Milk and Honey (26 page)

Decker folded the papers in his pocket, happy he’d gone through half of the material, and followed the sway of the nurse’s hips.

Dr. Meecham was at his desk, talking on the phone. He motioned Decker down, and motioned the nurse out.

His desk was a mess—piles of papers, three Styrofoam cups, a half-eaten sandwich, an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. The whole room was a trash heap—a small cell crammed with junk. And this guy did internals all day? Must do his conferences with the women in the examining rooms.

The doctor himself struck a good appearance, the kind of older man who’d be soothing to younger women. He seemed to be around sixty, with a head full of white hair and a matching mustache. His face was long and lean, his
skin craggy and tan. No telling how tall he was, but his shoulders and neck were wide. He wore a clean white coat over a white shirt and navy tie. He had a gold pen in his pocket, and a Gucci clip bisected the tie.

He hung up and looked at Decker. “You’d better be the cop.”

Decker nodded.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve told Joy not to bring people in here,” Meecham said. “This room could give you the wrong impression.”

Decker didn’t say anything.

“Actually, I’m meticulous with my hygiene when I’m working,” Meecham said. He took out a cigarette and lit up. “But I get careless now and then about myself. You smoke? You look like the kind of person who doesn’t give a shit about what the Surgeon General says.”

Decker took a cigarette just to make Meecham feel comfortable. They both puffed away for a moment, then Meecham said, “What gives?”

“It’s about Linda and Luke Darcy.”

“Yeah?” Meecham asked. “What about them?”

“They went to see you about fertility problems,” Decker said, improvising. “What can you tell me about it?”

“Confidential.” Meecham shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Then you don’t know.”

“Know what?” Meecham asked.

“They’re dead.”

The cigarette fell out of Meecham’s mouth. He quickly stubbed it out.

“Can I see their file now?” Decker asked.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

Decker answered the question by pulling out his badge, letting Meecham know he was for real. Neither one spoke for a minute.

Finally, Meecham said, “You coming down like this. I take it they didn’t die in a car accident?”

“Murdered.”

“Oh Jesus,” Meecham said. “Oh God.” He opened his desk drawer, took out a vial of pills, and swallowed one dry. “I’ve got to ask this: What about the kid?”

“Katie’s fine.”

“Thank God for small blessings.” Meecham had turned green. “You didn’t know how badly those two wanted a baby—especially Linda. Luke wanted one, too, but in infertility cases, it’s usually the woman who brings the man. Jesus, after all those years, for her to get pregnant, just like that. Now, they’re dead. That is
fucking awful
.”

Decker waited for him to calm down. Watched him light up and smoke another cigarette. Then he took out his notebook and asked, “How long did you treat Linda for infertility?”

“Years,” Meecham said. “Eight years, ten years. I was treating them both. Expensive, invasive procedures. But she was absolutely insistent. Both of them were very compliant, no problems as patients. Except whatever we did for them didn’t work, dammit.

“Problems like that can really stress a marriage, Sergeant. Sex becomes mechanical, a woman becomes preoccupied with ovulation, with the acidity and temperature of her vagina, the man feels like he’s nothing but a reservoir of sperm. But the two of them, they really stuck with it.
Together
. Then, about four years ago, Linda finally gave up.” Meecham threw up his hands. “Just called one day and said, ‘Stan, I can’t take it anymore.’ I talked to her for a long time, mostly listened to her cry. I told her to give it a rest. Try it again in another year or two. Then, boom, a year later, she’s pregnant. Go figure.”

“Then she wasn’t under your treatment when she conceived?” Decker asked.

“Nope. She was still my patient, but I wasn’t treating her for infertility.”

“So she quit around four years ago,” Decker said.

“More or less,” Meecham said.

Same time as her affair with Byron Howard, Decker thought. He said, “You were surprised when she got pregnant?”

“Flabbergasted.”

“What about Luke?” Decker asked. “What exactly was his problem?”

“Low sperm count, about half of his viable sperm were misshapen. Tails bent, so motility was compromised. Little suckers have to be able to swim to the egg. He had no anatomical reason for the low count—no varicoceles, his testicular temperature wasn’t particularly high. Hot balls kill sperm. Just one of those guys who didn’t have a lot of good jism.”

