Page 2 of Untouchable

"The hell is that thing?" Harp calls.

“Just the table,” he replies cheerily. “We’ll start with a brief consult.”

He hefts a bag over his shoulder and picks up the table—which looks more like an overgrown suitcase than a table—by its handles with his free hand. The thing looks heavy but he handles it with ease.

He shuts and locks his car and follows Harp across the driveway to the house, the gravel crunching loudly beneath his feet.

“Then we’ll get you on the table and see what we can do about the pain,” he says cheerfully.

"Oh great," Harp says. "I'm getting touchedtoday?"

* * *

Parker nods,a smile frozen on his face. Rule number one—never make the client feel like it’s their fault for messing up an appointment, even when it is. The guy does seem at least a little sorry, and he’s let go of the axe, which is a good start.

"And we have to do that part? Today, I mean?" Morton asks.

Parker stops, trying to collect himself. He’s excellent with clients—his ability to work with people is part of what makes him so good at his job, but the last two hours have been incredibly stressful and even slightly harrowing.

If I drove all this way to have him cancel the appointment... Parker thinks. At least Rocky Mountain has a solid cancellation policy, so Parker will get paid. He’ll be disappointed, though, if the client does want to cancel. Parker likes his job. He likes helping people and making them feel better.

“Well, um, yes,” Parker says, fumbling. “I mean, we could, like, just do the consult but… it’d be…”

What Parker wants to say is stupid or maybe a waste of time, but instead he trails off, mumbling something incoherent. This whole day has thrown him for a loop. He’d known this house call was somewhere outside of town—Mindy had at least warned him of that much, but he hadn’t expected to be scaling cliff faces and fending off axes.

"It would be a fucking stupid waste of my time," the man says, rolling his eyes. "Got it. You don't have to coddle me. You can really just cut the shit and tell me what I'm supposed to do to get my money's worth out of this."

Parker’s smile falters. He’s had abrasive clients before, but nothing like this.

The man turns around abruptly.

"Sorry, your name is... ?"

“Parker,” he says. “James. I’d shake your hand but, uh…” He smiles down at all that he’s carrying. He’s relieved the client isn’t going to back out. It had sounded like a good case, based on the information Mindy had given him—car accident, chronic pain, extensive physical therapy in the past, surgery, and so on. Parker has always preferred working with patients whose needs were a little more complex than the standard I-work-eighty-hour-weeks-hunched-over-a-desk back pain.

"Right, James, how do you feel about... dogs?"

“Er, no,” Parker stammers. “It’s—it’s Parker. James is my last name.” He knows his face has turned beet red. One would think after twenty-six years Parker would have gotten over having a last name for a first name and vice versa, but no.

"What? Right. Dogs, though?"

“Oh, uh—” Parker says. He feels like he’s been two paces behind this entire conversation. The question actually sinks in, and his face brightens. “I love dogs!”

"Great," the client says, kicking the door open, calling out as he steps inside. "Hup! Everybody up!"

Parker hears the scrabbling of dog paws against the floor, and a little dachshund and some kind of pitbull mix appear in the doorway.

"Where's your sister?” the client says to the dogs, frowning down at them. “Ugh, asshole."

Morton glances over his shoulder at Parker as he goes inside.

"Kick that shut and take off your shoes,” he says gruffly.

Parker isn’t sure what he’d been expecting when he walked in, but it isn’t this—a rush of visual stimulation so overwhelming he simply stands there for a moment, blinking. The house is crowded with things and at first glance, all Parker sees is clutter. When he looks closer, though, it’s clear that everything has a place, according to some system that Parker can’t begin to fathom.

The house is cozy—it’s more of a cabin, really, and though it’s full to the brim, it’s neatly organized and clearly well-maintained. It has the feeling of a well-stocked bunker—Parker imagines someone could go for years up here without needing to descend down the mountain into town.

* * *

---