The thing was, the money was good. Really good. Margot used it to indulge her passion for reproduction medieval weapons, and they didn’t come cheap. She hadn’t mentioned that to Dr Berger, for obvious reasons. Conclusions would be leaped to. It wasn’t as if she was going to cudgel a patient to death with a reproduction of a thirteenth-century flanged mace, but she didn’t want someone to take away that fantasy.
Dr Berger had asked her to keep a note of the number of times in a week that she had the thought that she hated her job. When John the receptionist had informed her of Warden Hanzus’ “emergency” she had just reached ninety-two in her count. She decided to fit him in early on Saturday morning for an unscheduled appointment as she was confident he’d push the final tally comfortably over one hundred. A nice round, three-figure number appealed to a tidy part of her brain.
As it happened, she also had a reproduction of a thirteenth-century flanged mace in a sports bag under her desk, but that was almost entirely a coincidence. Having said that, if it had to be anyone, Warden Dean Hanzus was an excellent candidate. For a start, he insisted that she call him “Warden”.
“So, Warden …” As always, she rolled her eyes as she said that word. “What appears to be the issue?”
“I …” Hanzus hugged a cushion to himself as he stared at the ceiling.
So help her, if this was about another dream involving his mother and a snake, she was … She was not going for the mace. Of course she wasn’t. But she would spend the whole tedious, drawn-out explanation enjoying the idea.
“… Before I go any further, can I clarify – are we covered by doctor–patient confidentiality if I were to mention anything … illegal?”
Dr Margot’s eyebrows shot up. Oh, this could be good. “Yes. Everything is confidential, as long as I don’t believe not revealing something poses a risk to you or others. Also, you aren’t covered if you confess to homicide.”
She added that last bit in reluctantly. She’d previously turned one of her clients over to the authorities for the murder of her husband. It had been the happiest day of Dr Margot’s career.
“Right,” said Hanzus. “OK. The only person in danger is me …” Margot was disappointed. “… And not from me.” Oh, hello! “Two nights ago I was visited in the middle of the night by a man and this woman.”
“I see.”
“He threatened me, and she … She straddled me, Doctor.”
“Where did this happen?”
“In my bed.”
“I see.”
“She was … She was very attractive.”
“I see. And this ‘experience’ unsettled you?”
“It wasn’t an ‘experience’.” He turned to look at her. “This really happened.”
“I see.”
“She held a gun to my head while she straddled me.”
“And you found this arousing?”
“No. I was terrified. I’m … I don’t want to die.” What a shame.
“So, how is her being attractive relevant?”
“Because,” began Hanzus, “since then, I’ve felt petrified with fear and I’ve had an erection I cannot get rid of.”
“Oh.” Despite herself, she looked.
“I’ve had to use bandaging to tie it down.”
“I see. Have you tried … y’know?”
“YES! Nothing works. I …”
Hanzus was interrupted by his phone going off.
“Warden, you know you must—”
“I know. I know.” He looked at his cell. “I’m sorry. It’s the prison. It might be …”
She sighed. “Fine.” She checked her watch. “Please, be brief.”
He answered the call. “What is it? Oh, for God’s sake, I’m expecting that delivery. It’s on the list … Just put it in my office and I’ll deal with it on Monday. Why can’t anyone follow simple instructions!” He thumbed the phone off angrily and tossed it on the floor.
“Warden.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I will not have physical acting-out in my sessions.”
“I apologise.”
“Pick it up.”
He glared at her and then stood, walked across the room and picked up his phone. Dr Margot nodded and he returned to his position on the couch.
“Very well. You were telling me about your issue with your penis.”
“Yes,” he said. “It’s been three days. I can’t function. I … I’ve even tried hitting it with something.”
Dr Margot again called to mind the thirteenth-century flanged mace under her desk. “What sort of something?”
Chapter Forty-Two
Diller wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. He was nervous.
He wasn’t nervous about the success of the first part of the plan. As he’d left Clown Town, there had been a line of people at the car rental place. The rumour had spread exactly as hoped. He’d just double-checked on the way out that it hadn’t morphed, but no, people were excitedly heading for Drake’s Crossing, but shush, keep it to yourself.
As he walked across the parking lot of the strip mall, he saw the Winnebago parked exactly where they said it would be. Sure, he couldn’t technically drive – in the having a driver’s licence sense of the word – but he wasn’t nervous about that either.
Ever since they’d got back from the thing Smithy told Diller he wasn’t allowed to talk about, Smithy had been giving Diller driving lessons in the taxi. It wasn’t that hard, and he was a fast learner. Alright, he’d never driven something the size of a Winnebago, but the principle was the same, and once he got out of the parking lot it was a reasonably straight shot to where they were going. Getting arrested for driving without a licence would suck, but compared to what came after this point, that possibility was really small potatoes.
He reached the Winnebago and checked under the back wheel, finding the keys exactly where he’d been told they would be.
Nor was Diller nervous about the rest of the plan, or his role in it. He was probably going to break the law at some point during the course of the day, but not that