“And Linda?”

“Endometriosis—her uterus was full of scar tissue. The etiology, or what caused it, was unknown. Could have happened in childhood—an infection masquerading as a bad stomach ache or a false appendicitis. One of those things that doesn’t show up until the woman wants to have a baby. She starts trying for a year or so, then she suspects something is wrong. We do the tests, boom, life comes apart at the seams.”

“But Linda got pregnant despite her endo—whatever you call it,” Decker said.

“Sure did. Woman had one operable tube at the time, that one was twenty-five percent occluded, seventy percent scar tissue on her uterus, and a compromised husband fertility-wise. God is a better doctor than I.”

“Let me ask you this,” Decker said. “Do you think Linda might have gotten pregnant with another, more fertile man?”

“Either one of them had a better chance with other partners. But I’ll tell you this much, Sergeant. Linda was already being inseminated with sperm other than her husband’s.”

Decker raised his eyebrows.

“No,” Meecham said. “It’s nothing like that. Luke knew about it and agreed to it. It’s called a cocktail mixture, and it’s pretty common these days. Husband’s sperm is mixed with a bunch of healthy sperm from physically matched donors. Usually, the only way to know for sure is to do a blood test. The insemination is an expensive and painful procedure, the woman experiences a great deal of cramping, bleeding, the man is dehumanized, emasculated. His sperm isn’t good enough. But Linda—and Luke—were willing to give it a try. That didn’t work. And the sperm we used was as viable as any around.”

Meecham finished a second cigarette. “That’s what we were doing when Linda called it off. We tried the cocktail about a half-dozen times when she said she’d finally had enough.”

“Did she say why she was quitting?”

“The whole gamut,” Meecham said. “The physical pain, the anguish, the toll on the marriage, the expense, the hopelessness of it all…God, I was so happy for them when Katie was born. Luke’s not the type to do anything like Lamaze—to him, birth was a woman’s affair—so she did it all by herself. And Katie wasn’t an easy delivery. Linda was thirty-eight, the labor was long. But she came through it like a trouper.”

“How did Linda come to you as a patient?” Decker asked.

“Referral from a local GP in Saugus. Last of a vanishing breed. He refers me all of his OB cases, because the malpractice insurance is too high for him.”

Meecham stopped a moment, seemed to collect his thoughts.

“Linda seemed a little bit more worldly than the other farmer gals I’ve seen. More at ease with city life. I don’t know what her life experiences were, but I can tell you one thing. She wanted a baby. And now…she’s…Jesus, I’m
sorry, I can’t talk about this anymore. It’s really upsetting my psychic balance. I’ve had a stillborn this week and an anencephalic, and I can’t take any more bad news. I’ll be happy to talk with you later, Sergeant. But right now, I’d prefer to be alone.”

Stanford Meecham was genuinely hurting. He looked as if he was going to do more pills or booze as soon as Decker walked out the door. Decker thought of Meecham’s patients, those six pregnant women, a couple of them looking as though they were ready to drop any second.

“You on call tonight?” Decker asked.

“Yeah,” Meecham answered. “Why?”

Decker did an impulsive thing. He stood up, went over to Meecham’s side of the desk, and yanked open his drawer.

“What the hell are you doing!” Meecham screamed.

Decker pulled out a vial of pills—Valium—and a package of breath mints. Sure sign he had something more. He pocketed the pills and mints, and as long as he’d gone this far, he opened his bottom file and took out the expected metal flask.

Meecham regarded him, his face registering both anger and embarrassment. Finally, he said, “Yeah, you’re right. Take it all. I can dope myself up tomorrow night, when no one’s depending on me. My ladies and I thank you, Sergeant.”

Decker told him, “Don’t mention it.”

The fifteen hundred
dollars were burning a hole in Abel’s pocket. He thought of all the things he could do with it—new clothes, new set of wheels for his bike, food and lodging in Sin City itself—a quick trip to Lost Wages. He could book a room at the Palace, or maybe the MGM Grand—Monday nights were generally slow—and pick up a couple of whores. Some things were just meant to be done in groups of threes. Fifteen C’s and he could purchase himself one truly unforgettable evening.

