The Devil in Silver

Nearly the whole room scribbled notes after that. And instantly the big man saw that his usual headfirst routine wasn’t going far. Can’t bulldoze through this. He knew what he had to do then. Stay calm enough to convince them of the truth.

Dr. Anand leaned forward in his chair. “You’ll be with us for three days. That’s the law. It’s Thursday night. You’ll be with us until Monday morning. And in that time we’ll evaluate your mental state.”

“I can tell you my mental state.”

Dr. Anand nodded. “Let’s hear it.”

“I’m pissed.” Being mellow had never been one of his talents.

From the back of the room the orderly rose as high as he could in the chair. “Language, my man.”

The big man took him in. “You watching music videos or porn on your phone?” he asked.

Dr. Anand looked at the orderly.

“It’s off!” he said, as he fumbled with the device.

The big man grinned and said, “I’m going to call you Scotch Tape. ’Cause I see right through you.”

The orderly said, “Look here.…”

But Dr. Anand caught the orderly’s eye. If this was a contest of power, you can guess who won. The other staff members studied their laps, and silence choked the room. The orderly pulled his chair forward and set the cell phone on the tabletop, facedown.

A moment after that, the big man heard a snorting noise from the back of the room. It sounded like the radiators in his apartment. They would snort and hiss, too, at odd hours. Sometimes they produced heat, other times they just made a racket. The snorting stopped. The room didn’t get any warmer.

Dr. Anand returned his attention to the big man. He didn’t look angry, more like exhausted. “Why don’t we just start with a name. What should we call you?”

Huey had the big man’s wallet. He handed it to the doctor.

“You’ve got my name,” the big man said. His brown pleather wallet, old and overstuffed, carrying more ATM receipts than currency, sat in the doctor’s hand.

Dr. Anand shook the wallet. “I’m not asking what it says on your license. I’m asking what you like to be called.”

Why was this doctor talking to him like that? Like he was a dun-sky? He spoke so slow it seemed like another language. Being treated like a newborn only riled the reptile in the big man’s brain.

He said, “You can call me ‘Ed the Head.’ ”

Two staff members actually wrote this down, the others just looked confused.

Scotch Tape couldn’t control himself. From the back of the room he shouted, “I am not calling you no ‘Ed the Head!’ ”

The big man nodded. “Then call me … ‘Blackie Lawless.’ ”

Scotch Tape leaned forward and snatched up his phone as if it was the big man’s neck. “Watch it, white boy!”

Blackie Lawless was the lead singer of an eighties band called W.A.S.P., but the big man didn’t have time to give Scotch Tape a history lesson in heavy metal.

The cops shifted in their stances. They wanted to be done. Dr. Anand seemed the least exasperated by all this. He opened the wallet, pulled out the driver’s license, and read the name to himself.

“Your name’s not Edward. And it sure isn’t Blackie!”

The big man felt foolish. What was he really doing here? Giving a little shit to an orderly? Confusing a doctor? But to what end? He couldn’t think past the anger caught in his throat. In other places, his taste for pointless conflict made him seem a bit wild, lippy, a guy who wouldn’t back down. He liked that. But that’s not how they’d see it in a psychiatric unit. These people at New Hyde were evaluating him. He had to remember that.

Just breathe. Be calm. Speak to the doctor for real.

“Pepper,” the big man said in a subdued voice. “Everyone calls me Pepper.”

“Why do they call you Pepper?” Dr. Anand asked.

“Because I’m spicy.” He couldn’t help it, the words just came out. Now he looked at the doctor to see if this would earn a demerit, too. But Dr. Anand didn’t seem bothered.

The snorting began again. This time it seemed closer, no longer playing in the back of the room. It came from under the conference table. And it no longer sounded like a radiator. More like a living thing, but not human. A bull. The snorting grew louder. Pepper watched the table. He felt confused but refused to show it. What could he say that wouldn’t make him look like a grade-A lunatic? Then, once again, the sound abruptly cut out.

Dr. Anand put the license back into the wallet and balanced it on Pepper’s thigh. “Thank you for telling me.”

“I get to keep that?”

“This isn’t prison,” Dr. Anand said. “You have rights.”

“Except the right to walk out of here tonight,” Pepper said.

Dr. Anand nodded. “Except that one.”

The doctor turned in his chair again and spoke to the staff, but stared directly at the orderly. “Let’s all remember Pepper’s name.”