David pointed to his wig. 'I think it's safe to say you can remove that now.'
'Oh. Oh yeah.' Ed pulled off the wig and flung it on the carpet. 'I came over as soon as the cops left, so put the brakes on your commentary. Now listen, here's what we did. I switched your Schlage locks to Medeco-double- cylinder, one-inch hardened dead bolts with six-pin tumblers and brass revolving collars. I set up a triangular- patterned, infrared, dual-beam break around the perimeter of your property line. It'll give off a beep to let you know when someone's on your property.'
He paused to glare at David. 'Keep your eyes off my tits and pay attention. Next, we have a Radionics security system setup, run off this keypad. It employs passive infrared through the interior and at the windows, which are also outfitted with glass-shatter sensors. Delayed entry and exit is not to exceed forty seconds. If the system is breached, it'll call out on POTS-plain old telephone system-with a backup cellular dial in case someone takes out your hard line. Your code is your birthday, including the four-digit year, plus the number seven. Got it?'
David nodded.
'Your little shrub collection out front provides excellent concealment for intruders. I'd rather you went with a cleaner look.'
'You do landscape design?'
Ed pulled a compact out of the purse and began vigorously removing his eye shadow. 'Honey, I do it all.'
'What about the phones? The cops can't get the paperwork through to trace calls for a few days. Can you get a tap on the line?'
'Yeah. As soon as I go back in time to the 1950s.' Ed picked up one of the Nextels and punched in a number, shaking his head. 'Nobody uses taps anymore. I have a Lucent technologist on the inside.' He changed his voice to a drawl. 'Yeah, hey there. Your baby brother calling. Listen, I'm trying to find mom's new phone number. Here's her old one: 310-555-4771.' David's telephone number. 'I'm gonna stay with her about a week… No, to be safe, I'd like to stay with her a week-twenty-four hours isn't enough time for us to catch up… Thanks, bro.' He hung up and smiled at David. 'Your number's red-flagged for seven days.'
'Shouldn't we let the police know we've done this?'
The smile left Ed's face instantaneously. 'Absolutely not. This is an inside guy I'm using. I have to keep his ass covered. We're trading legality for speed, here.' Ed screwed the keypad into the wall behind the ficus and slipped into his stilettos with a pained grimace. 'If Clyde calls, let me know immediately and we'll be able to trace the location he called from.'
'Thank you,' David said. 'I… thank you.'
Ed nodded at him on his way to the door. 'I'll send you a bill. You'll send me a money order.'
'How much?'
Ed turned, touched two manicured fingers to his lipsticked mouth, and blew David a kiss. 'Honey, you don't want to know.'
David retrieved the morning paper, sitting in his leather chair and reading the two front-page articles on 'The Westwood Acid Thrower.' He noted with amusement that they'd selected a less-than-flattering photograph of himself, captured mid-sentence during his speech at the resident meet-and-greet, to go along with Clyde's.
For the first time in several months, he turned on the television, but news updates of the manhunt cut into the programming every fifteen minutes and he finally turned it off and gazed at the blank space where his mother's de Kooning used to hang. His exhaustion was too charged to give way to sleep.
He sat quietly, snipping and removing the stitches from his healed knuckle. When the phone rang, it nearly startled him off the chair. He dashed back to his bedroom so he could record the call if necessary. After taking an instant to catch his breath, he picked up the phone with a trembling hand. It was only the dry cleaner calling to remind him he'd had clothes ready for pickup since last Monday.
He hung up, gazing at the light swirl of fingerprint powder on the plastic receiver. After trying to sleep, then disconsolately flipping through the latest New England Journal of Medicine, David called the ER. Carson still had not come in.
David couldn't rest. He was well on his way to his first glaring professional setback, and Clyde was still on the loose. At least there was one thing David could fix. People stared at him from their cars as he drove up to Carson's building; he wondered why until he saw his car's reflection in a store window, ashole lettered across the side in red. He couldn't help but laugh at the expressions of pedestrians and other drivers.
The newsman on the car radio cheerily announced, 'Dr. David Spier's position as UCLA ER division chief has become tenuous. Apparently, the board convened this morning over allegations that he attacked a fellow physician. The hospital has not issued a statement. Spier has been at the controversial center of… ' David's lack of irritation and unease about the report surprised him pleasantly.
He managed to find Carson's apartment easily this time. Wearing boxers and a ripped T-shirt, Carson opened the door. His face, unshaven and darkened with exhaustion, showed little reaction. David followed him inside wordlessly, and they sat on the floor of the living room again, facing each other. Near the window stood a large bong, which through some tacit agreement, he and Carson pretended not to notice.
'When are you coming back?' David asked.
'I don't know that I am,' Carson said softly. 'I'm not sure I'm cut out for this.' He looked away, his face striped with the shadows of the cheap venetian blinds. 'Who's gonna want me to work on them now? If they knew, if patients knew, they'd never want to be in my hands. Under my care.' His fingers slid up into his mop of blond hair, disappearing. He held his head and studied the light filtering through the window.
'Forgive me for being harsh,' David finally said, breaking the silence. He brought his hands together and laced them into a temple. 'But you need to pull your head out of your ass.'
Carson blinked several times in rapid succession.
'This self-indulgent wallowing is for lovesick schoolboys. You're a physician. Your job is and will be to make difficult calls in the face of life and death and to live with them. I've seen hundreds, maybe even thousands of young doctors, and I know who's cut out for this and who isn't. If you walk away, you'll grow to hate yourself by small, vicious increments.'
Carson's lips quivered, ever so slightly.
David continued, 'When we spoke the other day, you expressed ambivalence about your return. I've decided I'm not going to leave that decision to you. You need to come back. It's your responsibility to the division and to yourself. Recent events have forced me to learn anew that the world can be a miserable, difficult place. We can't afford to lose a good physician. Not ever, but especially not this week.'
Carson looked at him, his eyes moist.
'I'm taking a few days off, starting now,' David continued. 'I want to know that you're in the ER in my absence.' He stood up and dusted his hands. 'I'm not leaving until you get dressed, get in your car, and start your drive to the hospital.'
Carson stared at him for a very long time. Then he rose and headed back to his bedroom to change into scrubs.
Chapter 66
David sat in the still of his bedroom, back against the headboard, files and papers scattered across his lap. He watched the palm frond shadows wave across the newly scoured blood-tinged wall at the base of his bed, and knew with a sudden and vehement certainty that the telephone was about to ring. He watched the bobbing shadows of the plants and waited, breathing softly, as the clock ticked on.
The phone rang and he set aside Connolly's abstract, which he'd been rereading. His voice was surprisingly calm when he answered. 'Yes, Clyde?'
The voice, low and sloppy, rattled with phlegm. 'You saw. You saw what I left you?'
David's voice was entirely calm. 'I did. And?'
A confused pause.
'If you think sneaking into my house and killing a canary are gonna get me upset, you have another think coming. You're gonna have to do a lot more to scare me, Clyde.'
