Time Bomb (10 page)

The creases around his eyes tightened into paper cuts and his fingers curled on the desk top. Clawing the glass, whitening the horny nails. But he kept smiling, showed those brown teeth. “No telling
what
can be caught nowadays, right? Bottom line, we’re all after the same thing, aren’t we?”

“What’s that?”

“Cleaning up the mess. Doing right by those youngsters. Seeing to it that they become good citizens. I’m sure you want that just as much as we do, now don’t you, Doctor?”

“Right now,” I said, “I’m less interested in teaching them civics than in helping them sleep through the night.”

His smile faded.

Dobbs said, “All Assemblyman Massengil is saying is that values are crucial when working with these children—any children. Maintaining an order.”

“What kind of order?”

“A system of values. Being overt and aboveboard with one’s personal value system is a necessity in clinical work—one that’s too olden neglected. Children need that kind of security. The knowledge that their significant others
believe
in something. Surely you wouldn’t disagree.”

Massengil said, “Let’s get down to brass tacks, Doc. We greatly appreciate everything you’ve done. I’m sure you’ve made a great start, psychology-wise. From now on, though, Lance’s people are gonna take over. The way it was supposed to be in the first place.”

I said, “I can’t agree to that, Assemblyman. Breaking off and starting with someone new would only confuse the children further—weaken whatever sense of security they’ve rebuilt.”

He gave his head a choppy wave. “Don’t you worry about that. I’m sure Lance will be able to remedy that.”

“Absolutely,” said Dobbs. “If you’re using a standard crisis-intervention mode, it should be no problem to transfer from one attachment figure to—”

I said, “Come on, Doctor. The last thing the children need is more unnecessary change.”

Before he could answer I stood and looked down at Massengil. “Assemblyman, if you’re really interested in their welfare, keep your politics out of their lives and let me do my job.”

Massengil put his hands on the arms of his chair, sucked in his breath, and rounded his shoulders as if preparing to himself up. But he stayed in place, all the tension rising to his face, compressing and darkening it, like meat turned to pemmican in the sun.

“Politics,
eh? Like that’s some sort of dirty word? Like it’s somehow criminal to want to serve God and country? I’ve got news for you, young man. People don’t want to hear that kind of libertine guff anymore. They respect competence, experience, know who their leaders are, where the bedrock lies.” He shook a finger at me. “If it’s
politics
you find so objectionable, let me tell you something. Your
homasexual
friend got his
promotion
’cause of politics. He called
you
in ’cause of politics. And this whole mess started in the first place ’cause of
politics
—
those kids
and the agitators behind them are making a deliberate choice to bring politics into their lives every morning they get on that bus from Boyle Heights and head west! So if you want to talk about politics, let’s talk about the whole damned picture!”

I said, “I’m not concerned with any of that. All I care about is helping them deal with being shot at.”

“Wasn’t
them. Me! I
was the target. Because of what I stood for. Put in the cross-hairs by some vicious radical punk trying to erode the boundaries!”

“Is that what you told ATD?”

He hesitated for a moment, looked at Dobbs, then back at me. “What I know is my business. Preservation and erosion. Fact is, it’s about time someone took charge of that school, set things right. Place is nothing but an open sore on the face of the district, social experimentation at the expense of stability. I try to talk straight about it and nearly get gunned down in cold blood. There’s your being shot at!”

He was breathing hard and his fingers had left wet marks on the glass.

Dobbs said, “Sam. Assemblyman.” He made a faint wiggling motion with one hand, then lowered it, like a magician de-levitating an assistant. Massengil settled back down and let out breath.

“All right, Doctor,” said Dobbs. “Let’s emphasize cooperation, not confrontation. Work together. I’d be happy to integrate you into my program.”

All smiles.

I remembered what Linda had told me about his earthquake “program” and shook my head. “That would be pointless, Dr. Dobbs. I’m well into my treatment; the children are responding well. There’s simply no reason to complicate things.”

The smile lingered but turned condescending. “Are you sure that isn’t ego talking, Doctor?”

“Not ego,” I said. “Just good common sense.”

“A contradiction in terms, if there ever was one, Dr. Delaware. If good sense was common, we’d both be out of business, wouldn’t we? Same goes for good values.”

“Values,” I said. “Like truth in advertising?”

