Ties That Blind. Zachary Klein

expecting my reward when you return. Which is when, by the way?”

      “It’s nice to know you still think of me as a reward,” Boots answered, somber slipping into in her tone. “I’ll be home late Friday night. Meet at the condo?”

      I didn’t like our goodbye, but then, there had been a lot of the conversation I didn’t like. I hung the heavy black Bakelite receiver on its squat base, watched my wall hanging cat clock wag its tail, and brought a Bass back to the kitchen table. Substance substitution. Most other times I’d have gone directly to dope. Might still, I realized, after two long pulls failed to relieve my tension.

      I played with the tightly packed joint for a long time before lighting. I was angry about chasing my own tail around weed and alcohol. Mad at myself for allowing Lou and Lauren’s relationship to rock my life. Truth was, I was feeling hostile toward everyone. Boots’s complaint and her quasi-tell pissed me off. Lou’s proprietary, paternal proclamations pissed me off too.

      But mostly I was angry at Lauren. For no real reason and, unfortunately, I knew it.

      I also knew there had been something creepy about the damage done to Lauren’s car, and her refusal to report it. Which meant strapping on my holster and crawling closer to someone I wanted farther away.

      Still, the thought of my holster had me reaching under the bed for the ‘.38. I could never entirely shake a sheepish sense of absurdity every time I seriously thought about the way I made my living. Something I considered whenever I found myself on my knees groping under the bed—which fortunately wasn’t too often. Most of my work for Barrister Simon took place in libraries or Government agencies. Even did a stint as a mall-man.

      But once in a while I stumbled into something different, usually reeling out in worse shape than when I began. Those cases blew off any smile. When I thought about them, I became grimly conscious of the weight that the custom Bakelite grip placed in my left hand. And conscious of a sick sort of pleasure.

      But Lauren’s undertow was not going to lead me toward any abyss. This was going to be an exercise in futility, a harmless waste of time.

      Still, I spent most of the day smoking cigarettes and drinking beer while mindlessly cleaning my gun.

      

      “Lou asked me to ring you up,” I said, trying to sound as friendly as possible. It had been a longer night than afternoon with more dope than I’d really wanted, but I was determined not to let it slow me down. “He told me you’re feeling watched again.”

      “Oh, Matthew. I expected your call yesterday so you’ve caught me by surprise.”

      I automatically listened for reproach, but all I found was my drug-over. “If this is a bad time I can always call back.”

      “No, it’s fine. Just give me a minute to switch phones.”

      Lauren shouted over an MTV promo, asking someone to hang up the receiver when she got upstairs. I cradled the black Bakelite between my shoulder and ear and vainly fought the aspirin bottle’s child proof lid.

      A bored, sullen, voice mumbled into my ear. “My ma said you were the dude who picked me up at the bar.”

      “If you’re Ian, I’m the dude,” I concurred.

      “Yeah, I’m Ian. Well, thanks for the help.”

      “You’re welcome.”

      There was an uncomfortable silence, then Lauren’s loud, “I’ve got it now, Ian.”

      “See you around, I suppose,” he added before closing down the line.

      “Did he thank you?” Lauren asked. “I don’t think he remembers too much about that night.” She paused momentarily then said, “He won’t talk about it with me.”

      “He thanked me.” I gave up struggling with the aspirin, lit a cigarette, and pulled the receiver from my cramped neck.

      “I feel pretty uncomfortable asking for more help,” Lauren began. “I probably wouldn’t…”

      I expected her to dump it on Lou.

      “Except I really don’t know who else to ask,” she finished, taking the weight.

      “I don’t imagine Lou would be too happy if you hired a different P.I.”

      Lauren chuckled briefly, “I know better than to try. I also know you think I’m overreacting.” Again she spoke without condemnation.

      “I’m honestly not sure what I think, Lauren. I’m surprised that you haven’t spotted someone following you. Six months is a long time,” I said, pushing the image of her car from my mind.

      “Yes it is,” she agreed. “But common sense doesn’t erase the chill. I’ve only spoken to Lou about feeling followed, but it’s more than that. It’s like a laser beam of hatred trying to bore into me.

      “It’s incredibly strange. During a part of my life in the seventies I became involved with different spiritual movements, searching for something I thought was missing. Most of the different groups were benign, people like myself looking outside for answers that really come from within. But I ran into a few situations that weren’t quite so harmless. People who really just wanted to play with your head behind their gentle smiles. People who wanted power for the sake of it.”

      Her voice became distant as she traveled back in time. “It’s virtually a mental rape.”

      “This is happening now?” I asked, struggling with images of Charley Manson and his ‘family.’ “It’s been a real long time since any of that world actually exists.”

      “Tell me. But I can tell you it’s not succeeding and it won’t. No one can make me feel anything that’s not truly coming from me. I’ve worked too hard and paid too high a price for that to ever happen again. But trust me, someone is trying to get into my head.”

      I was glad she couldn’t see my face. I sucked in a deep breath and tried Boots’ advice. Make this a regular job. After all, Lauren was completely serious. “So when you feel followed, it’s not actually a physical stalk?”

      Despite my effort Lauren caught my doubt. “You’re humoring me, aren’t you?”

      “No, but I’m not big on feelings that really seem ethereal,” I admitted.

      “I don’t blame you for your skepticism. But someone is physically out there and watching me. I’m certain of it.”

      “Are there people in your life who were involved with your spiritual searchings way back then?”

      There was a small pause. “I was really only talking about one individual.” There was another, longer pause. “Why do you ask?”

      “Could this person be stalking you?”

      “Absolutely not.”

      “How can you be sure?”

      “He’s been dead for more than a decade. Someone tried to rob him on the street and he resisted. Stabbed to death.”

      So much for spiritual power. I’ll stick with a good pair of sneakers. “And you still can’t think of anyone else who might want to hurt you?”

      “I can’t imagine anyone disliking me to the degree I’ve experienced. I have no idea who’d spend the time and energy to traipse after me. But I’m telling you, this is absolutely real. And really quite frightening.”

      Her fear was communicable. For a moment, my cynicism vanished, the image of her tortured car once again bubbling to the surface. “Okay, Lauren,” I said shaking my head but keeping the resignation from my voice. “I’ll find out if anyone is really out there.”

      “That’s very encouraging, but there’s another