Posted by: jockmackenzie | May 4, 2009

“Dealing with Dymans” Chapter 9, Pt. 2

Click the “start arrow” below to hear the audio of this chapter:

Sunday morning came, came early, and found Jack in a much cleaner apartment. He hadn’t slept well, and when he had, had had weird, unsettling dreams. Too much baggage up there. As he prepared his one-man omelette, he knew he wouldn’t be able to handle an entire day at home, alone, alone and idle.

He knew he needed to find out what there was to know about a Mrs. Dymans, if there was one. Not much hope on a Sunday – and as Jim had reminded him – “loose lips.” He would need to be extremely careful not to arouse suspicion as he did his digging. He also had to look into the financial status of Sharma and Dymans – was it a stable and viable business? Even less hope on a Sunday. He had already put Tommy Mah on his Monday list. There was, of course, the single mom who was now jobless thanks to his meddling. Again, not much he could do today. What to do?

He couldn’t wait. He could not spend the entire day without making some progress. Jack cleaned up the kitchen and himself, threw together an overnight bag just in case, and headed for his truck. The two-hour drive to the City would do him some good, even if Tommy wasn’t home.

Halfway out of town, Jack made a minor detour to wash the truck and gas up – no sense looking like any more of a hick than he had too. He doddled in the huge Kwik Klean Kar Wash (probably named by some associate of the Riverview Manor mob) to ensure he wasn’t piloting an ice cube down the four lane. After a thorough drying, he pulled off to one side of the expansive parking lot and gave Tommy a call. Knowing he was going to make the drive anyway, he still thought a few hours notice would be better if his old friend was at home.
To his surprise, Tommy was in.

“Jacobi, you old fart. What’s the occasion? UPS said my Christmas present was too big for even them to handle so you have to deliver it yourself?”

“Ain’t call display great, no surprises. But I’m surprised to find you at home. Isn’t Rockton’s weekend warrior extraordinaire supposed to be skiing the deep and the steep or rappelling down a frozen waterfall?”

“Old age is creeping up on both of us. I’ve been laid up with a nasty malady that is driving me crazy. Because of it, I’ve got the worst case of cabin fever you could imagine.”

“A little malady? Sounds suspicious – and sounds like you’re not gonna tell me what it is? Is it hard to spell?”

“Matter of fact, it is.”

“Does it start with g-o-n or s-y-p?”

“Thanks a bunch. No. It starts with f-a-s-c-i-i-t-i-s – that of the ‘plantar’ variety.”

“Ah yes, the nasty malady suffered by athletes and old farts. Sorry to hear it – and, all kidding aside, I mean that. But speaking of ‘sick,’ I wonder if I could stop by your place and bend your ear about a problem I’ve run into down here.”

“Can I assume by ‘sick’ that you mean ‘sick of mind’?”

“Right on, Sherlock. There’s a guy here who’s got an odd list of characteristics that range from . . .”

“Jacobi, Jacobi, Jacobi. I love ya man but this ain’t no drive thru. It’s Sunday. What are you doin’ today?”

“Uh, actually, I was just about to drive up there on the slim chance you might be home. If you weren’t then the drive would do me good. I’ve got that all dressed up and no where to go feeling . . .”

“Same old Jack – too much information. If you’re comin’, come on. I’d love to see ya. Is this gonna be a hit and run or a sleepover?”

“Call it a ‘Rock Hudson’ – could go either way. I don’t want to impose but if this chat turns into a session, maybe I should pick up a bottle of single malt and plan on staying the night.”

“As an eminent forensic psychiatrist, I cannot be tempted by just any bottle of hooch – but, if it’s from Islay, it works for me. I’ll hobble over to the kitchen and start to whip up something to eat. What’s your e.t.a.?”

“Barring bad roads, and things look good at this end, I should be there before you can skew the skordalia. Two hours tops.”

“Weather’s fine here. Sounds like a plan – and you know me too well. I may be a Mah, but my ma wasn’t. I’ll put my Apostolakos half to work and see what pops out. Drive straight.”

Jack felt energized. He was about to spend time with an old friend, sip a little Laphroaig, enjoy some of Tommy’s Greek cuisine, and, hopefully, learn what made Douglas Rollins “Dougie” Dymans tick. This was going to be a lovely Sunday drive.


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