Free Rainy City by Earl Emerson

two to a number of others, including Ms. Gunther. I flipped through the folders as quickly as I could, scanning hundreds of names. “Nadisky” did not appear.
    I blew almost three minutes in an adjoining room, picking the lock on a file cabinet. Nothing but financial information and bookkeeping records.
    It wasn’t until I had roosted on the couch again to wait for Kathy and the psychologist, that it occurred to me to riffle through the stacks of papers and files Ms. Gunther had abandoned on the desk top.
    This was it. El Dorado! The third file was a manila folder labeled “Nadisky.” I tried to speed-read it, but the process was aggravating. She had only sketched her thoughts. To make matters worse, Ms. Gunther’s penmanship could have been improved by a bird fresh from an ink well.
    I read snatches:
    “Neither partner facing up to the responsibilities of their commitment. She maintains a tremendous emotional conflict with her father and father figures in general. Must resolve the paternal struggle, or her life will grind to a halt. Thought of father paralyzes her thinking and action. She must uncover the childhood trauma. Expose it to the light. Hypnosis? However, I find it difficult to believe someone could be married for forty-two months and only have had sexual relations three times. Are they fabricating?”
    It took me a moment to realize I was being watched. Ms. Gunther and Kathy stood frozen in the doorway, staring at me. I slammed the folder shut and quickly arranged it back in the stack. What was going on? Things like that rarely happened to me. I never got caught.
    “That’s Neil,” said Kathy, wincing. “I told ya about him. Anything for a good time.”
    “Howdy, ma’am,” I said, in a slow drawl. “I don’t believe we’ve met”
    Ms. Gunther glanced from Kathy to me, to the file folders, and then back to Kathy. I said, “We’re goin’ out dancing a little later. Care to boogy? I’m sure we can find a man for a cute little gal like you.”
    Ms. Gunther blushed, then gathered up her reserves and said, “What were you doing? You were reading my reports.”
    “No ma’am. Fact is, I can’t read a lick. Left school in second grade to work on my daddy’s horse ranch. Tell you the truth, I was looking for some snow. Know what I mean? I got the spoon but ain’t got no sugar.”
    When she gave Kathy a quizzical look, Kathy nodded and smiled tightly. We were millimeters from being exposed. “I didn’t think he’d change on us. Usually it takes some outside thing, you know?”
    “Fascinating,” said Ms. Gunther. “Why don’t you both sit down? I’ll get my tape recorder. We’ll put some of this on tape.”
    “Sorry, ma’am,” I said, moving to the doorway where I took Kathy’s arm. “Me and this filly has got some mighty serious drinking and hoofing to do tonight. You care to come?” My eyebrows twittered and I gave her my best corn-pone leer.
    After seriously considering the scientific aspects of such a liaison, the research grant, the article in Psychology Today, an appearance with Merv, maybe even one with Johnny, Ms. Gunther shook her head, churning her pageboy. “I want you both to come back. Do you understand? I want you both to come back!”
    “If I can get him back,” said Kathy over her shoulder as I guided her down the dim corridor toward the front door. “The only time he does what I say is when he’s Joe Blooey.”
    “Who the hell is this Joe Blooey you keep blabbing about?” I said loudly. “You been steppin’ out on me?” Ms. Gunther muttered, “Fascinating.”
    Outside in the truck, Kathy got snippy, a reaction from the pressure and from being forced to lie. “You find out anything, Buster?”
    “Not much. Maybe we should talk to Burton. I wonder where he could be.”
    “Was I all right?” Kathy asked, her tone changing abruptly.
    “Are you kidding me? You were fabulous. I’ve never seen anything like it. You’re a better liar than I am.” “Thanks,”