reports then settled in an old chair and went through
the stack of books I’d promised myself to read.
The first volume I grabbed was a collection of
Diane Arbus photographs but the unforgiving portraits
of dwarfs, derelicts, and other walking wounded
made me more depressed. The next couple of
choices were no better so I went out on the deck
with my guitar, sat looking at the stars, and forced.
myself to play in a major key.
10
THE NEXT morning I went out on the terrace to get
the paper and saw it lying there, sluglike and bloated.
It was a dead rat. A crude noose of hemp had
been tied around its neck. Its lifeless eyes were
open and clouded, its fur matted and greasy. A pair
of disturbingly humanoid forepaws were frozen in
supplication. The half-open mouth revealed frontal
incisors the color of canned corn.
Underneath the corpse was a piece of paper. I
used the Times to push the rodent away–it resisted,
sticking, then slid like a puck to the edge of
the terrace.
It was straight out of an old gangster movie:
letters had been cut out of a magazine and pasted
up to read:
HERES TO YOU MONEYCHASER HEADSHRINK
I’d probably have figured it out anyway, but that
made it a cinch.
Sacrificing the classified section to the task, I
wrapped up the rat and carried it down to the
garbage. Then I went inside and got on the phone.
Mai Worthy’s secretary had a secretary and I had
to be assertive with both of them to get through to
him.
Before I could speak he said, “.I know, I got one
too. What color was yours ?”
“Brownish gray, with a noose around its scrawny
little neck.”
“Count yourself lucky. Mine came decapitated,
in a box. I almost lost a damn good mailgirl because
of it. She’s still washing her hands. DaschofiVs was
ratburger.”
He was trying to make light of it, but sounded
shaken.
“I knew the guy was a sicko,” he said.
“How’d he find out where I live?”
“Your address on your resume?”
“Oh shit. What did the wife get?”
“Nothing. Does that make sense?”
“Forget making sense. What can we do about it?”
“I’ve already begun drafting a restraining order
keeping him a thousand yards from any of-us. But
to be honest, there’s no way to prevent him. from
defying it. If he gets caught at it, that’s another
story, but we don’t want it to get that far, do we?”
“Not too comforting, Malcolm.”
“That’s democracy, my friend.” He paused. “This
taped ?”
“Of course not.”
“Just checking. There is another option, but it
would be too risky before the property settlement
has been completed.”
LOOD TEST 125′
“What’s that?”
“For fie hundred dollars I can have him sufficiently
damaged so he’ll never be able to piss without
crying.”
“Democracy, huh?”
He laughed.
“Free enterprise. Fee for service. Anyway, it’s
just an option.”
“Don’t exercise it, Mai.”
“Relax, Alex. Just theorizing.”
“What about the police?”
“Forget it. We have no evidence it was him. 1
mean we both know it but there’s no proof, right?
And they’re not going to fingerprint a rat because
sending rodents to your loved ones is no felony.
Maybe,” he laughed, “we could get Animal Regula-
tion on it: A stern lecture and a night at the pound?”
“Wouldn’t they at least go out and talk to him?”
“Not with the workload they’ve got. If it had
been more explicit, something that constituted a
threat, maybe. ‘Here’s to You Motherfucking Shyster’
won’t do, I’m afraid–the cops feel the same
way he does about lawyers. I’m going to file a report
just for the record, but don’t count on help
from the blue guys.”
“I know someone on the force.”
“Metermaids don’t carry much weight, fella.”
“How about detectives?”
“That’s different. Give him a call. You want ‘me
to talk to him, I will.”
‘!I’ll handle it.”
“Great. Let me know how it goes. And Alex
sorry for the hassle.” He sounded, eager to get off
the phone. At three and a half bucks a minute it
1 0 Jonathan Kellernur
doesn’t pay to give it away free for any length of