Chapter 7: Love And Truth

She silently pushed me through the archway leading to a small group of shops the Hotel ran to service its guests and separate them from more of their money. I gestured toward a small men's shop. I pointed toward a Tyrolean slouch hat of some gray tweedy weave. "See if they have one that'll fit me." It was a hideous thing and would well serve the purpose of changing my appearance.

The clerk quickly found one in my size. He smirked as I put it on my head, "It makes you look very Swiss, sir." I grunted.

I pointed to a rack of sheep skin jackets. "Do those have inner pockets?" I asked.

"Indeed they do sir, a lovely choice," The obsequious clerk made washing motions with his hands in true kiss ass European style.

"Give me a forty-six regular in American size, I don't know what your sizing system is over here.

"Ah yes, sir, I have your size on this rack. Do you wish a tight fit or a looser one?" This character reminded me of one of the people who worked for my dad while he was alive. My "dad," not my father, I sighed sadly as I remembered the man who had been the only father I had ever known. Oh well, I thought and jerked my mind back to the present. "Loose," I answered him tersely.

He nodded, turned back to the coats and selected one. I accepted it, struggled to get it on while sitting in the wheelchair. The inside pockets were perfect. There were four of them, all flapped for security. "This is fine, I'll take it. Please pay the man, dear and we'll be on our way."

Silently she paid and wheeled me through the lobby toward the bank of elevators. Once up in the suite she demanded angrily, "What is all this nonsense of a hat and a coat?" Hands on angry hips she stood with legs spread apart, waiting for an answer.

I got up out of the wheel chair and faced her. "For once in your spoiled life of living in Dreamland, listen to me. Someone is trying to kill us, all four of us, but especially you two. They are not going to quit and give up until either they are stopped or we are dead. I am tired of your weak, petulant, self-centered bullshit. Join the real world for a fucking change." Her eyes opened wide in disbelief that anyone, a mere hireling especially, would speak to her with such disrespect, so contemptuously. After all, she was ... Suddenly she realized she didn't know who or what she was.

I ignored the tears forming in her eyes, "At first I got into this because of the promised money and to protect Tiffany. I now have a hunch I would not live thirty days past the time your husband regained control of Hundley. I would become a loose end. Don't you realize that?"

She wiped the tears away and tried to defend her husband and herself. "Why I would never, Daniel would never, no ... you're mistaken." Her hands grabbed at her throat again. She backed up a step away from me as she tried to deny my words. She looked at me, horrified at my words, yet a nagging doubt in her mind denied they were untrue.

"Look at facts, Daniel is crazy as a pet loon. That's not quite the medical terminology, but it describes him. He's a freak who gets off watching others fuck his wife." She flinched at my raw words.

"He probably has pushed you into a few lesbian encounters or even threesomes, right?" Again she nodded.

"I never ever enjoyed them and finally I refused to participate any more," she answered weakly. I nodded. She tried to defend herself, "Well, it's true. I hate to be told what to do," she finished weakly. "I really do." In an almost inaudible voice she added, "I really do."

I ignored her disclaimers and continued, "Under extra pressure he blows up and has temper tantrums and flies into fits of rage just like he did yesterday evening and today. He does this every time pressure is put on him, am I right?" Again she nodded. She had started to wonder if perhaps I might be at least partially correct.

More to myself than to her I followed my logic further, "I'm betting there are more things than one wrong with him. I'll bet we shall find the American doctor, this Anderson person has been paid or blackmailed to misdiagnose and improperly medicate Daniel."

"Now let me make another wild assed guess, "Daniel's father or his mother, possibly both, had a few screws loose, right?" I looked up at her and waited for an answer.

She did not like where the conversation was going, but she gamely answered, "Uh, well his mother had wild mood swings when she was drinking. And his father ... well, his father and my mother would ... Oh!" Her face blazed a deep crimson as she remembered the past she tried to keep buried. "I didn't want to do what they ... I don't think my father ever knew."

