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I couldn’t believe how much happier Pete was. Until his divorce proceedings began eight months ago, he had always been a pretty happy-go-lucky guy. But when his wife grabbed his kid and threw him out of the house, you’d have thought the world had caved in around him. In a way, I guess it did. I didn’t realize how bad he felt until my own wife, Angela, did pretty much the same thing. Only it was twice as bad for me. I’ve got two kids: four-year-old Ricky and three-year-old Sharon.

Pete and I spent most of our time together trying to console each other and we did most of it in various bars around town. We didn’t accomplish much really except the spewing out of an awful lot of venom. It’s amazing how all the years of love and devotion can turn into deep, bitter, raging hatred in such a short time. I guess there really is just an extremely fine line between the two.

The worst of it was not being able to see our kids. All the court orders in the world became just useless pieces of paper that our lawyers billed us extravagantly to obtain. Then our wives’ lawyers billed us for advising them to ignore the orders. It was a real cute situation.

Not that I could blame Angela much if she really wanted to get out of the marriage. Hey, I wasn’t exactly blameless in all this. Sometimes I have a pretty nasty temper. I wouldn’t want to live with it, either. The only reason I ever got from her was something about being “tired of the situation.” Well, that’s understandable.

I guess basically she really wasn’t an evil person. Or even a bad one. She was no alcoholic or drug addict and she didn’t sleep around or anything like that. The bottom line was that she certainly wasn’t an unfit mother, but neither am I an unfit father. So where does the court system get off telling me that I can only see my kids on my days off? Two lousy days a week and vacation in the summer. That’s like saying that all you deserve is to be a 33% parent. Hey, what the hell—you’re only the father.

And that same system gives her the right to argue against even that much time with the children—“Disruptive to the kids’ schooling” or “My parents haven’t seen them in such a long time” or “I made other plans for them” (knowing full well she was making those plans for the days I was supposed to have them). As I look back, I realize now that it wasn’t so much Angela herself that I hated as it was the way she took such clever advantage of an unfair judicial system.

Damn. All I wanted to do was be with my kids.

As much as I could.

Then one day, Pete comes into work happier than a puppy in a Milk-Bone bakery.

“So, Pete, what’s going on? You find a foxy young thing last night or something?” I asked.

“No, nothing like that at all,” he grinned. “I just got me back an old one. My daughter.”

It took me a while to get it out of him and in fact, he didn’t tell me all of it. Only that he found this company called Reconciliation Services Inc. whose work was guaranteed. That I couldn’t figure. I mean, how do you guarantee the twists of human nature? I had no way of predicting the totally different person Angela would become over six years of marriage, let alone that she would leave me out on the street like one half of the Odd Couple. And I knew her better than anyone in the world. How on earth do you guarantee human nature?

So now this company is saying they can do it? Right out of the blue like that?

But Pete insisted. “Let me arrange an appointment,” he offered. So I let him. Three days later, he gave me an address and a time.

I wasn’t expecting very much at all from an address in the South Bronx, but this place was see-dy. A beat up old door with about half an inch of varnish framed a large, frosted, rectangular window. Tiny block letters in the lower right corner of the window read Reconciliation Services Inc. It was located on a side street that was practically an alley. Unassuming isn’t the word. You had to be looking for this place to see it. And looking real hard.

I opened the door and saw a flight of dirty linoleum stairs leading to another ugly door that would have been the first one’s twin except that it didn’t have any sign on it at all. I went up the stairs and timidly tried the door.

It was unlocked. I opened it slowly.

“Don’t be shy. Come on in,” said a voice from inside.

A deep, rough voice.

I opened the door all the way and stepped in. It was a small room almost totally devoid of furniture—only a desk and two office chairs. The chair behind the desk held a fat figure with gray hair, a stringy moustache, and a yellow smile. The figure gestured toward the door. I turned and closed it.

“Please sit down,” Yellowteeth said, clasping his hands in front of his face. He sure looked like he was at home in this environment. “And you must be…?”

“Mr. Norris.” I wasn’t sure about giving my real name, but Pete said they’d have to know.

