'Is there a flashbulb, a snake with springs, something at the end of this box?' Lieberman said, checking his watch again.
'I'm not sure I…'
'I do this for a living, Jacob,' Abe said. 'You're the suspect who wants to confess and I should wait and let you dance around it till you're ready. But I'm the patient. You are the pro. And I have a vague but dwindling hope that I can make the Cubs game this afternoon.'
'Your insomnia…' Dr. Berry tried.
'This sit-down isn't about insomnia, is it Doc?'
Jacob Berry shook his head, pulled himself together, and stood.
'Do you drink? Your liver and-'
'Wine on the Sabbath. A beer maybe once a week, not even that.'
'What do you eat? Normal day-yesterday?'
'Who remembers yesterday?' said Lieberman, his eyes firmly on the doctor's face. 'I'll try. Coffee in the morning, with a toasted bagel, cream cheese, and lox. In the afternoon, let me see, a couple of hot dogs with the works and grilled onions. Another coffee. Dinner, that's easy. Bess made liver and onions. What's the problem, Jacob?'
Jacob Berry was looking more like a doctor now.
'You have a cholesterol level of almost three hundred. Your record says you have been warned twice and put on diets. You haven't paid attention to the diets, have you, Mr. Lieberman?'
'I watch, but a man-'
'We'll try a diet first And this time we'll follow it to the letter.'
'We? Your cholesterol level high too?'
'No.'
'Then just say 'you will try a diet' Humor me, please.'
'When you've been on the diet for four months, we'll test again and decide if you need medication.' 'Tell me about this diet, Jacob. Tell me quickly. I'm a good listener and I still harbor some small hope of getting to Wrigley Field this afternoon.'
'We… you start by cutting all red meat. It would be best if you cut all fish and fowl, but let's see how you do without red meat. No alcohol. No milk or milk products. No butter.'
'Hot dogs, corned beef, chopped liver… T 'Animal organs are definitely out.'
'What' said Lieberman wearily, 'do you think about assisted suicide?'
'What? I…'
'It's a joke, Jacob. I have too many responsibilities to die. My family would never forgive me. Anything else?'
'Your father and mother both died from heart-related problems,' Dr. Berry said, consulting his clipboard.
'Yes. My father was eighty-six, my mother was eighty-one.'
'I'd like you to see my brother, Isaac.'
'Why? Does he have two heads?' Lieberman put up his hands. 'Sorry, I have a useless hope that bad humor will sustain me through starvation.'
'My brother is a cardiologist,' Dr. Berry said in humorless confusion as Lieberman's beeper suddenly demanded attention.
The beeper went mad. Lieberman took the small black plastic box from his pocket and clicked it off.
'Use your phone?'
Dr. Berry nodded. Lieberman dialed the Clark Street Station, identified himself, and listened.
'He asked for me?… I don't remember… Are you asking or telling?… Then I'm going. Give me the address… Thank you. I'll meet you there… I'm fine. How are you?… Good, then we're both fine. Good-bye.'
Lieberman put down the phone and turned again to Dr. Berry.
'Give me your brother's number and address,' said Lieberman, opening his notebook.
Jacob Berry had to get the address and information brochures on diet from his desk drawer. Lieberman took the stack, wrote down Dr. Isaac Berry's address and phone number, snapped his notebook shut, and put it in his pocket.
'How do you feel?' Jacob Berry asked.
'I'm breathing,' said Lieberman, moving to the door, flunking that he probably looked a hell of a lot better than the frightened young man in front of him. 'A good way to start any day.'
With his hand on the door, Lieberman turned. He almost collided with Jacob Berry, who was following him.
'Couple more questions,' Lieberman said. 'You like music? Read?'
'Sure,' said Berry, wondering where this was going.
'Classical-Mozart, Vivaldi?'
'Yes.'
'Favorite authors?'
'I don't… I don't read much fiction.'
Lieberman shrugged.
'Baseball. You like baseball?'
'Yes. I played at Evansville when I was an undergraduate.'
Lieberman nodded.
'Position?'
'Second base,' said Jacob.
Lieberman nodded as if this were essential information.
'I'll give you a call. We'll get you a gun, teach you how to use it You get users in a neighborhood like this and they start thinking that doctors have a drug supply. You like brisket?'
'I haven't had any red meat in two years.'
'You're healthy?'
'Yes.'
'Turkey, chicken, duck?'
'Sure.'
'Good.'
Lieberman stepped through the door and across the small, empty waiting room.
'Detective Lieberman,' Dr. Berry said.
'Abe.'
'Abe, I feel confident that we can control your cholesterol. It could have been much worse. There are worse things.'
Like coming home from a concert and finding your wife cut to pieces on the kitchen floor, Lieberman thought.
When the policeman was gone, Jacob felt a fingernail of fear along his spine. Lieberman had worn a pistol in the holster under his jacket. He took it off for the examination and Jacob glanced at it. The gun was frightening and fascinating. He would definitely feel better with one in his drawer, a gun he could pull out, show, feel protected by.
Jacob Berry took the four steps to the outer door and locked it. He had fallen into the habit of leaving his examining room door open and asking patients to identify themselves through the outer door before he let them in.
He went back to his office and pulled the blinds, sending the room from sun to fluorescent, shadowless light.
A Morning of Denial
