Free A Touch of Malice by Gary Ponzo Page A

chin. Dr. Grennan seemed concerned about his comments, maybe not knowing how far to go.
    Finally, Santoro smiled, accepting the value of his session. “So do you believe I should take medicine for my . . . um, condition?”
    Dr. Grennan seemed prepared for this one. “No, absolutely not. You are a mentally healthy person.”
    Ultimately, this was what Santoro wanted to hear. He wasn’t crazy, just stressed and needing an outlet for the pressure he endures on a daily basis. He pointed to the notepad in Dr. Grennan’s lap.
    “What are in those pages?” Santoro asked.
    Dr. Grennan looked down at the pad and shrugged. “They are simply notes I use for my patients. It helps me keep track of our progress.”
    “And do you believe I have made progress? Even in this one visit?”
    “Yes, Mr. President. You certainly have.”
    Santoro stood up and walked over to a massive wooden hutch against the wall to his right. The structure stood over ten feet high with a sparkling marble shelf and a mirror inset between two adjacent cabinets.
    Santoro pulled up on a semicircle scalloped door which exposed a countertop full of bottles of gin and whiskey and different wines. He held out a hand presenting the assortment of beverages to the doctor. “Can I please offer you a complimentary drink before you leave today?”
    The way Santoro said it, the good doctor would’ve been foolish to decline the offer. It could be taken as offensive.
    “Yes,” Dr. Grennan nodded nervously. “Thank you.”
    Santoro stood before the collection of beverages and said, “Your choice.”
    “Um,” Dr. Grennan searched the bar for something he might enjoy. “I’ll have a glass of Merlot, if you have it.”
    Santoro smiled, then pulled a hand-tightened cork from the bottle of Merlot and poured it into a wine glass. He walked over to his guest and handed him the glass of wine.
    Dr. Grennan wisely accepted and said, “Thank you. You are not drinking?”
    Santoro leaned back against his desk while facing the doctor. “No, I am afraid I have an important meeting this afternoon and I need to have a clear mind.”
    “Of course,” Dr. Grennan replied, taking a sip of the Merlot and leaning back in his chair. “This is quite good.”
    “Thank you,” Santoro said, congenially. Then he folded his arms across his chest. “You are from America, yes?”
    “Yes.” Dr. Grennan sat with his notepad on his lap. He placed the wine glass on top of the notepad for balance. “My wife is from Colombia, so we decided to move down here to raise the children.”
    “This is quite nice to hear. Your wife is very loyal, eh?”
    “Yes, she is.” Dr. Grennan seemed pleased the way the conversation was going.
    “Colombian woman are sensual animals,” Santoro said with a wicked grin.
    This caught the doctor a little off guard and he gave a terse nod to the comment.
    “I mean, look at Shakira, she is quite the woman,” Santoro said, pulling the starched cuffs out from his suit jacket. “I knew her back when she was just a child. Back when she was a brunette.” Santoro lifted his eyebrows and ran a hand up and down his torso. “And I mean, she was brunette all over.”
    Dr. Grennan seemed to be drinking quicker now. He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Well, Mr. President, you have been very gracious with your time. I must leave now and get back to my other patients.”
    As Dr. Grennan leaned forward in his chair, Santoro held up a palm and said, “Please, just another minute.”
    “Yes, Mr. President.”
    Santoro examined his guest and recognized the dull expression come over him now. His eyes began to droop just a bit and his shoulders slumped considerably.
    Dr. Grennan must’ve become aware of his sudden grogginess because he looked down at the glass of wine as if it were a grenade in his lap. “Mr. President?”
    Santoro was now comfortable enough to bend over and remove the glass from Dr. Grennan’s hand before it spilled all over his nice