Authors: Thomas Laird
‘Caroline’s got shitty taste in men,’ Doc said after he reviewed what I had been reading. Today was Jack’s day off.
‘She’s doing a sandwich with Preggio and the redhead. Rich bitch from the ritziest neighborhood in the city, and she’s slumming with a molester and some whore,’ I said.
‘Yeah. Juicy, ain’t it?’
But Doc was not smiling.
‘We’re stretching this out on your intuition, Jimmy. How far does all this extend?’
‘I’m open for suggestions.’
‘Don’t read me wrong. I’m just saying we might want to leave some options open.’
‘Like what, Doc? I’m all ears.’
‘Like working with that Fibbie profiler the Captain mentioned. I like your gut feelings, guinea, but I think we ought to work this thing with more lines in the water.’
‘Okay. So we talk to the profiler. That’s good with me.’
‘You’re not pissed off, are you, dago?’
‘No ... But I still think we’ve got the fucking shark in the tank. I still think our boy’s in this group of three.’
‘You’re probably right. But let’s make this shrink work for a living. Okay?’
I nodded. Then he told me he was buying at Garvin’s. Brats and beer for everybody. It was impossible to stay angry at this would-be professor. He knew our case against my three guys was non-existent, and he was being as gentle as he could with me. I was wondering if I was getting senile at fifty. Or maybe it was the upcoming wedding next spring. Or perhaps I was too anxious about Natalie being a decoy for The Farmer. I didn’t know which, and maybe it was all.
‘We’re gonna find out that you were right on the money, but right now, fuck it. Man has to eat,’
He threw me my jacket and I flopped the three files onto the top of my desk.
S
o,
w
e
hav
e
clos
e
call
s.
Th
e
polic
e
hav
e
foun
d
u
s,
probabl
y
throug
h
th
e
Interne
t,
an
d
the
y
almos
t
catc
h
he
r
a
t
Brookfiel
d
Zo
o.
Sh
e
wa
s
prepare
d
t
o
di
e
i
f
the
y
ha
d
caugh
t
he
r.
Sh
e
tell
s
m
e
tha
t,
ove
r
an
d
ove
r.
Sh
e
i
s
prepare
d
t
o
di
e
fo
r
m
e,
fo
r
u
s
.
Sh
e
want
s
t
o
kno
w
wh
y
I
tortur
e
he
r
i
n
be
d.
Wh
y
I
d
o
th
e
littl
e
thing
s
I
d
o.
Wh
o
i
s
i
t
tha
t
hur
t
m
e
s
o
badl
y
tha
t
I
hav
e
al
l
thi
s
bil
e
save
d
u
p
i
n
m
e
tha
t
get
s
aime
d
a
t
he
r?
Sh
e
say
s
sh
e
want
s
t
o
kno
w.
The
n
I
hav
e
t
o
strik
e
he
r.I
sla
p
he
r
acros
s
th
e
mout
h
an
d
I
plung
e
int
o
he
r,
an
d
sh
e
doesn’
t
kno
w
whic
h
reactio
n
hit
s
he
r
firs
t—
th
e
pai
n
o
r
th
e
pleasur
e.I
tr
y
t
o
explai
n
t
o
he
r
tha
t
wha
t
I
d
o
i
s
intentiona
l,
tha
t
i
t
merel
y
fuel
s
he
r
desir
e
fo
r
m
e.
No
t
knowin
g
whic
h
i
s
comin
g.
Pai
n
o
r
pleasur
e.
The
y
ar
e
bot
h
uniqu
e
experience
s
tha
t
I
wan
t
t
o
sho
w
he
r.
Sh
e
canno
t
quit
e
understan
d
tha
t
th
e
awarenes
s
o
f
on
e
o
f
the
m
simpl
y
heighten
s
th
e
expectation
s
i
n
th
e
othe
r.I
tr
y
t
o
explai
n
t
o
he
r
tha
t
pleasur
e
an
d
pai
n
ar
e
par
t
o
f
th
e
genera
l
dichotom
y.
Sh
e
complain
s
tha
t
sh
e
doesn’
t
kno
w
wha
t
I’
m
talkin
g
abou
t,
bu
t
whe
n
I
explai
n
wha
t
‘twoness
’
mean
s,
sh
e
seem
s
t
o
gras
p
som
e
o
f
i
t.
Tha
t
i
s
wha
t
I
fin
d
excitin
g
abou
t
he
r.
No
t
he
r
grapesize
d
nipple
s,
no
t
th
e
moun
d
o
f
blac
k
pubi
c
hai
r,
no
r
th
e
flatnes
s
o
f
he
r
rip
e
whit
e
bell
y.
No
t
th
e
melo
n-
shape
d
breast
s
no
r
th
e
lovel
y
handful
s
o
f
buttock
s
no
r
th
e
pout
y,
ful
l
lip
s.
Nothin
g
abou
t
he
r
physicall
y
i
s
al
l
tha
t
extraordinar
y.
I
t
i
s
he
r
willingnes
s
t
o
subjugat
e
hersel
f
t
o
m
y
desire
s.
I
t
i
s
he
r
abilit
y
t
o
tr
y
an
d
lear
n
wha
t
i
t
i
s
I’
m
attemptin
g
t
o
teac
h
he
r
.
I
lung
e
a
t
he
r
an
d
he
r
eye
s
wide
n.I
lung
e
agai
n
an
d
agai
n
an
d
sh
e
crie
s
ou
t.
I
t
i
s
al
l
righ
t
fo
r
he
r
t
o
b
e
nois
y.
W
e
hav
e
anothe
r
plac
e
apar
t
fro
m
peopl
e.
We’r
e
mile
s
fro
m
th
e
cit
y.
Sixt
y
mile
s
wes
t
o
f
Chicag
o,
jus
t
outsid
e
th
e
bound
s
o
f
a
stat
e
universit
y.
We’r
e
clos
e
enoug
h
t
o
b
e
insid
e
th
e
cit
y
limit
s
i
n
a
n
hou
r,
an
d
we’r
e
fa
r
enoug
h
awa
y
fo
r
th
e
privac
y
w
e
nee
d.
W
e
liv
e,
sometime
s,
i
n
thi
s
ol
d
farmhous
e.I
bough
t
th
e
te
n
acre
s
tha
t
surroun
d
th
e
plac
e
wit
h
th
e
mone
y
I’
d
save
d
i
n
th
e
militar
y.
M
y
wa
r
wa
s
goo
d
fo
r
somethin
g,
afte
r
al
l
.