Survival Of The Fittest

The cop looked into his empty coffee cup.

Then something came out from under the table.

His gun.

He was smiling at Terrell again. Showing him the gun!

The cop's arm stretched.

Terrell's bowels gave way as he ducked under the table, not bothering to push down on Germadine's head though he'd had plenty of practice doing that.

The other patrons saw Terrell's dive. The transsexuals and the drunken long-haul truck driver behind them and the toothless, senile, ninety-year-old man in the first booth.

Everyone ducked.

Except the Ethiopian waitress, who'd been talking to the Filipino cashier. She stared, too terrified to move.

Nolan Dahl nodded at the waitress. Smiled.

She thought, A sad smile, what's with this guy?

Nolan closed his eyes, almost as if he were praying. Opening them, he slid the nine-millimeter between his lips and, sucking like a baby, fixed his gaze on the waitress's pretty face.

She was still unable to move. He saw her terror, softened his eyes, trying to let her know it was okay, the only way.

A beautiful, black, final image. God this place smelled crappy.

He pulled the trigger.

2

Helena Dahl gave me a mourner's account. The rest I got from the papers and from Milo.

The young cop's suicide merited only two inches on page 23 with no follow-up. But the flash-point violence stayed with me and when Milo called a few weeks later and asked me to see Helena, I said, “That one. Any idea yet why he did it?”

“Nope. That's probably what she wants to talk about. Rick says don't feel obligated, Alex. She's a nurse at Cedars, worked with him in the E.R. and doesn't want to see the in-house shrinks. But it's not like she's a close friend.”

“Has the department done its own investigation?”

“Probably.”

“You haven't heard anything?”

“Those kinds of things are kept quiet and I'm not exactly in the loop. Only thing I've heard is the kid was different. Quiet, stuck to himself, read books.”

“Books,” I said. “Well, there's a motive for you.”

He laughed. “Guns don't kill, introspection does?”

I laughed back. But I thought about that.

Helena Dahl called me that evening and I arranged to see her in my home office the following morning. She arrived precisely on time, a tall, handsome woman of thirty, with very short straight blond hair and sinewy arms exposed by a navy blue tank top. The tank was tucked into jeans and she wore tennies without socks. Her face was a lean oval, well-sunned, her eyes light blue, her mouth exceptionally wide. No jewelry. No wedding ring. She gave my hand a firm shake, tried to smile, thanked me for seeing her, then followed me.

The new house is set up for therapy. I take patients in through a side door, crossing the Japanese garden and passing the fish pond. People usually stop to look at the koi or at least comment but she didn't.

Inside she sat very straight with her hands on her knees. Most of my work involves children caught up in the court system and a portion of the office is set aside for play therapy. She didn't look at the toys.

“This is the first time I've done this.” Her voice was soft and low but it carried some authority. An E.R. nurse would make good use of that.

“Even after my divorce, I never talked to anyone,” she added. “I really don't know what I expect.”

“Maybe to make some sense of it?” I said gently.

“You think that's possible?”

“You may be able to learn more, but some questions can never be answered.”

“Well, at least you're honest. Shall we get right into it?”

“If you're ready-”

“I don't know what I am but why waste time? It's… you know about the basic details?”

I nodded.

“There was really no warning, Dr. Delaware. He was such a…”

Then she cried.

Then she spilled it out.

“Nolan was smart,” she said. “I mean seriously smart, brilliant. So the last thing you'd think he'd end up being was a cop- no offense to Rick's friend, but that's not exactly what comes to mind when you think intellectual, right?”

Milo had a master's degree in literature. I said, “So Nolan was an intellectual.”

“Definitely.”

“How much education did he have?”

“Two years of college. Cal State Northridge. Psychology major, as a matter of fact.”

“He didn't finish.”

“He had trouble… finishing things. Maybe it was rebellion- our parents were heavily into education. Maybe he just got sick of classes, I don't know. I'm three years older, was already working by the time he dropped out. No one expected him to join the police. The only thing I can think of is he'd gotten politically conservative, real law- and-order. But still… the other thing is, he always loved… sleaze.”

“Sleaze?”

“Spooky stuff, the dark side of things. As a kid he was always into horror movies, really gross stuff, the grossest. His senior year in high school, he went through a stage where he grew his hair long and listened to heavy metal and pierced his ears five times. My parents were convinced he was into satanism or something.”

“Was he?”

“Who knows? But you know parents.”

“Did they hassle him?”

“No, that wasn't their style. They just rode it out.”

“Tolerant?”

“Unassertive. Nolan always did what he wanted-”

She cut the sentence short.

“Where'd you grow up?” I said.

“The Valley. Woodland Hills. My father was an engineer, worked at Lockheed, passed away five years ago. My mother was a social worker but never worked. She's gone, too. A stroke, a year after Dad died. She had hypertension, never took care of it. She was only sixty. But maybe she's the lucky one- not having to know what Nolan did.”

Her hands balled.

“Any other family?” I said.

“No, just Nolan and me. He never married and I'm divorced. No kids. My ex is a doctor.” She smiled. “Big surprise. Gary 's a pulmonologist, basically a nice guy. But he decided he wanted to be a farmer so he moved to North Carolina.”