Bad Love

He laughed.

"She got down on her knees and begged. Her she-beast throat got all clogged up like a toilet full of shit… She was eating breakfast, I just strolled in, put this gun to her head, said "bad love, she-beast.' And she just fell apart."

Shaking his head, as if still not believing. Slight shift of the gun.

"Not an ounce of fight. No fun. I had to stand her up and order her to make a run for it. Kicked her butt to get her to move. Even with that, all she could do was stumble into the garage and get down on her knees again. Then she snapped out of her trance. Then she started begging. Crying, pointing to her stomach, telling me she's pregnant, please have pity on my baby. Like she had pity… then she pulled a card out of her pocket, trying to prove it to me. A sperm bank. Which makes sense, who would have done her?" Laughter. "Like that was a reason. Saving her beastly fetus. Au contraire, that was the best reason of all to do her. Kill Hitler's seed."

Another shake of the head. "Unbelievable. She bloodies Delmar's shorts and thinks that's a good reason… She started to tell me she was on my side, she'd helped me, killing him."

"She killed her father?"

"She claimed she OD'ed him on pills. Like she'd gotten some insight. But I knew she did it as a favor to him. Putting him out of his misery. Making sure I'd never get to him. Giving me another reason to do her hard and long, she's blabbing and just digging herself deeper." Smile. "I made sure to do the baby first. Pulled it out, still attached to her, showed it to her and put it back in her."

The dog's struggles seemed to be weakening; I thought I heard him whimper.

Coburg said, "You messed up my order, but that's okay, I'll get creative. You and your little friend will be an adequate final act."

"What about the others?" I said, fighting to keep my voice even. Fighting to focus my own rage. "Why'd you choose the order you did?"

"I keep telling you, I didn't choose anything. The pattern constructed itself. I put your names into a hat and drew them out, eeny-meeny- all the meanies."

"The names of the people who spoke at the symposium."

Nod. "All you good Germans. I'd been thinking about all of you for years- even before doing the bitch."

"You were there," I said. "Listening to us."

"Sitting in a back row, taking it all in."

"You were a kid. How'd you come to be there?"

"More karma. I was nineteen, living in Hollywood and crashing at a halfway house on Serrano."

Just a few blocks from Western Peds.

"… taking a walk on Sunset and I saw this program board out in front. Psychiatric symposium, tomorrow morning."

Tensing up, he waved the gun, arm dipping for just one second, then snapping back into place, the barrel touching my shirt.

"His name… I went in and picked up a brochure at the information desk. Shaved and showered and put on my best clothes and just walked in. And watched all you hypocritical bastards get up there and say what a pioneer he'd been. Child advocate. Gifted teacher. The she-beast and her home movies. Everyone smiling and applauding- I could barely sit there without screaming- I should have screamed. Should have gotten up and told all of you what you really were. But I was young, no confidence. So instead, I went out that night and hurt myself. Which bought me another dungeon. Lots of time to think and get my focus. I'd cut out your pictures. Pasted them on a piece of paper. Kept the paper in a box. Along with other important things. I've lived with you assholes longer than most people stay married."

"Why was Dr. Harrison spared?"

He stared at me, as if I'd said something stupid. "Because he listened. Right after the Hitler canonization, I called him and told him it had bothered me. And he listened. I could tell he was taking me seriously. He made an appointment to speak to me. I was going to show up, but something came up- another dungeon."

"Why'd you tell him your name was Merino? Why'd you tell me you were Mr. Silk?"

Wrinkled forehead. "You spoke to Harrison? Maybe I'll visit him after all."

A sick feeling flooded me. "He doesn't know anyth-"

"Don't fret, fool, I'm fair, always have been. I gave all of you the same chance I gave Harrison. But the rest of you flunked."

"You never called me," I said.

Smile. "November thirtieth, nineteen seventy-nine. Two p.m. I have a written record of it. Your snotty secretary insisted you only treated children and couldn't see me."

"She wasn't supposed to screen- I never knew."

"That's an excuse? When the troops fuck up, the general's culpable. And it was a chance you didn't even deserve- a lot more than I got, or Delmar, or any of the other loved ones. You muffed it, bro."

"But Rosenblatt," I said. "He did see you."

"He was the biggest hypocrite. Pretending to understand- the soft voice, the phony empathy. Then he revealed his true colors. Quizzing me, trying to get into my head." Coburg put on an unctuous look: " 'I'm hearing a lot of pain… one thing you might consider is talking about this more.' " Fury compressed the light brown eyes. "The phony bastard wanted to give me psychoanalysis to deal with my conflicts. Hundred-buck-an-hour couch work as a cure for political oppression because he couldn't accept the fact that he'd worshiped Hitler. He sat there and pretended to hear, but he didn't believe me. Just wanted to mess with my head- the worst one of all, bye-bye birdie."

He made a shoving motion with his free hand and smiled.

I said, "How'd you get him to see you outside his office?"

"I told him I was bedridden. Crippled by something Hitler had done. That piqued his interest, he came right over that evening, with his kind looks and his beard and his bad tweed suit- it was hot but he needed his little shrink costume. The whole time he was there, I stayed in bed. The second time, also. I had him bring me a drink… serving me. It was a really muggy day, the window was wide open for air. Tissue box on the ledge- karma. I pretended to sneeze and asked him to get me a tissue." Shove. "Fly away, hypocrite bird."

Other people's houses. A financial man… A farm in Co

She a lawyer, he a banker.

I said, "The apartment belonged to your mother and stepfather."

He shook his head joyfully. "Clever little Alex. Mrs. Lyndon would be so proud… Mummy and Evil were in Europe, so I decided to crash at the old homestead. Rosenblatt's office two blocks away… karma. Eight floors up, have a nice flight."

Mr. and Mrs. Malcolm J. Rulerad. Cold people, Shirley Rosenblatt had said. Unwilling to let a private investigator search their place. Guarding more than privacy? How much had they known?

"You left burglar tools behind," I said. "Did you need them to get in, or were you just setting it up as another East Side burglary?"

He tried to mask his surprise with a slow, languid smile. "My, my, we have been busy. No, I had a key. One keeps looking for home sweet home. The big Brady Bunch in the sky…"

"Stoumen and Lerner," I said. "Did they meet with you?"

"No," he said, suddenly angry again. "Stoumen's excuse was that he was retired. Another flunky shutting me out, did I want to speak to the doctor on call- you people really don't know how to delegate authority properly. And Lerner made an appointment but didn't show up, the rude bastard."

The unreliability Harrison had spoken of: it had affected his work- missed appointments.

"So you tracked them down at conferences- how'd you get hold of the membership lists?"