Plymouth
Willows into a simple file, I did some other paperwork for an hour or
so, involuntarily thinking of Nancy and glancing at the telephone
from time to time. Following that, I signed my name to reports a nice
woman at the accountants' office down the corridor word processes
"under the desk" for ten bucks a throw. Then I looked at
the Plymouth Willows iile again. I was about to start counting the
turning leaves on the Common's trees when the phone finally did ring.
"John Cuddy."
"John, it's Nancy."
Just hearing her voice made my heart settle when I
hadn't been aware it was stuck too high in the chest. "You got
my message?"
"At the office, but I'm calling from a bar
thing."
Her voice sounded stilted.
" 'Bar thing'?"
"You know, a Bar Association event, cocktails
and then dinner. Boring, but appropriate for a lawyer of my acumen."
More stilted. "Nance, is everything all right?"
"Fine. I guess I forgot to mention the bar
thing, huh?"
Now over-casual. "Yeah, I think you must have."
"Well, I'm sorry. I've got this trial still
tomorrow, so I'm just going to head home tonight."
"Right."
A silence between us.
Then Nancy said,
"John, are you okay?"
"Only if you are."
Another silence. "You mean, did I call the
doctor?"
"That's what I mean."
"I called her but didn't get a chance to speak
with her. I have an appointment for tomorrow morning."
"What time?"
"John, it's nothing. Don't worry."
"I do worry, Nance. What time?"
"The appointment?"
“ Yes."
"Ten o'c1ock."
"That won't foul up your trial?"
"The judge will let me work around it."
"I'll drive you."
"Where?"
"To the doctor's."
"No."
"Why not?"
Her voice became a little sharp. "Because I'm a
big girl, and I can make it to the doctor for a simple checkup on my
own."
"Nance, do me a favor. Don't turn my concern for
you into some kind of insult to you, okay?"
"John, I'm not in a position where I can discuss
this very well."
"Call me tomorrow, then, after the doctor's."
"If I can. I've got to be back on trial for the
afternoon."
"I love you, Nancy."
A softening. "Same here, squared."
Then she rang off.
I hung up the phone with a bad feeling. I tried to
shake it off, then thought about burning it off at the Nautilus club
back near the condo. Downstairs, the traffic on Tremont Street was
gridlocked, so I walked to the photo place before getting my car. The
pictures were ready, and the dozen extras of Andrew Dees at the
driver's door came out beautifully. Small triumph.
Putting the envelope of prints and negatives in a
jacket pocket, I walked back toward the office, my mind on Nancy and
whether I should have pressed more or less in talking with her.
Coming around the corner of my building to the parking area, I
registered only the forearm coming up, clotheslining me just under
the throat.
I went down backwards, a pair of strong hands on each
of my arms as soon as I hit the ground. The hands brought me back up,
face against the wall, my wrists twisted behind my spine as one hand
on each side frisked me quickly.
"I'm not carrying," I said.
One of the frisking hands rapped at my left kidney.
The pain and nausea broke over me like a wave, my knees buckling a
little.
A man's gruff voice spoke into my left ear.
"And if you was?"
I managed to say, "Then you'd be dead, and
somebody else would be asking me these questions."
The one on my right arm spun me around. I braced my
stomach muscles for the shot I expected from his partner, but the
punch, with fingers stiffened at the second knuckle like a striking
cobra, still penetrated deep, taking my breath away as it doubled me
over. Then the other guy used the heel of his left hand to smack my
forehead, whiplashing my skull back against the brick. One hand from
each gripped my lapels while the other hands pinned my arms against
the wall. I was fighting the gag reflex and seeing stars, but I could
also make out the two men.
Both had dark hair, slicked back in a way that looked
wrong, like they didn't
Willows into a simple file, I did some other paperwork for an hour or
so, involuntarily thinking of Nancy and glancing at the telephone
from time to time. Following that, I signed my name to reports a nice
woman at the accountants' office down the corridor word processes
"under the desk" for ten bucks a throw. Then I looked at
the Plymouth Willows iile again. I was about to start counting the
turning leaves on the Common's trees when the phone finally did ring.
"John Cuddy."
"John, it's Nancy."
Just hearing her voice made my heart settle when I
hadn't been aware it was stuck too high in the chest. "You got
my message?"
"At the office, but I'm calling from a bar
thing."
Her voice sounded stilted.
" 'Bar thing'?"
"You know, a Bar Association event, cocktails
and then dinner. Boring, but appropriate for a lawyer of my acumen."
More stilted. "Nance, is everything all right?"
"Fine. I guess I forgot to mention the bar
thing, huh?"
Now over-casual. "Yeah, I think you must have."
"Well, I'm sorry. I've got this trial still
tomorrow, so I'm just going to head home tonight."
"Right."
A silence between us.
Then Nancy said,
"John, are you okay?"
"Only if you are."
Another silence. "You mean, did I call the
doctor?"
"That's what I mean."
"I called her but didn't get a chance to speak
with her. I have an appointment for tomorrow morning."
"What time?"
"John, it's nothing. Don't worry."
"I do worry, Nance. What time?"
"The appointment?"
“ Yes."
"Ten o'c1ock."
"That won't foul up your trial?"
"The judge will let me work around it."
"I'll drive you."
"Where?"
"To the doctor's."
"No."
"Why not?"
Her voice became a little sharp. "Because I'm a
big girl, and I can make it to the doctor for a simple checkup on my
own."
"Nance, do me a favor. Don't turn my concern for
you into some kind of insult to you, okay?"
"John, I'm not in a position where I can discuss
this very well."
"Call me tomorrow, then, after the doctor's."
"If I can. I've got to be back on trial for the
afternoon."
"I love you, Nancy."
A softening. "Same here, squared."
Then she rang off.
I hung up the phone with a bad feeling. I tried to
shake it off, then thought about burning it off at the Nautilus club
back near the condo. Downstairs, the traffic on Tremont Street was
gridlocked, so I walked to the photo place before getting my car. The
pictures were ready, and the dozen extras of Andrew Dees at the
driver's door came out beautifully. Small triumph.
Putting the envelope of prints and negatives in a
jacket pocket, I walked back toward the office, my mind on Nancy and
whether I should have pressed more or less in talking with her.
Coming around the corner of my building to the parking area, I
registered only the forearm coming up, clotheslining me just under
the throat.
I went down backwards, a pair of strong hands on each
of my arms as soon as I hit the ground. The hands brought me back up,
face against the wall, my wrists twisted behind my spine as one hand
on each side frisked me quickly.
"I'm not carrying," I said.
One of the frisking hands rapped at my left kidney.
The pain and nausea broke over me like a wave, my knees buckling a
little.
A man's gruff voice spoke into my left ear.
"And if you was?"
I managed to say, "Then you'd be dead, and
somebody else would be asking me these questions."
The one on my right arm spun me around. I braced my
stomach muscles for the shot I expected from his partner, but the
punch, with fingers stiffened at the second knuckle like a striking
cobra, still penetrated deep, taking my breath away as it doubled me
over. Then the other guy used the heel of his left hand to smack my
forehead, whiplashing my skull back against the brick. One hand from
each gripped my lapels while the other hands pinned my arms against
the wall. I was fighting the gag reflex and seeing stars, but I could
also make out the two men.
Both had dark hair, slicked back in a way that looked
wrong, like they didn't
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