The only problem was that Johnny needed Adam dead and Adam wasn’t showing up. Johnny figured Adam must’ve left his office at about six, and even if he walked very slowly to the subway, the trip to Forest Hills wouldn’t take him more than an hour. He hoped nothing was wrong with the subways and that Adam didn’t have other plans this evening. Johnny had done everything he could to make this plan go as smoothly as possible, but some things were beyond his control.

At seven o’clock, about fifteen minutes since Dana had died, there was still no sign of Adam. To keep his alibi, Johnny had to meet Marissa at seven thirty. He could be a few minutes late, but he didn’t want to arrive any later than seven forty, seven forty- five the absolute latest. If he was too late, it could be something Marissa would wonder about, and he didn’t want any complications.

Johnny was staring at his watch, telling himself that he’d give it another ten minutes, till ten after seven, and then he’d take off, when the phone rang. The noise startled him, and for a second he even thought that the house’s alarm had gone off. After four rings, either the caller hung up or the answering machine answered. Johnny waited till seven ten, then gave it another five minutes, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He decided to look at the bright side- the day hadn’t been a total bust; at least he’d gotten rid of one of the Blooms. One down, two to go.

Johnny had brought a full change of clothes in his backpack, including another pair of shoes, his leather jacket, and another pair of leather gloves. But since he didn’t think he’d gotten any blood anywhere except on his sweatshirt, all he needed was the jacket.

He put the unused knife back in the rack. As he took off his sweatshirt, pulling it up over his head, he thought about hairs and fibers from his hat and DNA evidence. He tried to be as careful as possible, but even if a piece of hair fell out onto the floor he didn’t see why this would be any big deal. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been in the house before. Why couldn’t the hair have fallen out the other day?

Just in case, when he had the sweatshirt off he crouched down and looked around. Nope, no hairs.

He put on his leather jacket and leather gloves and then put the sweatshirt away in the backpack. Walking around the body and the blood, he left the kitchen and went through the house toward the front entrance. It sucked that he couldn’t leave through the back, where he was much less likely to be noticed, but he didn’t want to risk the dog making a racket again.

Outside it had gotten totally dark. He opened the front door cautiously. If Bloom was there, Johnny would have to do something to get rid of him. He’d have to strangle him, crack his head open, something like that. He had his gun with him, but he didn’t want to shoot him. If the cops found Dana with a knife in her back and Adam with a bullet in his head, they might not focus on Tony as the suspect. Johnny needed the cops to think that Tony had taken the knife and impulsively stabbed Dana. But if Adam got shot the cops might think, Why didn’t Tony use the gun on Dana? See, Johnny was always thinking, he was always one step ahead.

When Johnny looked out toward the street, Adam wasn’t in sight. The coast seemed clear in both directions, and he didn’t hear any cars coming, so he calmly left the house and then turned right and headed down the block to the Saturn. He pulled out and turned onto the main street and, son of a bitch, there was Adam, walking along the sidewalk, holding two bags of groceries.

Johnny hoped the asshole knew how lucky he was.

twenty

On his way to work Adam made an emergency appointment with Carol. Reaching her on her cell- she was on a Metro North train, en route from her home in New Rochelle- he told her that he was in the midst of a “major crisis” and had to meet with her immediately.

“My schedule’s full today,” she said.

“I have to see you,” he said desperately. “My life’s falling apart.” She called him back a few minutes later, saying that she’d postponed her ten o’clock appointment so that she could meet with him.

It was the most difficult session Adam had had in years. As he described to

Carol everything that had happened yesterday after he returned from his golf game, he broke down crying several times, especially when he described how

“enraged” and “out of control” he’d felt. Naturally Carol was very detached and supportive. When patients were in the midst of a crisis it was important to let them express themselves, and it was no time for a therapist to intrude with “solutions.” Carol mainly listened, maintaining the constant highly concerned expression that all therapists mastered, as he went on, except during the times he was most upset, when she gave him generic tidbits of support, telling him that it was “natural” to act the way he did and that he didn’t have to “apologize for his feelings.” When he was through with his venting she challenged him a bit more, but still remained very supportive, telling him that he’d felt hurt and betrayed and assuring him that he’d acted the best he could under the circumstances. As the session continued, Adam became increasingly agitated, frustrated, and annoyed. This was one of those situations where Adam was hyperaware of the therapeutic pro cess, so much so that he felt it was impossible to make any true inroads. He didn’t want to be coddled and manipulated by his analyst. He didn’t want to buy into the idea that his behavior had been justified, that he’d done the right thing. He knew he’d acted like a total schmuck yesterday. He’d been out of control, in a reactive state, and had expressed his anger extremely poorly. Picking the fight with Tony had been bad enough, but then he’d made another extremely poor decision by revealing his affair with Sharon. There had been no reason to drag her into it, possibly damaging her marriage and compounding the hurt for Dana and even Marissa.

“This isn’t working,” Adam announced.

Carol, completely unfazed, giving her patient the room to express himself, asked, “What isn’t working?”

“This,” Adam said. “What you’re doing right now. I know what you’re doing, because I’d be doing exactly the same thing. You’re trying to treat me, and I don’t want to be treated.”

“What do you want?”

“I want solutions, I want answers, but I’m never going to get them this way.” “How can you get them?”

“See? You can’t stop analyzing me, not even for a second. Analysis won’t work on me. I can help other people, I know I’ve helped other people, but I need to be told what to do, I need to be fixed. I’m screwing up my whole life right now, and I feel like I can’t stop myself. I feel like I’m addicted to very negative behavior.”

“You know I can’t tell you what to do, Adam.”

“Can’t you just talk to me like a normal human being?”

“If you wanted to talk to a normal human being you wouldn’t’ve called me this morning.”

There was a long pause; then they both laughed, a nice icebreaker. “Fine, you want me to help you. You don’t need my help. How’s that for help?” “I’m not a victim, right? I’m in control of my life, it’s not controlling me.” “See? You have all the answers.”

“But knowing this doesn’t help me.”

“That’s a decision you’re making. Do you really want your marriage to end?”

“No,” he said without hesitation, and at that moment he felt he’d made a breakthrough. True breakthroughs were rare in the therapeutic pro cess, but in his experiences with his own patients he’d seen them come at the least expected times. In his case, by confronting Carol about his lack of progress he’d ironically made more progress than he had in years.

Adam desperately needed a day off to pro cess his feelings, but he couldn’t go home. Although he’d gotten more cancellations and no- shows, he still had several patients scheduled. In his current mindset, it was difficult to take on the role of therapist and counsel other people, but he did his best to be attentive, and he managed to get through the day.