The Adjustment - By Scott Phillips Page 0,35

your system.” The eyes popped open. “How are your bowel movements?”

“When I manage to have one these days it’s a big one.”

“Severe constipation’s another symptom.”

“Are you telling me I can’t have the pills any more?”

“You can have them if you want them. You just have to accept that they have other, unintended effects.”

“But if I want to have relations with a girl I have to quit.”

“You think about it. Have Mr. Ogden contact me if you want my help.”

Outside we got into the car. When I pulled away from the curb he tapped me on the shoulder (he was of course riding in the back seat). “You got any medicine on you? I need to think about this business real hard.”

TEN

A GOOD DEAL TEN IN HOME FURNISHINGS

PARK AND I had taken to sitting around Stanley’s late mornings. A couple of able-bodied men could have found other pursuits on a weekday, but it was important the boss be able to find us if he managed to rouse himself sufficiently to roll out of bed and pick up the phone. And so we played gin rummy and read the morning editions of both papers over coffee until lunchtime, after which we drove over to the Collins manse whether summoned or not and did our best to get the old bastard into a fit condition to leave the house and make a showing at the plant, if only to stave off the rumors that had, inevitably, begun to circulate regarding his fitness to lead the company. The rumors mostly involved sickness and senility rather than addiction to opiates, but that time was probably coming before long.

A redhaired man with a lopsided tilt to his head and an extraordinarily long neck came in one day around eleven and sat down at the counter. The counterman that day was an old Dutchman we called Fritz, and he didn’t answer much when the man tried to engage him in conversation.

“I’m so worried about the whole business I’m thinking of moving up to Oregon and building a bomb-proof house. Half of ’em died of radiation sickness, did you know that? You’ll have to have a house lined with lead.”

Fritz stuck to his grill, faced away from the man without answering or even grunting. “Don’t let Fritz hurt your feelings, he’s just sore because the krauts lost the war,” I said.

Fritz spun and pointed his spatula at me like an épée. “Shut your piehole, Ogden, I’m from Holland, you know goddamn well my name’s Pier.” Then he turned back to the grill again.

The redhead turned to me now. “Do you understand what I’m talking about? We’re walking around pretending everything’s normal but the fact is the commies are probably working on a bomb right this very minute, and you know where the first one’s going to be aimed at? Right here at Wichita, because that’s where the aircraft plants are. And who knows where you can go that’d be any safer?”

Park smirked and rolled his eyes, but I just nodded in the fellow’s direction. I’d seen guys get like this in the service, monomaniacal and antsy and trying to convince the world of their private obsessive delusion, until the whole thing collapses into despair and sorrow. This guy was headed for a nervous breakdown and no amount of believing him or not would slow him down one little bit.

IT HAD BEEN a couple of weeks since the last letter, and my nameless correspondent was on the move. His latest missive was postmarked Bismarck, North Dakota, and this time he was brazen enough to write me on stationery from the Bismarck Hotel.

Dear Sarg

What I hear your maried. I sure hope shes a sweet piece of poontang cause oh buddy Im going to give it to her like nobodys busness after I kill you dead.

from

your pal

What kind of addlebrained shitbird, I asked myself, writes self-incriminating letters to his intended victim? Either he was an incompetent moron or a bona fide lunatic. In either case he had a fair amount of accurate information about me, and I was wondering where he got it. If he was a relative of one of the girls from Rome I didn’t see where he’d get that, but an army man or a vet with good connections might easily find things out. I was thinking maybe I’d make a visit to the VA myself.

ONE AFTERNOON NOT long after that I asked Mrs. Caspian if I might accompany her out to her car. As we walked I