Free Frankenstorm: Deranged by Ray Garton Page B

the chair. “No. It’s not.”
    “What’s up?”
    “My wife. She’s been fuckin’ some guy. Some guy who runs a nursery. Can you imagine that? A fuckin’ gardener ,” he said through clenched teeth. “He’s even a spic! And he’s younger than her!” His fists were clenched, and even though he was slumped in the chair, he was taut. His lips trembled a little when he spoke the last two sentences.
    “Look, Ram, you need to calm down, okay?” Kaufman said softly. He’d seen this kind of behavior in cops before and knew it was unpredictable and dangerous. “Just . . . calm . . . down. Take a deep breath, okay?”
    Although irritated by the direction, Ram took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and readjusted his position in the chair a little, making a clear attempt to try to get more comfortable and relax.
    “You never seem to be very far away from rage these days,” Kaufman said.
    “Why shouldn’t I be? Now she’s talking about divorce.”
    “You need some time off?”
    “ No.”
    “You sure?”
    “No, I couldn’t handle this shit if I couldn’t come to work every day.”
    “Maybe you should think about it. Maybe work isn’t where you should be focusing your attention. We’ll get you some counseling, you take a week off and try to start fixing the problem.”
    He tilted his head back slightly. “Fixing the problem?”
    “Yeah. Is there anything I can do?”
    “Well . . .” His big body shook as he laughed silently. “You wanna kill her or should I?”
    Something about that silent laugh jolted Kaufman. He’d never known von Pohle to do that before. He was a loud, unabashed laugher. Seeing him shake with laughs he kept inside was somewhat disturbing.
    “You serious, von Pohle?”
    He remained slumped there for a moment, grinning at Kaufman, saying nothing. Then the grin fell away as he sat up straight, stiffened his back, leaned forward slightly, and got serious.
    “No, sir. Just letting off some steam.”
    “You want to be careful how you do that. It’s gotten you into trouble before, and if you keep it up—I’m serious about this, von Pohle—it’s going to kick you in the ass. If you don’t want to take time off, I want you to get some counseling.”
    “Look, I’m fine, really, I don’t think I need coun—”
    “ I think you need counseling, and that’s all that matters. And you are not fine. Infidelity, divorce—those are traumatic things. They fuck people up. I’m going to make the call right away. So be ready. When you’re told when to go, you go. Understand?”
    He nodded.
    “Now, what about your wife? Is this going to be a problem you can handle?”
    “I never said I couldn’t handle it.”
    “I know you didn’t, but I’m asking. Can you?”
    He slumped in the chair again. “Yeah, I can handle it. You kidding?” He shook again as he laughed silently. “Goddamn right I’ll handle it. I’ll handle ’em both.”
    “Jesus Christ, do you hear yourself? Should I be worried? You aren’t going to do anything stupid, are you?”
    He turned his head slightly back and forth. “No. I’m not.”
    But by then, Kaufman was not prepared to believe him. He insisted on counseling and decided to go on keeping a close eye on von Pohle. If counseling didn’t help, or if he got worse, Kaufman would reassess the situation and act accordingly.
    Neither von Pohle’s work nor his behavior got any worse, but he became more withdrawn and isolated. He stopped going out for drinks with other deputies after his shift. But he did not step out of line. He showed up on time and did his job.
    Kaufman was not sure if that was a good sign. Did the fact that he was exhibiting decent behavior at work mean that he was giving his rage an outlet elsewhere?
    So far, Kaufman had not encountered any other cars on the streets. Unlike him, most people seemed to be smart enough to stay inside where it was warm, dry, and safe, rather than out and about, driving around in this hellish weather.
    As he