As he approached Decker’s ranch, he reluctantly let go of his fantasies. He parked in the driveway, hoping that Doc would be home, so the girl wouldn’t think that he was trying to make time with her. Of course, if he had to talk to the girl again, it wouldn’t be the worst sentence in the world. The thought of her gave him goose bumps in 100-degree weather. Limping up to the door, he gave the rapper a hard knock and waited. His luck: The girl answered with a sweet “Who is it?” Abel drank in her voice.

“It’s Abel Atwater, ma’am,” he answered back. “You don’t have to answer the door, but I’m leaving an envelope of money for Peter underneath your mat. I suggest you pick it up as soon as I leave, because there’s fifteen hundred—”

The door opened. Those eyes looking at his, that
hair
—
shiny black, all loose and long. It made him weak-kneed. All he could choke out was a prepubescent hi.

“Hello,” Rina answered. Poor guy. He was so nervous, he was blushing. Or maybe it was just the heat. He’d dressed up today; he was wearing a shirt. Still, as harmless as he appeared, Rina couldn’t dismiss the fact that he was an alleged rapist. She decided to be civil and nothing more.

Abel said, “Uh, could you give this to Pete for me?”

He was offering her the envelope. Rina said, “You can give him the money yourself, Abel. He’s out back with the horses.”

“Well, you can take it for him,” Abel said. “After all, you’re like his wife.”

“Your business is with Peter,” Rina said. “Not with me.”

“Yeeesss, ma’am,” Abel said.

Rina relaxed, gave him a hint of a smile. “You can call me Rina, Abel. ‘Ma’am’ makes me feel sixty years old. Anyway, just go around back and flag him down. You can’t miss him. He’s wearing a hat.”

Abel laughed, and she closed the door without another word. He slapped the envelope several times against his palm, then walked through the side pathway to the back acreage, suddenly noticing the banging of his heart.

He paused before he let Decker see him, watched Cowboy Pete, dressed in shorts, a T-shirt, and a Dos Equis cap, ride an Appaloosa around the corral. Doc always covered up with a T-shirt. Abel used to kid him about his fair complexion, used to call him lobster boy, he’d turn so red in the heat.

Abel stepped out into the open field, saw Decker’s eyes fix in his direction. Decker immediately reversed directions and rode over to him, hopping off the horse before the animal came to a complete stop. He looped the reins over a post and threw his arm over Abel’s bony shoulder.

“Come in the house,” he said. “Let’s grab a beer.”

Abel stuffed the envelope in Decker’s shorts pocket. “There,” he said. “We’re even.”

Decker pulled the envelope, felt its contents, then pushed it back in Abel’s hands. “I told you the money was a gift.”

“And I told you I was gonna pay you back.”

“But I don’t want it back.”

“Well, I don’t rightly care about what you want.” Abel tossed the package at Decker’s feet. “You ain’t got nothing on me now. And don’t worry, Sergeant. The money’s mine. I earned it. Fuck, did I earn it!”

Abel pivoted and started hobbling away as fast as he could.

“I fucking can’t—” Decker picked up the envelope and ran after Abel. He grabbed his shoulder. “Hey, just stop for a moment, huh?”

“Get your hands off of me,” Abel said.

“Just cool off—”

“I
said
, get your hands off of me.”

“I will as soon as you calm down.”

Abel whacked Decker’s arm off his shoulder. Then sudden force and change of equilibrium threw Decker off balance. Abel backed up two feet and arched like a threatened feline. “When I say take your fucking hands off me, I mean
now
, pal. I may be a gimp, but I’m still your peer.”

Decker turned red. “I just meant—-”

“You just meant, you just meant,” Abel mocked him.

“Oh, fuck off,” Decker said. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to defend my intentions. Yeah, you’re a gimp, Abe. But worse than being a physical gimp, you’re an emotional gimp—”

“Oh my God!” Abel waved his hands into the air. “You’ve given me sudden
insight
!”

Decker felt his body about to explode. Quietly, he said, “I’m sick of you, I’m sick of your mouth, I’m sick of your problems. Get some other sucker to bail you out. Just get
out of my life.” He slung the envelope against Abel’s chest. “I don’t need the bread. Go spend it on your goddam whores.”