"Jesus," I shook my head, "Your whole fucking outfit has more worms in it than a Kinsey autobiography." Suddenly I felt sympathy for this artificial, spoiled, pampered person who had been raised in the lap of luxury amidst sexual intimidation. "You never had a chance." She looked downward, large tears formed and rolled down her cheeks.

"I'm still betting on a brain tumor or brain damage to go along with what heredity blessed him with. His way out kinkiness is a separate issue from the rest of his problems." I didn't consider myself an expert, not by a long shot. But the flushed face, the rages and the palsied movements that came and went at seeming random times indicated to me he had more than just a few minor problems.

She spied a note on a table by the door. She read it and turned toward me, "We'll find out whether you're wrong or not. Carl has taken him to a clinic. They have agreed to see Daniel immediately. That's where he and Carl are right now." She showed me the note. I waved it away.

"I believe we had better make an appointment with the US embassy. We need to find out just what in hell is going on back in the States. I am not equipped for this sort of thing." I hated to feel so helpless.

There was a discreet knock on the door. "You seem to have done quite well, considering," she told me as she went to answer the door. I hurried to settle back into the wheelchair.

A stranger stood in the open door, "I am Lester Bowman from the United States Consulate. I need to speak to Mister and Missus Hundley on a matter of some importance. We have just now tracked you down. May I come in?"

She nodded silently and stepped back. "You are Mister Hundley?" he asked as he spied me sitting in the wheelchair.

"I am he," I answered in my low Daniel voice. I permitted a slight slurring of my words. "What is it? We have had a very bad shock and are just now trying to learn what has happened.

"Ah yes, then you are aware of the unfortunate explosion at your home in New York? That is the reason I was dispatched to interview you." He began to ask questions I had no way of answering. To most of them I merely waived a hand weakly or shook my head and acted otherwise distracted.

"Please, Mister Hundley is in no condition to be interrogated by you or anyone else. He is not himself right now. That is why we are here in Switzerland, to try to find medical help for him. He is in a state of shock." She gestured helplessly. "May I see you out?" She opened the door and urged the startled man out into the hallway.

"But I really must speak with him," I heard him protest. "After all..." His voice trailed off.

Bobbie spoke urgently to Lester Bowman, cutting off any further words. "Please contact our attorneys in Manhattan. My husband is barely able to function right now and you are needlessly putting additional stress on him. His mental state is very delicate at this time. We are over here seeking medical treatment.

Finally the dense bureaucrat understood. "I shall inform my superiors of your husband's ah mental incapacity. My condolences, Madam." He left.

"My god, what an idiot," Bobbie exclaimed.

"You better call your attorney and tell him we're safe." I was concerned about her. She was showing signs of the strain getting the better of her and no wonder. She had been raised from birth in the protected environment of the wealthy. Her job at Hundley had been a means to look after her and her husband's interests. She had never had to get down and dirty to survive. Since my parents' car wreck, I had learned to fight any way necessary to win.

After Mom and Dad died in the car wreck, I learned survival where all the lessons were condensed into one continual crash course. After the estate was settled I was a penniless fourteen year old on his way to a youth center. I had to learn to survive or else. This is not knowledge you can teach to another person as breakfast conversation. I learned by making mistakes and not repeating them.

"What will I say?" she asked me.

"Call them and let me have the phone. I'll find out what he knows. We must tell him to contact the local police and inform them we have been apprised of the situation and shall return to the states as soon as pressing business over here has been concluded."

The hotel switchboard placed the call for her. Suddenly she said, "This is Roberta Hundley, please let me speak with Uncle Norman." After a moment she spoke again, "Hello this is Bobbie. We're in Berne. Yes, we are alright." She feigned total ignorance about the car and the estate. "Uncle Norman, I have no idea at all what is happening. Here, Daniel wishes to speak to you." She handed me the phone.