He eyed the trash can under the desk. If he had to, he’d take a piss in that.
Jeff wrote down more notes on his pad, then waved at Larry. This time, Larry was already looking in his direction. He sprinted across the newsroom.
Jeff’s note read: WORKED RETAIL. WONT SAY WHERE. SAYS HE’S STILL GOING TO DO IT. SEEING A SHRINK. SOUNDS LIKE MAYBE HE’LL DO IT AT LUNCH TIME WHEN PLACES BUSY.
Larry read the note, nodded, went back to his desk.
He placed another call to Durkin, read him Jeff’s note.
Durkin said, “What was that part about a shrink?”
“Just what I said. Seeing a shrink. So I guess Tim is seeing a psychiatrist. Sounds like the kind of guy who should be seeing a psychiatrist.”
“We need that shrink’s name. Tell Jeff to ask him what his psychiatrist’s name is.”
Larry scribbled GET PSYCH’S NAME, ended the call, and ran back to the radio room. He handed the slip of paper to Jeff, who glanced at it, nodded, tossed it aside.
“This is for all the people who’ve cheated me and betrayed me,” Tim said. “Like my wife and my manager and everyone. My parents, too. They were never there for me when I needed them. My father, he never gave me credit for anything. He was ashamed of me. He was this big college football star. I was never any good at sports.”
“Me, neither,” Jeff said. He told a story about how, of all the things he had to do in phys ed, he was the absolute worst at lacrosse. “They wanted me to catch a tiny little ball in a tiny little net at the end of a fucking stick. Was not going to happen.”
“I hated all of it. I’ve never been very coordinated. Whenever they’d pick teams, like in gym, I would always be picked last.”
“I hear ya,” Jeff said. “I like to joke that when they got to me, they’d see if they could get someone from another school.”
That actually prompted a chuckle from Tim.
“You know what?” Jeff said. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t you come down here, to the paper, for when I get off at six? We’ll go get some breakfast, talk this out. There’s a really good diner close to the paper, open twenty-four hours. They do a great omelet. My treat.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“It’d be a trap.”
“What?”
“A trap. You’d tell the police and they’d come and get me.”
“No, man, it’d just be to talk. How long have we been talking? I feel like we’ve developed a level of trust between us. Look, I won’t lie to you. I don’t want you to go into a burger joint today and shoot a whole bunch of people to death. So, yeah, I got an agenda. But that’s it.”
“I don’t think so. I have to do what I have to do.”
“Okay, so, you know what I would have to do.”
“What?”
“Soon as you get off the line, we’d have to put out a warning. Tell everybody not to go to their favorite restaurant today because we got a tip someone was going to walk in and start shooting. So, even if you were still going to do this, there wouldn’t be anyone to shoot. Everyone would be on guard, you know what I’m saying?”
“I guess you would have to do that,” he said. “I wouldn’t blame you for doing that.”
“Thanks.”
“So I’d just have to make it another day. Maybe next week.”
“No, no. You’d have to call the whole thing off.”
“I have the guns,” Tim said.
“Yeah?”
“Like, more than one. So if I run out of bullets with the first one, I can switch to the other. It’ll take the police a while to get there. I think I can kill a lot of people by then.”
“Jesus, Tim, if I can’t talk you out of this, think what it’s going to do to my conscience.” Jeff paused, thinking. “I’m gonna have a lot to unload on my own psychiatrist next time I go.”
“You’re seeing someone, too?”
“I thought everybody had a shrink,” Jeff said. “Who isn’t fucked up, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, we all got problems.”
“Be a small world if we were both seeing the same head shrinker,” Jeff said. He grabbed a section of newspaper at random, scanned the page for a name, any name. He spotted an entertainment piece about that sitcom that takes place in a Boston bar. “I’m seeing Dr. Danson. Any chance that’s who you’re seeing?”
“No, I’m seeing Dr. Willoughby,” he said. “He’s nice, but I don’t think he’s really doing anything for me.”
Jeff wrote DR. WILLOUGHBY on his notepad and started waving it in front of the glass. Larry came running, ripped the note from Jeff’s pad, ran back to his desk and dialed.
“Durkin.”
“I got a name,” Larry said. “The psychiatrist. The one Tim’s seeing.”
“Fire away.”
“Willoughby. I’m not sure of the spelling. I’ve got a phone book right in front of me. Hang on.”
Larry dropped the receiver, dragged over the thick yellow pages directory, and opened it to psychiatrists. “Willoughby. Willoughby. Yes!” He grabbed the receiver. “I’ve found a listing for a doctor with that name. I’ve got an address and a phone number.”
“Office address?” asked Durkin.
“I guess.”
“Not going to do a lot of fucking good at four in the morning. I need a residence. We gotta wake this doc up and talk to him. We’ve got our own resources.”
Larry heard Durkin put the phone down at his end. He had to wait for more than a minute before Durkin came back.
“Okay, thanks,” he said, and ended the call.
Larry put the receiver back on the base and said, “You’re welcome.”
He wrote GAVE COPS NAME on a slip of paper and delivered it to Jeff, who gave him a thumbs-up.
“Maybe I should do it sooner,” Tim said. “Find a breakfast place.”
“Aw, come on, Tim.”
“If you’re going to get the word out, I need to act sooner. Gotta get this done before you can issue a warning.”
“Okay, okay, listen, let’s talk about this. Let’s talk about — let’s talk about your family. Things didn’t work out with your wife, but... what about kids? You got kids?”
“No. I told you. She lost the baby before we got married. Aren’t you listening?”
“Yeah, but I thought maybe you had another one. What about parents? I know you said your dad was a shit, I heard the college football stuff, but what about your mom? She still with us?”
“Yeah. She is. But she’s in a nursing home.”
“She got all her marbles?”
“Yeah.”
“So what’s she going to say?”
“Huh?”
“When she turns on the news and finds out her son shot a whole bunch of people? How’s she supposed to go on after that? Everyone pointing to her on the street, saying, ‘See that lady? It was her son that killed all those people.’ Is it fair to do that to her?”
Tim didn’t say anything for a moment. “I don’t care.”
“Come on. She’s your mom.”
“I want her to know. I want her to have to deal with this. She’s got it coming.”
Jeff couldn’t hold it any longer. He pulled the wastepaper basket out from under the desk, stood, unzipped and let loose, just as Larry stepped into the room.
“Shit, sorry,” he whispered and stepped back.
Jeff shook his head tiredly. When he was done, he tucked himself back in place as best he could with one hand still holding the phone, listening to Tim the entire time. He sat back down and pushed the can back under the desk.