Therapy

“Please.”

Milo said, “Turn and place your hands on Ms. Wimmer’s desk, Doctor. If you’re carrying any weapons or illicit substances, now would be the time to tell me.”

“Murder?” Gull was shouting. “What the hell are you talking about? Murder? Are you insane?” He opened his hand and the hankie fluttered to the carpet. As he watched it fall, his knees buckled, but he managed to stay upright.

Myrna Wimmer said, “Calm down, Franc-”

“Calm down? Easy for you to say, you’re not the one-”

“As your advocate, Franco, I advise you not to say anything-”

“All I’m saying is I never did anything, what’s wrong with saying I never did anything?”

Milo said, “Hands on the desk, please.” He began walking toward Gull. “Franco Gull, you have the right to remain silent-”

Gull’s powerful physique tensed. He doubled over, began to weep. “Oh, God, how can this be happening!”

Myrna Wimmer shot me a hope-you’re-happy glare.

Milo jangled the cuffs. Gull stepped forward, placed his hands on the desk. Wept some more.

Milo bent one of Gull’s arms behind his back and cuffed it. Gull cried out.

“Are you hurting my client?” demanded Wimmer.

“Maybe psychologically,” said Milo. “Not too tight, is it, Doctor?”

“God, God,” said Gull. “What can I do to fix this?”

Milo didn’t answer.

“Why are you saying I killed someone? Who? Mary? That’s crazy, Mary was my friend, we were- I never would’ve-”

Milo drew back Gull’s other arm.

Gull shouted, “What is it you want?!”

I said, “For you to be forthcoming.”

“Forthcoming about what?”

Myrna said, “Be quiet, Franco.”

“What? And let them put these on me and take me to jail?”

“Franco, I’m sure this will-”

“What I’m sure of is I never killed anyone or conspired or did any of those things!” Gull twisted to make eye contact with me. “What you’re doing is unethical. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

I said, “Feel free to file a complaint. Though I don’t imagine you’ll want to.”

He said, “What gives you the right to judge me?”

“Forthcoming,” I said, “doesn’t mean gamesmanship.” To Milo: “My opinion is we should wrap up.”

Milo placed his hand on Gull’s scruff and turned him around and placed a palm in the small of Gull’s back. “Time to go to jail, Doctor.”

Gull shouted, “Stop! Please! I’ll be forthcoming. Okay, yes, I chased a few skirts. You want to talk about that? Fine, I’m ready to talk about it. I’ve got a little problem, is that what you wanted to hear? I pleasured women, received pleasure in return, it has nothing to do with jail or murder or any other fucking bullshit that would send me to jail! And yes, that is an official diagnosis, I’m qualified to diagnose, I am a good psychologist, fucking great psychologist, all my patients get better!”

I said, “Like Gavin Quick?”

Gull said, “He- that- he wasn’t really my patient.”

“No?”

“I saw him for four, five sessions. It ended.”

“Why?”

“Take these things off, and I’ll tell you.”

“Tell us, now.”

Wimmer said, “Franco, my advice to you is to not tell them any-”

Gull said, “The stupid kid didn’t want to see me because he found out I was sleeping with a patient. Okay? Happy? I’m humiliated, I am now officially, publicly shit-faced humiliated. But I never killed anyone! Take these things off.”

Myrna Wimmer said, “I need an Advil.”

*

Milo removed the cuffs and sat Gull in the same armchair.

Gull said, “Can we all calm down and get rational, here?” His face was sodden.

Milo said, “If you continue to show some honesty, we might be able to work something out.”

Wimmer said, “I want that on the record.”

Milo said, “Sorry, no.”

“Then I refuse to have my client-”

“Myrna, stop complicating things, stop being a goddamn lawyer!” said Gull. “It’s not your life!”

Wimmer frowned at him, dry-swallowed the two Advil tablets in her palm. “You’ve been warned, Franco.”

Gull turned to me. “Honesty about what? I told you, I slept with a patient.”

“Only one?” I said.

His eyes searched mine. Trying to figure out how much I knew.

“More than one,” he said. “But not that many more, and it was always consensual. The stupid kid found out and threw a fit and said he could no longer trust me, he wanted to fire me. Then he threatened to report me. He, of all people.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“The whole reason he was there was to deal with his own sexual issues. He was a stalker. So who was he to get self-righteous?”

“You don’t understand why he’d think you weren’t the ideal therapist, Franco?”

“I understand, I understand,” said Gull. “It shouldn’t have happened, but it did. But he was snooping, it’s not as if I flaunted it or anything like that. The point is, the kid was brain-damaged, his mentation was distorted.”

“Not thinking straight,” I translated for Milo.

“In addition,” said Gull, “he was pathologically compulsive- extremely perseverative. Cognitively and behaviorally.”

I said, “Once he got hold of something he wouldn’t let go.”

“Precisely,” said Gull. As if that settled it.

“How’d he find out?” I said.

“I told you, by snooping.” Gull let out a harsh laugh. “Stalking me.”

“Where?”

“He hung around the building after his session was over, came back after hours, and waited in his car, out on the street.”

“Where on the street?”

“Palm Drive. Out back, behind the parking lot. It didn’t register at the time, but later, when he confronted me, I realized he’d been sitting there.”

“What kind of car?”

“Mustang.”