He pursed his lips. Before he could get them in gear, I turned to Massengil and said, “Yesterday, at the school, I met one of Dr. Dobbs’s staff, handing out cassette tapes. Misrepresenting herself as a psychologist and claiming a doctorate she didn’t have. Two violations of the state business code, Assemblyman. How’s that for
erosion
?”

Massengil looked at Dobbs.

Dobbs laughed and said, “Picayune, Sam. A technical ity. Patty Mendez is a good gal, but green. Not well-versed yet in all the red tape the bureaucrats throw at us. Dr. Delaware here was pretty rough on her. I’ve talked to her, set her straight.”

Massengil stared at him for an instant, then swung his eyes back to me. “You heard that. Let’s not go making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“How about we get back on track?” said Dobbs gently.

“Right,” said Massengil. “I want Lance involved. One way or the other. Plain and simple.”

I looked at Dobbs. Self-satisfied. In control. Suddenly I understood. All the cross-glances, hand signals.

The bond between them went beyond management seminars.

What they had was deeper.

Something with a parent/child flavor to it.

It explained the odd defensiveness Massengil had shown when I’d asked about Dobbs’s being on his team.

We’ve all of us benefited, the whole staff.

All of us. Not just
me
.

Patient and therapist? The bedrock of the community baring his psyche to Santa Claus?

Why not?

Psychotherapy under the guise of management seminars would be a nifty cover, legitimizing Dobbs’s presence in Massengil’s office and sparing Massengil the trip to the doctor’s office. Spiritual Growth in Service of the Soul . . . mind-probing disguised as “brainstorming.” The bills could be laundered among the office invoices. . . .

Massengil’s thin voice snapped me back to the present. Making another speech. More gobbledygook about values . . .

I said, “Gentlemen, if that’s all, I’m on my way. And I expect to finish what I started without further interruption.”

“You’re making a big mistake,” said Massengil. “A damned big one.”

“No,
you
are,” I said, loud enough to surprise all three of us. “The latest in a series of mistakes. Like using the school—exploiting
those youngsters
—to further your own agenda. Obsessing on trivial nonsense when there are so many important issues to deal with. And if you are right about being the target, you did a lot worse than that—you drew a killer to that yard, put those kids in mortal danger.”

Massengil shot up and came around the desk. “You snotty fag bastard!” Froth had collected in the corners of his mouth. Flecks of it flew as he talked and one of them settled on his tie.

Dobbs looked pained. “Sam!” he said, struggling to his feet, trying to restrain the older man. But Massengil was strong for his age and fueled by rage. The two of them wrestled awkwardly for a moment. Then Dobbs said “Sam!” sharply, and Massengil stopped struggling.

He glowered at me from behind Dobbs’s sloping loden shoulder. “Loudmouthed snot.”

Dobbs turned and gave me a look-what-you’ve-done glare.

I said, “You have a very impolitic temper, Assemblyman.”

Massengil said, “Don’t worry, Lance. He’s out. You’re in. Got my word on it. Plain and simple.”

I said, “Assemblyman, here’s something plain and simple: The slightest attempt to interfere with my treatment and I’m going straight to the press. They don’t have many facts on the shooting itself, and you can bet they’ll be overjoyed to pick up a juicy side angle—political meddling.”

Massengil surged forward. “Now, you just—” Dobbs held him back but gave me a threatening look himself.

I walked to the door. “So juicy they’ll drool, Assemblyman. Doctors who aren’t doctors, a ‘crisis intervention’ program that hasn’t begun despite Dr. Dobbs’s inspired little TV speeches. A non-program that your office has already paid for. Sounds like poor fiscal policy at best, multiple fraud at worst. Someone’s going to want to know why—why the connection between you and Dr. Dobbs is so strong that you’re willing to stretch this far. At the very least there’ll be an ethics investigation. You know how those things get when they pick up momentum. So let’s see if those hungry newshounds think it’s picayune.”

The color drained from Massengil’s face. Dobbs’s face froze. He picked up his watch fob and began rubbing it hard.

I turned my back on them and left.

Beth Bramble was outside the office, smoking a long, pink, silver-tipped cigarette.

“Everything go okay?” she said, smiling. Squeezing the laugh back in.

“Peachy keen.” My jaws ached from tension and my voice was hoarse.

She stopped smiling, looked back at the office door.

“Don’t worry. He’s all right,” I said. “Still beloved.”

