Brandy disappeared into the kitchen.

David's chest burned with the excitement. His gut, too. He was afraid his dick wouldn't work and wondered why it was easier to smash someone's head in than have sex. He hoped that Brandy wasn't in the mood.

Sixteen

Before his class Jason ran over to Maslow's office to leave a note on his door telling his patients he wouldn't be in that day and to call Dr. Frank. He also had some information on Maslow Atkins-his number at work, his parents' home number, his father's office number. He knew Maslow's analyst, an M.D. called Bernie Zeiss. Bernie and Jason served on several committees together at the Institute. Jason thought of Bernie as a plodding, rule-following prig of the old school who obstructed every attempt at modernizing the field of psychoanalysis. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to the man about sensitive issues that involved confidentiality. To get anywhere with Bernie he was going to have to lie. If he lied, he might get in trouble. He decided to risk it.

After teaching his psychiatric residents at the hospital, which was about a half mile north of his Riverside Drive apartment, Jason walked home. Several taxis slowed as they neared him, but for once he didn't flag them down. He needed a few minutes to rethink the situation, and even more, he needed a break outside in the fresh air. As he walked, he was grateful for the caress on his face of the light breeze off the Hudson River and the familiar view of the New Jersey skyline. On this Wednesday in early September the trees on the Palisades were green, and there were still sailboats scooting around on the water. He had the terrible foreboding that big trouble was coming. Without realizing it, he picked up his pace. He was jogging by the time he turned the corner on his block. A large blank-faced doorman he hadn't seen before opened the heavy wrought-iron and glass doors of his prewar building and stood in his path.

"Can I help you?" he asked, indicating the sign that said all visitors had to be announced.

"It's okay. I'm Dr. Frank. I live here."

"Oh, okay. I'm George."

"Hi, George."

Jason didn't have time for more pleasantries. He had twenty minutes before his next patient and a lot to do. He nodded and rushed to the elevator, which was visible in an old-fashioned cage, was over eighty years old, and broke down all the time. Jason could see its bottom all the way at the top of the building. The stairway circled the cage. Jason took it two steps at a time. His stomach rumbled as he ran up the five flights, but he didn't want to think about the comfort of food.

In his office, his phone told him he had nine messages. His answering machine drove him nuts. Many people left extremely long messages about absolutely nothing. Sometimes it took fifteen minutes to get through them. He skipped through this group quickly. His stomach rumbled. There was no message from Maslow, but he hadn't expected one. He punched out the number of Manhattan East, where Maslow worked as a staff psychiatrist thirty hours a week. It took a while to locate Dr. Ira Kiln, who had employed him there.

"Oh, Maslow is turning out very well. He's an excellent doctor," Dr. Kiln assured Jason when he finally got him on the phone.

"Yes, I know-"

"And a wonderful young man-very caring and easy to work with." Dr. Kiln went on at some length, frustrating Jason's effort to inform him that he was not calling for a reference.

"I know he's a first-year psychoanalytic candidate at your Institute. He talks about you often, and-"

"Did you happen to see him last night?"

Dr. Kiln stopped short. "No, Maslow doesn't come in on Tuesdays. What's this about?"

"Thank you so much. I really appreciate your help."

"What's this about?" Dr. Kiln asked again.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just trying to locate him, and I didn't have his schedule."

Jason sighed and called Bernie. Naturally, Bernie's machine picked up. Jason told Bernie's voice mail he needed to talk to him about a matter of extreme urgency, gave his number, and hung up. He checked his watch. He had seven minutes left. He dialed Maslow's parents' home number. A woman answered on the second ring.

"Hello, this is Dr. Jason Frank," Jason began.

"How do you do, Dr. Frank?" The woman had a soft, hesitant voice.

"Is this Mrs. Atkins?" Jason asked.

"Yes."

"I'm one of your son's teachers at the Institute. I'm trying to locate Maslow-"

"My husband isn't here right now. You can reach him in his office some time after noon."

"I'm sure you can help me. Do you know where Maslow is?"

"No idea, he travels a great deal for his company. His secretary will know. She has his schedule."

"We're having a little miscommunication. I'm not talking about your husband. I'm talking about your son, Maslow. Do you know where I might find him!"

"He's very busy, too."

"I know he is. That may be the reason I'm having difficulty locating him. When did you speak to him last?"

"Let's see, what day is it?"

"Wednesday."

"I think we spoke with him last Sunday-or maybe it was the Sunday before…" The soft voice trailed off.

"You didn't talk to him last night or this morning by any chance?"

"Oh no, he never calls when he's traveling."

"Maslow is out of town?" Jason was puzzled.

"Really? Where is he?" Mrs. Atkins asked.

Jason chewed on his lip. The woman was on another planet. He spoke patiently. "As far as I know Maslow is right here in the city, and I'm trying to reach him, not his father."

"Well, his father is more likely to know where he is than I am. No one tells me anything. Do you want his number at the office?"

Jason had Jerome Atkins's number at work but he said, "Yes, thank you," and wrote it down a second time.

The clock on his desk told him he had four minutes left. Jason noticed that the two numbers he had for Jerome Atkins were different. He figured one must be the company number and the other his private line. Jason dialed the one his wife gave him.

"Mr. Atkins's office."

"Yes, this is Dr. Jason Frank calling. I'm a colleague of Mr. Atkins's son, Maslow, and I need to talk to him. Is Mr. Atkins available?" Jason shifted his gaze from the clock on his desk to the six valuable skeleton clocks on his bookcase. He watched their pendulums swing back and forth, ticking off the precious seconds until his next patient was due. He shook his foot with impatience.

"No, Mr. Atkins is out to lunch. Can I give him the message?"

"Yes. Would you tell him Dr. Frank called, and it's a matter of some urgency." Jason gave her the number and hung up.

His phone rang. He grabbed it on the first ring.

"Jason, this is Bernie Zeiss."

"Oh, Bernie, thanks for getting back to me so soon."

"What's up?"

"Look, to make a long story short, Maslow Atkins is missing and I need some information about him."

"Oh, I'm a nonreporting analyst at the Institute. You know I can't tell you anything without talking first with the head of the educational committee-"

"Bernie, just listen for a second. I know it's highly unusual to call an analyst about a patient, but Maslow is a student of the Institute, he's part of our family, and he may be in trouble. We have to-"

"Well, I can put in a call to Ted right away. He'll put the question to the committee, and I'll get back to you tonight after the scientific meeting."

"Bernie, this isn't the program committee where we argue over whether we're going to accept a paper no one will come to hear. A man's life may be at stake here. There's not time to check with Ted Tushy. You understand?"

"What do you have to do with this, Jason?" Bernie asked, suddenly suspicious.