men, no more than seventeen or eighteen, wearing a backward baseball cap, had produced a knife, which he pointed at Dr. Berry. The one with the knife urged the others to get off the train. The one with the baseball cap had shouted something at Dr. Berry that sounded through the windows and the rumble of the train as it began to move. 'I'm bean bag,' he had said, pointing to himself and at Dr. Berry, who had stood rigid, unable to turn away.
The boys had laughed.
Now, with the policeman in front of him, Dr. Berry suddenly knew what the boy had mouthed.
'I'll be back,' Dr. Berry whispered.
'You have to leave?' Lieberman said as he finished tying his shoes.
'No,' said Dr. Berry.
Dr. Berry tried to pull himself back from memory and looked into the sad, steady eyes of Abraham Lieberman. The hangers-on, the Alter Cockers, at the T amp; L Deli on Devon Avenue, which Abe's brother, Maish, owned, were evenly divided as to whether Abe looked more like a slightly dyspeptic dachshund or an underweight bloodhound. Lieberman, it could not be denied, was not an imposing figure at five seven and hovering around 145 pounds. He looked a good five years older than his sixty-two years. His brother, Maish, definitely a well-fed beagle, thought Lieberman looked like an undernourished Harry James. Maish's fruitless efforts to 'put some meat on' his brother had begun almost half a century earlier, and though Abe had been a willing consumer, he had remained thin and in need of tolerant suspenders.
'It's not the amount, not even the quality,' Maish had said with a resigned sigh. 'It's your metabolism, Abe. You burn up straight-fat corned beef before it has time to get into your system.'
Lieberman's wife, Bess, thought her husband, with his curly gray hair and little white mustache, looked like a distinguished lawyer or doctor.
But each morning when Abe looked into his mirror, usually after an almost sleepless night, he saw only the face of his father. The man in the mirror had a little more hair, maybe a fuller mouth, but it was the same face.
'Here,' said Lieberman, stepping over to Dr. Berry and guiding him to the chair. 'Sit.'
Dr. Berry, trying to come out of his daze, let himself be led and sat He clung to the clipboard and file and hugged them to his chest.
'A cup of water?' Lieberman said softly.
Dr. Berry nodded and Lieberman moved across the room for a small Dixie cup. He took the cup to the sink. The cold water was tepid. He filled the cup, crossed the room, and handed it to Dr. Berry, who loosened his grip on the clipboard and took the cup from Lieberman.
'Better?' Lieberman asked.
Dr. Berry nodded.
'It's my brother's fault, Isaac,' Dr. Berry explained.
Dr. Berry, his temples touched with premature gray that matched his eyes, a full, dark mustache above his lip, looked to Lieberman like either a young man trying to look older or an older man trying to look younger.
'What's your first name?' Lieberman said, moving across the room to rest against the desk.
'My…T 'It's not Barry?' Lieberman asked. 'Barry Berry?'
'No.'
'Good,' said Lieberman, folding his arms.
'My name is Jacob.'
'You're Jewish?'
'Yes.'
'Married?'
'No more.'
'Gay?'
'No.'
Lieberman shook his head. He would pass this information on to Bess, who was looking for a suitable professional replacement for their daughter Lisa's husband. Lisa had walked out on Todd Cresswell with Lieberman's two grandchildren. She had declared her independence, ten years after it was fashionable to do so, and moved in with Abe and Bess.
'I'm fine now,' said Dr. Berry.
'You want to tell me?' asked Lieberman.
Somewhere on the street two stories below them an argument started in an Asian tongue. The arguers moved away as Dr. Berry took a deep breath and told about the three young men on the el train.
'You have a gun?' Lieberman asked.
'A gun?'
'Here, in the office, a gun.'
'No.'
'Consider it,' said Lieberman. 'Five years ago I'd have said no, but today…'
'You think those three will really come back here?' Berry said, a quiver of fear in his voice.
'No,' said Lieberman. 'You want odds, I'd say ninety-eight to two they forgot you five minutes after the train left the station.'
'Then…T 'You want to take a chance on two percent?' asked Lieberman. 'And what about the ones who come looking for drags?'
'I didn't need a gun in East Lansing,' said Dr. Berry, adjusting his glasses.
'Sounds like one of the songs my grandson listens to,' sighed Lieberman. 'I didn't need a gun in East Lansing, but baby I could use one now.'
The clipboard was wet now with perspiration from Berry's palms. He eased the board to his lap.
'I don't know how to get a gun, shoot one,' he said softly.
'I'll tell you how to get one and where to go to learn to use it,' said Lieberman. 'This is a good neighborhood to have a gun in. Even if you haven't made faces with some fun-loving citizens.'
'I'll think about it,' said Berry, wiping his face with his sleeve. Much of the starch had gone out of the blue jacket.
'Good,' said Lieberman. 'I'll give you a call. Now…'
'Now?' said Berry.
'Now you tell me what, if anything, is wrong with me.'
'Oh, yes.'
Dr. Jacob Berry nodded, cleared his throat, made the effort, and looked down at the clipboard.
'Detective Lieberman-'
'Abe.'
'Abe, your heart is fine. Your blood pressure is in check but I think you should stay on the Cardizem. You said you've had no migraines for almost six months?' He looked up at Lieberman, who still stood over him, arms crossed. Dr. Berry knew their positions should be reversed, but he wasn't ready to stand yet He was familiar with blood, death, and violence from internship duty in Ann Arbor and his own practice in East Lansing, but that was violence and death to others and after the fact 'No migraines,' agreed Lieberman, checking his watch. 'When I feel one coming I take a Fiorinal. Works.'
'You… let me see,' said Dr. Berry, running his finger down (he sheet on the clipboard. 'You still have elevated liver enzymes. You tested positive for hepatitis A, B, and C, but I understand-'
'I've had two biopsies,' Lieberman recited. 'Both negative. I've had this since I was a kid. Don't ask me why. Almost kept me off the force. Check on it More than thirty years.'
'Your liver is slightly enlarged.'
'I'll make a note.'
'Good,' said Dr. Berry with a little more confidence and a sense that if he tried, he could stand. He remained seated. 'I see no further significant deterioration of the knee joints. Any new pain? Different or…?'
'No,' said Lieberman.
'Arthritis can be-'
'Doc,' Lieberman said.
'Yes.'
