Ready. Set. Psycho.

Chapter Seven: Reg

           

Greg's notes were much better organized than Sol's, but Greg had much less interaction with Psycho, so they took up less than a quarter of the file. Greg was certain the kid —Justin Graham — was Psycho. He never saw him. Was not there when Sol shot him. But he was certain in the way that partners are when they trust each other and back each other up. Reg wanted to feel that way someday about someone.

He wrote at length in support of Sol. Talked about how the profile fit — but he used all sort of words in the wrong context. Greg was a high-school grad who worked his way up to detective the old-fashioned way. He was not Ivy League educated like Sol and Reg, and you could tell. The people reading his reports probably knew it, too. But he tried his best. It was not enough.

Reg put down the tablet. It needed to be charged. He went to his kitchen and then opened his oven, taking out a pair of shoes that had been warming for five minutes. He put them on and nodded, picking up his phone and calling Sham.

Sham answered, "Happy, happy birthday, son!"

"It worked."

"I fucking told you it would. I'm ruined for shoes now. I can't put on cold shoes. Even room temperature shoes feel weird."

"Then I won't do it too often."

"Okay by me."

"How was the stakeout?"

"Delicious."

"Sham."

"I had cheese steaks from Shorty's. I stand by my statement."

"How's Sol?"

"He had donuts."

Reg took the phone away from his face and exhaled hard. "What did you guys see?"

"A plethora of old man penis," Sham said.

"Do you ever turn it off?" Reg said. "You can't be like this the day of."

"Every doctor has their own coping mechanism. Me? I'm detached from everything. I could watch someone literally blow up in front of me and simply start making a list of what I want for dinner."

"That's probably PTSD."

"It's definitely PTSD. It's why I left the navy to become a cop. I needed to lower my exposure to kids and young soldiers without limbs. I'm not convinced I'll ever be a doctor again. That shit sucked."

Sham's moment of seriousness made Reg feel guilty. "So how was the stakeout?" he repeated, calmer this time and less frustrated.

"Dude left. Put bags into his car and left, just like Sol said he would."

"So we are a go?"

"We are."

"So me, you, and Kevin should probably get together?"

"Absolutely. I'll call him. How about 11:00 a.m. at Lisa's place?"

"Sure," Sham said. "See you there. Keep your toes toasty!" He hung up.

Reg texted Kevin: 10:30 a.m. Lisa's place. He hoped a half an hour would be long enough. He left his apartment and arrived right on time, and Kevin was already waiting in one of the booths. Reg sat down. Kevin was young, fair-skinned with dark hair and blue eyes. He looked every bit the part of a software genius worth millions.

"Where's Sham?" Kevin asked.

"Running late," Reg said. "Be here in thirty minutes."

Kevin nodded nonchalantly, as if that was expected. "Fair enough. Want to wait or just want me to run through everything?"