Because the Night Read Free Page B

Richard?”
    â€œPle—you know …”
    â€œYou have to say it.”
    â€œPle-please take me as far as I can go.”
    The Doctor sighed. “Soon, Richard. I’m going to be collecting a great deal of information, and it should yield the name of a woman suitable for you. Think of that when you go through your fear mantras.”
    â€œThank you, Doctor John.”
    â€œDon’t thank me, Richard. Your green doors are my green doors. Go home now. I’m tired, and I’m going to dismiss the grouping early.”
    Goff heard the Doctor escort Oldfield to the door. The tape machine recorded a hissing silence. The Night Tripper’s executive officer imagined it as being inhabited by nightmares in repose, manifested in cold manila folders spilling out data that would transform human beings into chess pieces. The Alchemist and his six offerings were just the beginning. A series of Havilland’s slogans caused Goff to shudder back the headache that was burning behind a beige curtain in his mind. Last night. Three. What if the data keepers couldn’t be bought? The headache throbbed through the curtain, like a hungry worm eating at his brain.
    Doors slamming above him; periods of stillness, followed by the staggered departures of the lonelies. Mercedes and Audis pulling out onto P.C.H. and more silence. Suddenly Goff was terrified.
    â€œBad thoughts, Thomas?”
    Goff swung around in his chair, knocking his shorthand pad to the floor. He looked up into the light brown eyes of Dr. John Havilland, locking his own eyes into them exactly as the Doctor had taught him. “Just thoughts, Doctor.”
    â€œGood. The papers are full of you. How does it feel?”
    â€œIt feels dark and quiet.”
    â€œGood. Does the ‘psycho killer’ speculation disturb you?”
    â€œNo, it amuses me because it’s so far from the truth.”
    â€œYou had to take out three?”
    â€œYes. I—I remembered your efficacy training. Some-sometime I might have to do it again.”
    â€œA cold gun? Untraceable?”
    â€œCold city. I stole it.”
    â€œGood. How are the headaches?”
    â€œNot too bad. I chant if they really start to hurt.”
    â€œGood. If your vision starts to blur again, see me immediately, I’ll give you an injection. Dreams?”
    â€œSometimes I dream about the Alchemist. He was good, wasn’t he?”
    â€œHe was superb, Thomas. But he’s gone. I scared him off the face of the earth.”
    Havilland handed Goff a slip of paper. “She’s a legitimate patient—she phoned the office for an appointment. I checked her out with some girls in the life. She’s a thousand dollars a night. Check out her John book—anyone who can afford her can afford us.”
    Goff looked at the slip: Linda Wilhite, 9819 Wilshire Blvd, 91W. He smiled. “It’s an easy building. I’ve hit it before.”
    Havilland smiled back. “Good, Thomas. Go home now and enjoy your dreams.”
    â€œHow do you know I’ll enjoy them?”
    â€œI know your dreams. I made them.”
    Goff watched the Doctor about-face and walk to the latticework patio that overlooked the beach. He let the Doctor’s exit line linger in his mind, then turned off the tape console and walked outside to his car. He was about to hit the ignition when he noticed a mound of wadded up plastic on top of the dashboard. He grabbed at it and screamed, because he knew that it was beige plastic, and that meant that he knew.
    Goff ripped the plastic trashbag to shreds, then slammed his fists into the dashboard until the pain numbed the screaming in his mind. Turning on the headlights, he saw something white under his windshield wiper. He got out of the car and examined it. The embossed business card of John R. Havilland, M.D., Practice in Psychiatry, stared at him. He turned the card over. Neatly printed on the back were the words I know your