the sidewalk for a few minutes before heading off in different directions. There was time yet to turn back. Go home. Let Fierro sit in jail and learn a lesson. No one would blame me for that. But in an unsettling way, I knew I was only stalling; I knew I would turn off the engine and go inside and fill out the forms.
An hour later, Fierro came out of central holding. There were shadows under his eyes and his skin was pale, but his eyes were as piercing as ever. Because of a backlog of cases, he hadn’t been brought before a judge until the day before, when bail was set, so he’d spent four nights at West Valley. At the counter, he signed his name on a form and was handed a Ziploc bag that contained his keys and wallet. If he was surprised to see me waiting, he gave no indication. Without pausing to shake hands, he walked past me through the double doors and stood outside for a minute, trying to find his bearings. It was late in the afternoon. A pair of birds chased each other from perch to perch on the eucalyptus trees. The smell of coffee and meat drifted from the restaurant across the street. “Let’s get outta here,” he said. Only when we got inside the Jeep did he seem to relax. “Thanks for posting my bail.”
On the radio the traffic report had started, but I turned the volume all the way down so he could hear me. “You’re welcome. But here comes the fine print.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re going to therapy.”
Fierro was buckling his seat belt, but he stopped midair. “Fuck, no.”
“No?”
“I’m not dealing with the VA again.” He clicked his seat belt into place. “They made me wait five months for my new hearing aid, and I still can’t get it to work right.”
“This isn’t through the VA. It’s through the community center. A support group for people with anger-management issues. I heard about it from Stratton. One of his buddies runs it.”
“You want me to go to therapy with a fucking amateur?”
“He’s not an amateur, you dumb fuck. He has a master’s degree, he knows what he’s doing, and he’s supposed to be really good. Hell, I’ll even go with you, all right?”
“I’m not going to sit around with a bunch of people moaning and bitching about their feelings. Can we just get out of this place already?”
I started the car and eased out of the parking lot onto the street. At the first light, I pulled out a Marlboro from my pack. It was my third cigarette of the day. Or maybe my fourth. Anyway, I was making progress. It couldn’t be harder to quit than liquor and I’d never looked back once I’d set my mind to it. I took a deep drag, savoring my cigarette all the more because I wouldn’t have another one again that day. Fierro lowered the passenger-side window to let out the smoke. “That stuff’ll kill ya,” he said.
“All men must die.”
“All men must serve,” he said with a grin. After a moment, he turned to me again. “But, seriously, how can you put those toxins in your body? I don’t get it.”
“Clean-living tips from Dr. Fierro. What else you got for me?”
“Just that.” He sniffed. “And stay away from crazy bitches.”
We were about to get on the 10. I waited until I’d merged onto the freeway before I spoke again. “She’s probably going to file a restraining order against you.”
“Who, Mary? I wasn’t planning on seeing her.”
“I hope you mean that, man. You need to leave her alone. For good this time.”
“I already signed the divorce papers.”
“Is that true?”
“Why would I lie? I did it right after I smashed that damn car.”
“All right. Good. First session is next Thursday, by the way.”
“You serious about this support group bullshit?”
“?’Course I’m serious. You need help.”
“Dude, when you start to nag, you sound just like Mary. You know that?”