean. Keep it simple.”
“I’ll impress that on him.”
“Let me know how it works out.” Saying nothing further, Busby clicked off. But for a long while, he ruminated on the bothersome matter of Mitch Haskell talking about the death of his wife with a therapist.
He made a mental note to find out more about Dr. Dylan Reede.
Roland was at the hostess stand looking over the dinner reservations for the evening when El Paso pushed through the swinging kitchen doorway and sauntered into the dining room like it was he who owned the place.
He topped out at around five feet five and was slight of build, but he had the aggressiveness and voracity of a wolverine. If Roland didn’t know better, he would think the kid filed his teeth into sharp points.