Abel let the money fall to the ground, stroked his beard, and let out a strange smile. He cocked his hip and said, “Now ain’t that the pot calling the kettle black. Way I remember it, I was always the one draggin’
your
ass out of the hooches.”

“That’s because you were the one draggin’ my ass
into
the hooches.”

“I never heard you
complain
any, Decker.”

“You were too busy sniffing for poontang to hear.”

“Jealous of my rate of success?”

“Fuck off, Atwater,” Decker said. “Just ’cause we toured together, don’t start painting me with your brush.”

“Hey, Decker, your memory gears need some oiling. I recall you having a right fine time in Bangkok—”

“Man,
I
didn’t want to go to Bangkok.
You
wanted to go to Bangkok!” Decker was shouting now. “
I
wanted to go to Hawaii! All I wanted to do was sit on a beach without getting my ass blown off. Nuh-huh, that’s not good enough for PFC Atwater. Honest Abe wants
excitement
. Nam’s not exciting enough, mind you, he’s got to have more. No fucking way was Bangkok
my
idea. Bangkok was
your
idea!”

“So if you wanted to go to Hawaii, why didn’t you fucking well go to Hawaii?”

“You want me to tell you why?” Decker screamed.

“Yeah, tell me why!” Abel screamed back.

“I’ll tell you why!”

“Fucking tell me why!”

“I went to Bangkok ’cause
you
wanted gash, and gash was cheaper in Bangkok!”

“Well, you didn’t do so bad in the Bangkok gash department yourself!”

“How would you know what the fuck I was doing? You were too busy humping like a mutt in heat.”

“Not too busy to notice you taking some slant slit up to your room. I seem to recall three days passing before you let the poor thing surface for air!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Decker saw Rina standing by the back door. Her hand was over her mouth, her eyes just staring at him.

How much
had
she heard?

He felt himself go feverish with shame, hot with rage. In a blind anger, he jumped Abel, both of them tumbling to the ground.

“You talk with respect around my woman!” Decker yelled, as he tried to pin Abel down. But Abel was stronger than he looked. He took his cane and rammed it into Decker’s solar plexus. Decker doubled over, but managed to shove his own elbow full force into Abel’s gut. The punch winded Abel, but it didn’t dull his reflexes. He saw Decker come at him with his fist, rolled over, and heard Decker scream as his fingers hit dirt. He whacked Decker across the back with his cane at the same time that Decker grabbed his hair.

Decker picked Abel’s head up by the roots of his hair, and was prepared to slam him against the ground when he felt light pummeling on his back—like a gentle rubdown. The fuck? he thought. Then he heard her—Rina screaming at him.

“Stop it!” she shrieked. “Stop it, both of you! Stop it right now!”

Decker let go of Abel’s hair.

“Are you out of your mind, Peter!” Rina was hysterical. Decker felt her gripping his shirt. “Get off of him! Get…
off
.” She yanked his shirt so hard, it ripped, and she stumbled backward.

Abel burst into laughter, Decker tried to contain himself but was unsuccessful. He rolled onto his back and broke into loud guffaws.

Rina glared at them, a piece of fabric in her hands, huffing from the exertion. Two idiots, holding their stomachs
and howling with delight, squirming on the ground like infants. They
were
infants. No, infants had more sense. They were little naughty boys, like
her
sons after they’d played a trick on her.

Good old Mom. The butt of all the jokes. One part of her wanted to stalk off, another part of her wanted to join in the fun. Yet she knew from her own kids, it would spoil their little game if she laughed with them. She maintained her stern expression.

“You two should be ashamed of yourselves,” she said as seriously as she could.

Just as Rina thought, they laughed harder. She shook her head. “Absolutely ashamed at such outrageous, infantile behavior.” She turned on her heels and waited until she was inside before her scowl turned into a grin.

Abel’s laughter had become so hard, tears were rolling down his eyes. “Boy, are you in trouble!”

“Big trouble,” Decker said.

“Real big trouble,” Abel said. “As in: Forget about getting laid.”

Decker frowned. “No. Not that much trouble.”

“That’s what you think,” Abel said. “She was
pissed
.”

“Yeah,” Decker said. “She was.” His laughter had subsided now. “I think she was upset, but not
that
upset.”

