Part 5 (2/2)
”Oh,” Chris said, sidestepping to the door. ”You can leave early if you want. Better get that checked out.” On that note, Chris fled.
The knot was under his jaw. The left side of his neck was swollen around the palpable lymph node. He pressed on the skin but it told him nothing. It didn't hurt, but it was rock-hard. It was the size, shape and feel of a bullet casing. ”Christ,” he said, finally grabbing hold of the node between his index and middle finger. It was fixed. His we search had warned of that.
Uncradling the phone, he dialed. His beloved Spanish receptionist answered. ”Jes?”
”Hi, this is Robert Lieber.”
”Oh, jes, Meester Leeber. How ees jore een-grown nail?”
”Healed wonderfully, thank you. Matt doesn't have a spot this afternoon, does he?” She covered the receiver and conferred. His heart hammered away. She's probably confirming his f.u.c.king tee-time.
”Wut tine?”
He scrolled through his own itinerary. ”Four thirty?”
”Ah, jes. For dirty.”
4.
Seven minutes late, Veronica strolled into Trust National Bank. Her subordinate, Babs Tanner, met her in the lobby, a grin plastered on her face. ”Sorry, Veronica, but Mister McDylan would like to see you.”
”G.o.d knows he wouldn't like to see you,” said Veronica, tramping to McDylan's office. But the second her newest stiletto clicked over the threshold her ebullience faded.
”Sit down,” George McDylan told her.
Veronica had worked over a decade for him and he'd never been stern with her. Over the ten years of her employment here, he'd b.u.mped her from the teller line to credit card sales, from sales to mortgages. George had been front-row-center at her wedding.
McDylan adjusted his spectacles, picked up a manila folder and reached over his desk. She took the folder, laid it in her lap. The cover fell back. She gasped, and her internal temperature dropped ten degrees.
”Did you think I wouldn't find out?” he asked, red-faced, a vein pulsing at his hairline.
Veronica lurched forward. ”George, I can-”
He lifted a finger. ”Don't tell me you can explain. You can't.”
”I'm sorry.”
”That's better.”
”What should I do?”
”Are things alright at home?”
”They're . . . okay.”
”Then why are you ruining your life?”
Veronica shrugged.
”You realize I helped push your mortgage through? Did you think Pete wouldn't call if you were defaulting on the loan I helped you get?”
”I didn't . . .,” she began, then burst into tears, burying her face in her hands.
He scanned a paper while Veronica continued to sob. ”Do you have a plan to get these accounts up to date? Have you spoken with the lien holders? Or did you ignore them, thinking they wouldn't repossess your cars and foreclose on your house?”
”I don't-”
”Does your husband know about any of this?” Then George held his palm up. ”Never mind.” He opened a drawer, tossed a checkbook on his desk, slipped a pen from his s.h.i.+rt's pocket protector and clicked the top. ”How much?”
Her mouth dropped open. The tears began to dry.
”How much?”
”About . . . four thousand.”
George's eyebrows rose over his spectacles. But he wrote the check, tore it off, and handed it over the desk.
She hesitated.
”This is a one time offer.”
She took it.
He raised the pen. ”Ten percent interest, and I'm taking money out every pay period.”
Standing, she clamped the check over her heart. ”Thank you, thank you so much.”
”Shut up, Veronica,” he said, pointed at the door. ”Get out.”
5.
So close to Doctor Rectal Peeper's tee time, Robert Lieber was immediately ushered to a room. He smiled at Marie as she closed the door on him, then climbed up on the vinyl bench. Sliding around, he ripped the tissue paper that lay along it. To his right was a porcelain sink. A book ent.i.tled 101 Doctor Jokes was propped atop it. He didn't think he could find humor while surrounded by such sterility.
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