The Unnamed

His office was calm and pleasant. The early winter sun brightened the window behind him. Yet as every minute he remained in place moved effortlessly into the next, that new minute came with the increased anxiety that it might be his last. The wonderful warmth, his comfortable chair, the lovely rigor and stasis of practicing law were growing, with time, more and more impossible to enjoy. He almost believed Naterwaul could be right, that worry alone could cause the attacks. Of course Naterwaul was also the moron who suggested that SoCal yahoo who had him re-enact his birth. Those were some dim, desperate days. He’d be goddamned if he was returning to that giant foam womb and working to cry during re-entry.

DeWiess, the environmental psychologist with the desert retreat, blamed urban air, cell phone radiation, and a contaminated water table, and gave him a sheet of paper with the names of everyday toxins listed front and back.

At ten he rose to walk down to Peter’s office. Standing was hard. His legs were eighty years old again. His first steps were stiff and careful, an easing back into fluid motion that stunned the cantankerous joints. He limped down the hallway.

‘Knock knock,’ he said at Peter’s door.

‘Hey hey,’ said Peter.

He entered the office and sat down. Peter was the senior associate on the R. H. Hobbs case. Tim didn’t think much of him.

‘Maybe I’m in and out these next couple of days, Peter. Maybe, maybe not.’

Peter demonstrated the lack of curiosity required of associates when something personal appeared to be driving a partner’s decision. His blank expression conveyed the theatre of total understanding. He didn’t even lean back in his chair. ‘Sure, Tim.’

‘We’re under the gun, yeah. This thing is pressing down on us. But you don’t make a move without me. Understand?’

‘Tim, who—’

‘Not one move.’

‘Who am I?’

‘You call me, understand? I don’t care what it is. I’m always on my cell.’

‘Of course. Of course.’

‘From this point forward I’m on my cell. No Kronish. No Wodica.’

‘No, no way. What for?’

‘They don’t know the case. You know the case better.’

‘I’ll call you, not a problem.’

‘And you, I mean this with all due respect.’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’re just not ready yet.’

‘No,’ said Peter. ‘No. I’m happy to call you, Tim.’

Tim nodded and stood. Halfway down the hall, he heard his name being called. He looked back at Peter, who stood in the doorway, but his body kept moving forward.

‘Hobbs is due in today, right?’

‘Today?’

‘Just wondered if you’d be here for that.’

‘He’s due in today?’

He was getting further and further down the hall.

‘I thought you said he was coming in.’

‘I said that?’

They had to talk louder.

‘Tim?’

‘You call me Peter! Understand? You don’t make a move without me!’

He turned the corner and disappeared.