“That’s ’cause you’re deluding yourself that you’ve still got a chance,” Abel said.

Decker smiled.

They were quiet for a minute, the two of them on the ground looking up at the hot bluebell sky, the sun cooking their faces. Abel let out a small chuckle and said, “Hell, if I lost a night with her, I’d be pretty upset, too.” He faced Decker and said, “She’s a beautiful woman, Doc. Nice inside as well as out. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Decker said. He gave Abel another smile, but this one lacked warmth.

“Scares the shit out of you, don’t it?” Abel said.

“What do you mean?” Decker asked.

“I mean, you must keep asking yourself, ‘What the fuck does she see in me?’”

Decker sighed. “You’re a perceptive sucker, know that?”

“I just know how it is,” Abel said. “It’s scary when they’re that beautiful…that smart. It’s almost…a curse. ’Cause if you lose them, you’re a goner.”

“I try not to think in those terms,” Decker answered.

Decker’s voice held tension; Abel didn’t respond. A minute of silence passed. Abel closed his eyes, let the heat nurture his aching heart. “Just do me one favor, huh, Doc?”

“What’s that?”

“If Rina’s ever interested in a cheap thrill,” Abel said, “send her to me.”

“I send her to you, Abe, she’s gonna get spoiled.”

Abel laughed.

Decker said, “So what gives, PFC Atwater? You going to join the human race, or what?”

“I’ll stick it out as a what.”

They both laughed.

“Keep the money,” Abel said.

“I don’t want the money,” Decker said. “Buy yourself a good lawyer.”

“They switched PDs on me,” Abel said. “The new one I have isn’t too bad, she’s already talking about plea bargaining. Buy something nice for
your
woman. A bouquet of flowers can go a long way.”

“I don’t think Rina can be bought so easily.”

“You’d be surprised,” Abel said. “Tell you what, Doc,
I’ll
buy her some flowers and you tell her it’s from the both of us.”

“Settled.” Decker stood up, offered Abel his hand, then pulled him up. “Tell your PD to call me. At home.”

“What gives?” Abel tried to keep the excitement out of his voice, but he could tell by the expression on Decker’s face that he hadn’t.

Calmly, Decker answered, “Abe, I’m in a precarious position, doing what I’m doing for you.” Precarious wasn’t the word for it. He was doing a fatal balancing act, playing cop to get dope for the defense. Pete the Mole. It didn’t have a nice ring to it. He exhaled forcibly, then said, “The less you know, the better. Just have her call me, okay?”

“Whatever you say, Pete. And listen to me, don’t get yourself in the shithole for my sake—”

“Stuff it, Atwater.” Decker rubbed his shoulder. “You pack a mean wallop for a gimp.”

“Know what I want to do right now?” Abel said.

“What?”

“Go one-on-one with you.”

Decker burst into newfound laughter.

“I’m serious,” Abel said.

“Come on, Abe—”

“Dead serious.”

“Abe, we’re over forty, and it’s hot outside.”

“Since when did you become an old fart?”

“Since I met Rina and realized I wanted to stick around a long time.”

“I’ll play you easy.”

Neither one spoke for a moment.

“I’ll tie a hand behind my back,” Abel said. “One leg, one hand, can’t get much easier than that, Decker.”

“You really want to do this,” Decker said.

“You bet your sweet ass I do.”

“It’s a macho thing?”

“Something like that.”

“Okay.” Decker wiped off the seat of his pants. “Okay. We’ll drive down to MacGrady Park and rent a basketball. I don’t keep any around anymore. Just let me brush down the horse and tell Rina what’s going on.”

“You report to your honey,” Abel said. “I’ll take care of the horse.”

Decker nodded. As he walked to the house, he wondered
what Rina was going to say to him. He found her peeling potatoes at the kitchen sink. She put down the peeler, wiped her hands on her apron, and gave him a disapproving shake of her head.

“Are you pissed at me?” he asked.

Rina said, “Peter, he’s a
cripple
, for godsake!”

“You don’t have to worry about Abel,” Decker said. “He can take care of himself.”

“You acted completely childish. Both of you. You were talking as if those things happened yesterday instead of what, twenty years ago?”