Survival Of The Fittest

“A psychologist, but not one in active practice,” said Milo. “Nothing traceable.”

“How about someone who attended psychology graduate school but dropped out before finishing?” I said. “ABD. All but dissertation.”

“Dropped out for what reason?”

“Personality conflicts,” I said. “He was too smart for them, so they messed him up during his dissertation. My instinct is that's a Meta-compatible profile.”

“Why?”

“Because people who spend lots of time talking and thinking about how smart they are generally don't accomplish much.”

Milo considered that and nodded.

“So far so good?” he asked Sharavi.

“Yes, but you should start thinking in terms of you, Doctor, not he.”

“Okay,” I said. “They messed me up because I threatened them. My research threatened them. The genetics of IQ, politically incorrect-”

“No,” said Milo. “Too close- too cute.”

“I agree,” said Sharavi. “These people may not be as smart as they think they are but they aren't stupid. You can't come in there agreeing with them too strongly.”

“Exactly,” said Milo. “Way I see it, you need to show casual curiosity but not jump on their bandwagon. If it goes that far.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling vaguely foolish. “I'm essentially an antisocial guy, don't trust groups, so I'm not itching to join any new ones… My research was on- how about sex-role stereotypes and child-rearing patterns? I did some work on that in grad school, then I switched to hospital work and never published, so there's no connection in writing.”

Sharavi wrote something down.

“Fine,” said Milo. “Go on.”

“I ran out of money, the department wouldn't support me because I refused to play the game and-”

“What game?” said Sharavi.

“Interdepartmental politics. That's also something I can talk about with authority.”

“When did all this happen?” said Milo.

“Ten years ago?”

“What school?”

“How about an unaccredited program- one that's gone out of business? During the eighties there were plenty of them.”

“I like that,” said Sharavi. He glanced at Milo, who grunted assent. “I'll find one and create some paper for you.”

“Seeing as your print shop's that good,” said Milo, “how about some twenty-dollar bills?”

Sharavi waved at the dismal little room. “How do you think I finance such luxury.”

Milo chuckled, turned serious. “Speaking of financing, how've you supported yourself since dropping out, Mr. All But Dissertation?”

“Family money?” I said. “A small inheritance? Just enough to get by, but no luxuries. Yet another reason for my frustration. I'm brilliant, too good for my station in life.”

“Do you work?”

“Nope. Still searching for something fulfilling. Your basic L.A. slacker.”

They both nodded.

“So what's my name?” I said. “How close should I get?”

“Close enough to make it easy to remember,” said Milo, “but not so close that you use the real one by mistake.”

“Allan?” I said. “Allan Del something- Delvecchio? I could pass for Italian.”

“No,” said Milo. “Let's keep ethnicity out of this. They may not like ethnics of any kind and I don't want you to have to fake some conversation about Mama's gnocchi recipe.”

“How about Delbert? Delham- or just plain Dell.”

“Allan Dell?” he said. “Sounds phony. And too close.”

“Arthur Dell? Albert, Andrew?” I said. “Andy?”

“What about Desmond?” said Milo. “Like the old biddy in Sunset Boulevard. Andy Desmond- can you live with it?”

I repeated it to myself several times. “Sure, but now I expect a big house, Daniel.”

“Sorry,” said Sharavi. “There are limits.”

“Andrew Desmond,” said Milo. “Would-be psychologist- Mr. Would Be. So can we get papers tomorrow?”

“We could but I suggest we hold off for a few days.”

“Why?”

“To give Alex a chance to get comfortable with the role. And to let that beard grow- do you wear contact lenses?”

“No.”

“Good. I can supply glasses with clear lenses, it's surprising how effective they can be. And you might consider a haircut. A short one. Those curls are a little… conspicuous.”

“A buzz. Robin's gonna love that,” said Milo.

“If it's a problem-”

“It's no problem,” I said.

Silence.

“Fine, then,” said Sharavi. “Let's hear more about you, Andrew- tell me about your childhood.”

A glance at Milo. “I always wanted to say that to a psychologist.”

39

The next morning I told Robin.

She said nothing. Then: “And it has to be you.”

“If you really don't-”

“No,” she said. “If I stopped you it would be… if something else happened that could have been prevented I'd never forget that- you're sure they can keep you safe?”

“It's just a visit to a bookstore.”

“Just a visit. Browsing the shelves, huh?”

“Robin-”

She gripped my arm. “Be careful- I guess I'm saying it more for myself than for you.”

Her fingers loosened. She kissed me and went to the studio.

I called my service, told them I'd be out of town for a week on vacation, would call in regularly.

“Somewhere nice, I hope, Dr. Delaware?” said the operator.

“Somewhere very private.”

That evening, Daniel Sharavi called and asked if he could bring over some of my new ID at ten.

“Does Milo know?”

“I just spoke to him. He's briefing the other detectives on Melvin Myers. He'll come by while I'm there.”

“Fine.”

When he showed up carrying a black vinyl satchel, Robin and I were in the living room playing hearts and she