looks as though he were expecting the cop.
âYou found me,â Klezak says.
âYes, I did,â says Torres, slowly crossing the threshold. They look at each other in silence. Torres can see no trace of Klezakâs dirty skin and clothes. His hair is slicked back and conforms with the office environmentâlong but not too long. With a shirt and tie, he looks normal.
âWhat now?â says Klezak.
âI donât know. Can I sit down?â
âPlease.â Klezak gestures at the chair in front of his desk. A few bad pictures hang on the walls, a lamp sits on the corner of the lawyerâs desk, and stacks of paper crowd the corners.
Torres sits and stares at Klezak, whose face, shirt, and blue-and-white-striped tie explode at him in their nattiness, their Pentecostalnessânone of it has a speck of dirt.
âYou followed me,â says Klezak.
âYes, I did.â
âWell, what can I do for you? Should we discuss this morning?â
Torres studies his eyes, looking for signs of mania, paranoia, or danger. There are none. He does not know what to make of this strange, sad man. âWell, first, just tell meâ¦man, are youâ¦like, ok? Itâs a little scary.â
âIâm fine, Officer Torres. Iâm not homeless. I work in this office. I have my own practice. Iâm just a lawyer.â He smiles. âAnd I did nothing illegal. You and I both know that.â
Torres takes this in. âYou were close.â He waits for a reaction. âI could have written you up easy. Sent you away for the seventy-two-hour dry out.â
Klezak is unfazed.
âItâs really weird,â Torres says finally. âYou have to admit that.â
âMaybe so,â says Klezak. Then, in an instant, he seems to lose his confidence, as though revealing a bluff. âI canât keep paying you guys. My deal was that Iâd only have to pay once for the whole force.â
Torres thinks for a second and then nods. âNoah.â
Klezak doesnât respond.
âThis is how Noah got the boat, right?â Torres says. âThe one in Long Beach. We could never figure that out.â
Klezak offers a small, nervous smile. âA boat is what he wanted.â
Torres stares more. Klezak is serene again, caught but not guilty.
Suddenly Torres has a feeling he does not recognize. A powerful sense of being swept away. He blinks his eyes, but nothing changes. Now there is a buttery yellow light behind Klezakâs head. Torres stands and moves a few steps to see if it is an illusion.
âBut youâre not Noah,â says Klezak as Torres moves. âWe both know that.â
Torres continues walking, circling Klezak at his desk. The light stays above the lawyerâs head. Torres goes back to his seat.
âIâm really starting to lose it,â Torres says.
âNo, youâre not,â says Klezak. His voice is soothing. âYouâre waking up.â
âBut Noahâ¦Noahâs fine. He just took the money and went back to work?â
Klezak says, âNoah could not see it.â
Torres considers this, and in doing so he feels hopeful and then excited. Then he starts to relax, like a patient who has just taken a needle. âMaybe so.â
Klezak gets up from behind the desk and walks to Torres at his seat. The light remains. He extends his hand to Torres, who takes it and rises. Klezakâs secretary, well trained, comes to the threshold and closes the door.
âWill you pray with me, Eddie?â says Klezak.
âHowâd you know my name?â
âI know a lot more than that.â
The light is fuller now. Klezakâs eyes are a deep blue. The two bow their heads against their interlocked fingers. Torres closes his eyes, and in his earthly eyelids he sees light, followed by an open field. He knows he is in the presence of angels. âIt is here for me,â he thinks. It is a transcendent,
Learning to Kill: Stories