“Sure. Comes with the job. Anytime. Bye.”
I watched her car slide down the street and turn onto Main. I considered walking back to the theater to see of Blondie was still smirking. But why bother? He would probably try to sue me as it was. All those guys that start fights are like that. Kick their butt and they try to use a lawyer to kick you back.
So I headed back to the office. I took long steps like a physical therapist had taught me long ago. It did seem to keep my knee from hurting so much. Sometimes.
Fort Worth definitely was getting too big for its britches. As I walked none of the pretty ladies I passed smiled at me or seemed the least bit friendly. Maybe it was just my face. But then, no men smiled or seemed friendly towards me either. Not that I wanted them too.
Naw, Fort Worth was a city, that was it. No longer a town. Cowtown it had been called for ages because people had been bringing cows here or through here ever since the 1860s. People just weren’t as friendly in a city, it seemed. ‘Course, nowadays, people didn’t seem too friendly anywhere.
I saw a sight across the street that made me stop. A bag lady. For crying out loud - a bag lady in Fort Worth. She was pushing a Kroger shopping cart loaded with paper and clothes. She was wearing a lot of clothes, at least two jackets, one a Navy pea coat.
How could she stand it with the heat and humidity? Maybe she was kin to O’Hara, the guy Chan had conked earlier.
I finally came to where Main dead-ended at the front of the blue and white Tarrant County Convention Center. The bubble-topped roof of the main auditorium was being re-tarred. The sharp smell of the tar almost knocked me over with the memories it caused to rise up in me. I had known a girl when I was a kid whose father had been a roofer, and I remembered the smell of his tar machine. I turned right, ignoring the enticing tranquility of the small park on the corner. I had spent a few lunches there, whenever I happened to be around.
My office was across the next street in what is without a doubt the ugliest building in Fort Worth. Maybe in the world.
The Ironwork building is triangular because of the weird junction of streets. The first ugly thing noticed is the color; green the color of tarnished copper. There were the ledges, too, circling the building at each story, beneath the windows, for all six floors.
U-G-L-Y.
There weren’t any cars except for mine parked in front of the Ironwork. Now that’s ugly.
When I passed by the Booke Stoare, the only occupied street front of the building, Mrs. McGurty tapped on the window. I kept on walking. She tapped and then banged as I ignored her. The entrance for the upper offices was at the southeast corner and I didn’t stop until I got there. I hoped no one saw me enter.
I wondered how many clients I lost because being seen coming into the Ironwork was too embarrassing. Was that why Mrs. Campos had phoned?
3
Dr. Rivkin read the notes on the yellow pad he’d been writing on, sighed deeply. He glanced at his watch—something he knew better than to do in front of a patient, but Klick was so…rattling—and thought about the different bars at the West Side Stories, the different women waiting. He wasn’t sure where Klick was going with this. But…
“I think I detect a pattern already, Mr. Klick.”
“Yeah? Good. What is it?”
“You seem to have a propensity for violence. You almost seek it out. And you are denying your judgmental side, also. At times you really do seem to think you’re better than someone else.”
“Doesn’t everyone Doc? Sitting there in your leather armchair while I’m on this plastic couch, what does that say?”
“This is my job, I’m being paid by you to make certain judgments for your welfare, correct?”
“C’mon, Doc. You talk like you got a dictionary stuck down your throat.”
“Mr. Klick, let’s not get personal.”
“Okay. Yeah, I wanted to hit that faggot. Sure.”
“Because he was a faggot?”
“No, see, you got it wrong. It was that cockiness. I see guys like that, makes me hot. A propensity for violence? I don’t know about that. But it does seem like it’s the only thing I’m good at, always has been. Although I did have a good singing voice as a kid. In my neighborhood, though, you don’t go around singing unless you’re drunk or loaded. As far as this particular fight, well, I only got rough because Beth was ther—”
“What is it Mr. Klick? Why did you stop?”
“When I mentioned Beth, I thought of something. I didn’t like the thought, that’s all.”
“What was it?”
“I saw myself on a white horse. The White Knight. I remember as a kid going around looking for lost causes at school. Taking up for all the nerds.”
“Were you nerd as a child?”
“Only when I wore my glasses. Take ‘em off and I looked totally different.”
“Acceptable?”
“Yeah. Acceptable. Only, I still didn’t fit in. I was still different inside. I thought most those tough guys were jerks for picking on people different than them. They were boring, really. That’s eerie, Doc. How do you do that stuff. Hey, don’t go getting smug on me.”
“Is there a smuggish look on my face?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry. Were you thinking of Beth as you returned to your office?”
“Actually, I was trying to not think of her. ‘Course, as soon as I went back I got something that cleared the memory of meeting Beth right away.”
“Oh? Continue.”
”Continue? Right. Well, there was this suit waiting for me….”
The Office
“You looking for someone?” I asked the guy jiggling the doorknob to my office. I stood at the second floor landing. I was in the shadows and far enough away, that I figured he couldn’t see me too good.
“Clyde Klick?” he asked loudly. Of the six offices on the floor, there was only one other occupied besides mine. I doubted if his voice had disturbed anybody.
Still, the guy didn’t look too much of a threat so I walked towards him. I couldn’t see him too well, for all that.
He wore a suit, worn-looking, like off the Salvation Army rack, or maybe the Bag Lady I’d just seen. The suit was gray. Power suit. Probably a lawyer. Alarm bells rang in my head. But it was already too late. The guy was trim, light-weight. Maybe a runner. His shoes were adidas, blue. Blended well with his suit.
I stopped in front of him and gave him my customary frown. I should patent it.
“Yeah,” I told him with a sigh. “I’m Klick.”
He didn’t say anything. Just reached inside his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper and slapped it on my chest. I took them with my eyes closed. He walked around me and left. Probably had another twenty papers to serve before the day was over. A summons runner.
I considered catching him and square-dancing on his face. But then, maybe that was the reason I was getting the paper. No way Blondie could have seen a lawyer that quick, so I tried to think of the last guy I had pounced on.
I unfolded and read the paper.
“Oh, Great!” I said to the empty hall. “Divorce papers.” I’d seen ‘em enough times to know I didn’t have to read more than the first line.
Well, three was my lucky number.
***