NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED by Bryan Quinn

Author:Bryan Quinn [QUINN, BRYAN]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookLocker.com, Inc.
Published: 2021-01-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-One

Sharron stepped from the gleaming Lincoln Town Car onto West 75th while the liveried chauffeur held the rear door for her and took her outstretched white-gloved hand. No words of gratitude passed her sealed vermilion-painted lips. Although Sharron could have walked to her psychologist’s office—it was just two streets south of hers—she preferred to be driven, given her chronic state of fear.

“Don’t leave till I’m inside,” she said to the chauffeur. This came out more like a petition than a command.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sharron loitered on the sidewalk for a moment, clutching her purse, and stared up at the four-storey brownstone, her mood as somber as the overcast vault of sky. “Let’s get it over with,” she murmured to hearten herself. One deliberate step after another she climbed the concrete flight of stairs to the lacquered oak door.

“Please have a seat, Mrs. McCormack,” Jeannine said, coming around her desk and taking an opposite chair. She wasn’t on a first-name basis with her patient. Sharron’s choice.

The patient slid off her white gloves and placed a matching purse beside her—God forbid it should touch the well-trod carpet. She took her time settling into the chair, fussing with her cream-colored Chanel pantsuit to distraction.

Jeannine was used to this grooming routine, so she read her notes until her patient settled in. She cracked the ice with: “How was your week?”

“Dreadful.”

The psychologist’s eyes telepathed: “Not again.” She waited for her patient to elaborate.

Oblivious, Sharron said: “You see this outfit?”

Jeannine signaled with her head.

“It cost a fortune. Probably more than the crummy dry cleaner who ruined it earns in a month. But did he care?” When her doctor didn’t emote, she frowned at her less-than-edge-of-the seat interest. Undeterred, she persisted in piling rhetorical dirt atop her petty molehill. “Would you believe he substituted the wooden hanger I gave him for this suit with a metal one? The negligent fool claimed he lost the one made of wood.” She rolled her eyes. “My busy maid had to steam out the creases in my pants caused by the metal hanger.”

“Why do you assume the dry cleaner was lying?”

“I didn’t say he lied.”

“But you implied it.”

Her just-below-the-surface irritation on the rise, Sharron replied: “He comes from one of those shi —one of those foreign countries where corruption is rampant and people lie and cheat to get ahead.”

“Could not this same accusation be leveled against this country and its citizens?”

Sharron jolted as though she had been clouted. “Americans respect the law,” she sputtered. “At least white Americans do.” In a flash, she regrouped. “Aren’t you supposed to listen and let me do the talking? My husband told me you come highly recommended. I’m beginning to wonder.” Why didn’t he hire a white shrink?

“Mrs. McCormack, our assumptions compel us to make judgements. And if these assumptions are based on opinions and not facts, they lead us to formulate erroneous and at times harmful judgements.”

In the charged atmosphere, her anger boiled over. “I didn’t come here to be lectured to by a Bla—by

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