8

Good show of cool, but as I walked to the Seville the anger hit me. I found a pay phone near the yogurt place and put in a call to Milo. He was out and I left a message to phone. I went inside, bought a cup of coffee, drank it, and took a refill while standing at the counter. Lots of ambient conversation about pulse rates. Mine was racing.

I got out of there and drove to the school, traveling slowly, trying to settle down, arriving a little before eleven, still keyed up and not ready to face the kids.

I parked, did a little deep breathing, and got out of the car. Both the school cop and the crossbearer were gone. As I walked toward the gate a car came tooling slowly down the street. Silver-gray compact. Honda Accord in need of a wash, the body dimpled and scarred, the finish not much shinier than primer. But a single display of Kalifornia-kustom flair caught my eye: gleaming blackened windows that wrapped around the car like electrician’s tape, making the lackluster paintwork appear even more tarnished. Windows that would have seemed more in place on a stretch limo.

The little gray car stopped to let me cross, lingered, and continued cruising for a block before turning left. I walked onto the school grounds.

Linda was in her office, behind a pile of paperwork. When she saw me she swiveled, stood, and smiled. She was wearing a blue oxford button-down shirt and khaki skirt, brown boots with sensible low heels. The bit of leg that showed was smooth and white. Her hair was swept back and fastened at the temples with tortoise-shell barettes, revealing small, close-set ears adorned with tiny gold studs.

“Hi. You’re early,” she said, pushing aside some papers.

“Got thrown off my schedule.”

Deep breathing or not, there was still ire in my voice.

She said, “What is it?”

I told her about the confrontation with Massengil and Dobbs, leaving out the part about Milo’s sexuality.

“The bastards,” she said and sat back down. “Trying to profit from tragedy.”

I took a chair opposite her.

“That’s what you get for being a nice guy,” she said.

“I wasn’t such a nice guy half an hour ago. When Massengil started leaning on me, things got hot. Hope I didn’t make things worse for you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She sounded weary.

“How much damage can he do?”

“Nothing in the immediate, other than make more noise—which is unlikely after the shooting.” She thought for a moment. “I guess he
could
try to screw the school budget when it comes up next year in Sacramento. But it would be hard for him to target Hale specifically. So don’t worry about it. Just keep doing your thing.”

“He’s a strange one,” I said. “Really rough around the edges, not at all well-spoken.”

“What’d you expect? A statesman?”

“Some sophistication—polish. He’s been at it for twenty-eight years. On top of the crudeness, he’s got a nasty temper. Surprising he’s lasted this long.”

“He probably knows who to punch out and who to kiss up to—that’s the whole game, isn’t it? And over twenty-eight years he’s fixed plenty of potholes. Besides, being rough around the edges probably works well here—the whole cowboy thing.”

“He’s got to have something going,” I said. “Hasn’t had any opposition for the last two elections. I know, ’cause I’m a constituent. I keep leaving the space blank.”

“I’m a constituent too. I write in Alfred E. Newman.”

I smiled.

She said, “Might we be neighbors, sir?”

“I live up in Beverly Glen.”

“Beverly Glen and where?”

“North of Sunset, up toward Mulholland.”

“Mmm, real pretty up there,” she said. “Way out of my league. All I’ve got is a little hutch near Westwood and Pico.” Mischievous smile. “Guess neither of us loyal constituents has much chance of getting
our
potholes fixed.”

“Better learn to mix your own asphalt,” I said. “Or cozy up to Dr. Dobbs.”

“Speaking of which,” she said and took something off her desk and handed it to me.

It was a cassette tape, white plastic with black lettering that had smeared. The title was
KEEPING A CLEAR MIND
,
AGES
5-10.
Copyright 1985, Lance Dobbs, Ph.D. Cog-nitive-Spiritual Associates, Inc.

“This is what Little Miss Phony Doc was handing out before you aced her,” she said. “I confiscated all of them, took one home, and listened to it last night. Far as I can tell, what it comes down to is brainwashing. Literally. Dobbs goes on about how bad thoughts make children sad and angry. Then he tells them to imagine their mommies taking their brains out and scrubbing them hard with soap and water until they’re all clean, all the bad thoughts are gone, and what’s left are good, clean, sparkly thoughts. Sounds hokey to me. Is there any way something like that could be beneficial?”