'Doesn't have to mean that,' Hawk said.
'I know,' Susan said. She was entirely Dr. Silverman now, thinking about human behavior. 'But the coincidence is startling.'
'What would have done it?' I said.
Susan shook her head. She walked to the window and stared down at Saturday morning on Linnaean Street. We were quiet. Hawk settled back onto his stool, I stood with my back to the sink, leaning against it.
Susan turned finally and looked at us.
'Me, I think.'
'How so?' I said.
'I probably wasn't the right referral for him. An attractive older woman in a position of authority, it was easy for the transference of feelings from his mother onto me.'
'That one of the things supposed to happen?' Hawk said.
'Yes, and I'm supposed to then lead him to master those feelings, because I'm not his mother and our interaction will not nurture his condition.'
'But here?' I said.
'Here his passion for his mother was transferred to me and her un attainability existed as well in me, and, my God, it's a seminar in shrink school, but, too simply, his need for oblique and symbolic sex-slash-punishment was simply intensified by the transference plus the unfortunate accident of your relationship with both the case and me.'
'Laius to your Jocasta?' I said.
Susan nodded.
Hawk said, 'I just a poor simple minority pistolero. You intellectuals talking 'bout Oedipus?'
'I told you you'd learn stuff,' I said.
'Grateful for the chance, bawse,' Hawk said.
Susan was fully engaged with her topic and paid no attention to us.
'I should have given him a referral,' she said. 'I could feel the erotic tension in our first interview.'
'But you figured you could handle it,' I said.
'And help him master it,' Susan said.
'And in time you probably could have,' I said.
'And four women dead,' she said. 'We have no more time.' . Her boyfriend had been to see Mimi. He'd lied about some kind of bonding check, but it was him. Big, tough looking guy, broken nose, just like the boyfriend. She'd been telling on him. She must know. He felt as if he would come off like an explosion. She knows. He felt like he did when he did the colored girls. Pull the trigger and feel the explosion… the bitch. She told. She fucking told. There was no one to trust. His mother, his wife ex-wife Her. They all fucked you up one way or another… He thought about bound black women. The fantasy always helped when he was upset. He thought about putting his stuff in the gym bag, the tape, the rope, the gun. He thought about the shrink with her black hair and dark eyes. Maybe I should do them all, he thought, maybe I should do them all together, all in the same room. He thought of his wife ex-wife helpless on the floor. He thought of Her.
He was standing above them. He went to the hidden place he'd made, removed the section of baseboard and took out the gun. A .38 caliber Smith n Wesson, nickel-plated, walnut grips, 4-inch barrel, unregistered. His registered gun was in the bedroom closet in his holster, hanging beside his uniform. He'd taken this one from his mother's house after his father's funeral. She never knew he took it.
He took his father's gun and put it in the gym bag. From his hiding place he took the roll of clothesline and the duct tape and put them in the bag. He didn't know what he was going to do yet, but he was getting ready. He felt strong and full to have his trouble bag ready. Maybe the boyfriend. Maybe if he weren't around he could take his time with Her.
The sense of fullness went away. His stomach felt hollow. He took the gun from the bag and hefted it. He turned toward the mirror on the far wall and went into a crouch, looking at himself over the gun sight. The handle of the gun was smooth and solid. The gun sight didn't waver. His stomach felt better. But it didn't feel good. He thought about the women some more and the full feeling came back. He turned sideways and watched himself in the mirror as he aimed one-handed, in profile, and then full face again. It had been a long time since the last one. The hell with them. He needed it. He looked at himself aiming into the mirror and thought about Dr. Silverman.
Susan and I had one of the larger fights we'd had. It started when she said, 'I cannot of course continue as his therapist.' And I said,
'Absolutely not.'
'He has an appointment Monday, and I'll have to tell him we cannot continue under the current circumstances,' she said.
'Sure,' I said. 'When's his appointment?'
Susan had her book open on the counter.
'Eleven,' she said. 'I'll be in the office,' I said, 'and Hawk will be in the waiting room.' She said, 'No.'
'Yes.'
'No. I cannot have a patient come in for what he thinks will be therapy to be confronted with two armed men.'
