Blindsight

The woman turned toward Angelo. Her distrustful hauteur evaporated as soon as she recognized the man. “Hello, Mr…” she said, trying to remember Angelo’s name.

“Facciolo,” Angelo offered.

“Of course,” she said. “And how is Mr. Cerino getting along?”

“Just great, Mrs. Schulman,” Angelo said. “He’s getting pretty good with his cane. But he asked me to come over here to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”

“I suppose,” Mrs. Schulman said. “What is it you’d like to talk about?”

“It’s confidential,” Angelo said. “I’d prefer if you came over to the car for a moment.” Angelo gestured toward the black Town Car.

Obviously discomfited by this request, Mrs. Schulman muttered something about having to be somewhere shortly.

Angelo slipped a hand into his jacket pocket and lifted his Walther automatic pistol just enough so Mrs. Schulman could see its butt.

“I’m afraid I have to insist,” Angelo said. “We won’t take much of your time and afterwards we’ll be sure to drop you off someplace convenient.”

Mrs. Schulman glanced at Tony, who smiled back. “All right,” she said nervously. “As long as it doesn’t take too long.”

“That will be up to you,” Angelo said, motioning toward the car again.

Tony led the way. Mrs. Schulman slid into the front seat when Tony opened the door for her with a courteous bow. Tony got in the back while Angelo climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Does this have something to do with my husband, Danny Schulman?” Mrs. Schulman asked.

“Danny Schulman from Bayside?” Angelo said. “Is he your old man?”

“Yes, he is,” Mrs. Schulman said.

“Who’s Danny Schulman?” Tony asked from the backseat.

“He owns a joint in Bayside called Crystal Palace,” Angelo said. “A lot of the Lucia people go there.”

“He’s very well connected,” Mrs. Schulman said. “Maybe you men would like to talk with him.”

“No, this has nothing to do with Danny,” Angelo said. “All we want to know is if the good doctor’s office is empty.”

“Yes, everyone has gone for the day,” Mrs. Schulman said. “I locked up as I usually do.”

“That’s good,” Angelo said, “because we want you to go back inside. We’re interested in some of the doctor’s records.”

“What records?” Mrs. Schulman asked.

“I’ll tell you when we get inside,” Angelo said. “But before we go I want you to know that if you decide to do anything foolish, it’d be the last foolish thing you do. Do I make myself clear?”

“Quite clear,” Mrs. Schulman said, regaining some of her composure.

“This isn’t a big deal,” Angelo added. “I mean, we’re civilized people.”

“I understand,” Mrs. Schulman said.

“Okay! Let’s go,” Angelo said, and he opened his door.

“Hello, Miss Montgomery,” George said. George was one of the doormen at Laurie’s parents’ apartment house. He’d been there for decades. He looked sixty but he was actually seventy-two. He liked to tell Laurie that he’d been the one to open the cab door the day her mother had brought Laurie home from the hospital just days after her birth.

After a brief chat with George, Laurie went on up to her parents’. So many memories! Even the smell of the place was familiar. But more than anything, the apartment reminded her of that awful day she’d found her brother. She’d almost wished her parents had moved after the tragedy, just so she wouldn’t have to be constantly reminded of her brother’s overdose.

“Hello, dear!” her mother crooned as she let Laurie into the foyer. Dorothy Montgomery bent forward and offered her daughter a cheek. She smelled of expensive perfume. Her silver-gray hair was cut short in a style that was making the covers of women’s fashion magazines lately. Dorothy was a petite, vibrant woman in her mid-sixties who looked younger than her years, thanks to a second face-lift.

As Dorothy took Laurie’s coat, she cast a critical eye over her daughter’s attire. “I see you didn’t wear the wool suit I bought for you.”

“No, Mother, I did not,” Laurie said. She closed her eyes, hoping her mother wouldn’t start in on her this early.

“At least you could have worn a dress.”

Laurie refrained from responding. She’d chosen a jacquard blouse embellished with mock jewels and a pair of wool pants that she’d gotten from a mail order catalogue. An hour earlier she’d thought it was one of her best outfits. Now she wasn’t so sure.

“No matter,” Dorothy said after hanging up Laurie’s coat. “Come on, I want you to meet everyone, especially Dr. Scheffield, our guest of honor.”

Dorothy led Laurie into the formal living room, a room reserved exclusively for entertaining. There were eight people in the room, each balancing a drink in one hand and a canapé in the other. Laurie recognized most of these guests, four married couples who’d been friends of her parents for years. Three of the men were physicians, the other a banker. Like her own mother, the wives weren’t career women. They devoted their time to charities just as her mother did.

After some small talk, Dorothy dragged Laurie down the hall to the library where Sheldon Montgomery was showing Jordan Scheffield some rare medical textbooks.