“You can call me Ted, Mr. Norris. I understand you’ve been referred to our company by a former client.”

“That’s right. He said to tell you that case number 2841 recommended you.”

Ted flashed his yellows again. “Excellent. Now how much do you know about our services?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. Pete, uh, 2841 that is, wasn’t very explicit.”

“Well, Mr. Norris, I can tell you that we provide a service of last resort. Sort of like the Federal Mediation Bureau. Because of that, we have to be very careful of the clients we take on. The first step is the same as in any other mediation process—fact-finding. That costs a thousand dollars.”

“It isn’t cheap.”

“We’re very thorough.”

His yellow teeth were beginning to make me sick. I reached for my checkbook and pulled it from my inside coat pocket.

“Cash.”

“Huh?”

“I said ‘cash,’ Mr. Norris.”

“I don’t have it with me right now.”

“No rush. We can wait until tomorrow.”

I looked around. There wasn’t even a phone in the room. Actually, I sort of expected that. I wasn’t really looking for a super-reputable firm or anything like that.

“I’ll also need your wife’s current address. We take it from there.”

I gave that much to him anyway. “How long does this fact-finding take?”

“That varies from case to case. Sometimes, it’s only a few weeks. Sometimes, but rarely, it takes as long as six months.”

With that our conversation pretty much ended with my promise to obtain the money tomorrow.

I returned the next day with the thousand dollars. I didn’t hear from Ted again for almost ten weeks. His letter arrived on a Saturday. It wasn’t until Monday that I realized I had never given him my address.

Dear Mr. Norris:

Our preliminary investigation shows that you and your wife qualify for the assistance offered by Reconciliation Services Inc. Your case number is 2986. Please refer to this number in all correspondence.

Your next appointment is Monday, August 23, at 7:30 p.m. Please be prompt.

Sincerely,

Ted

I looked at the envelope and saw there was no return address. Not even the name of the company. So much for “all correspondence.”

I figured it was about time to find out exactly what was going on, but as I returned to the RSI office, I wasn’t so sure I really wanted to know that, after all. Ted, though, didn’t care what I did or didn’t want to hear. He told me just what he wanted to tell me.

“You see, Mr. Norris,” he lectured, “our methods are irreversible. That’s why we’re so careful. We’ve accepted your case for several reasons.

“First of all, being recommended by a former client is a big plus. Secondly, we have to be sure that the party we are contracting with is the injured party. If our investigation had shown that your wife is actually getting the raw end of this divorce deal, we would have turned you down. Of course, under those circumstances, if your wife had come to us…”

God, how that thought made me shudder.

“But, happily,” he continued, “that is not the case here. Your wife is definitely raking you over the proverbial coals, Mr. Norris, so we’ll be happy to take you on. Our rates, though, aren’t chickenfeed.”

“Uh, how much exactly are you talking about?”

He mentioned a five-figure number. I whistled, astonished. “Good heavens, I had no idea.”

Ted smiled through an ingratiating laugh. “We don’t expect you to make a decision like this in a matter of minutes, Mr. Norris. And we also know that you can’t get that kind of money overnight, either. We’ll be here when you make your decision. Just remember a few things. First of all, your friend’s satisfaction with our work and secondly, it is guaranteed. Third, can you really put a price on the part of your children’s lives you’re missing out on?”

He had good points, but why was I getting the unshakable feeling that I was afraid not to agree? I felt as if shuddering was becoming a new habit.

I looked at him and said, “Okay, I’ll go along with it, but you’re right about the money. It’ll take me some time to come up with it.”

“No problem.” Ted flashed his yellow teeth once again. “We’ll meet here in two weeks. Same time. Any questions?”

I did have to admit to being curious about one thing. “Yeah. What exactly are your methods, anyway?”

Ted leaned back in his chair and gazed at he ceiling while answering. It was the first time (and as it turned out, the only time) he didn’t stare me straight in the eyes.

“We’ll talk about that further at our next meeting, Mr. Norris. Not too much at once.”

He made me feel like a little kid trying to learn the alphabet.

“One thing more, Mr. Norris.”

I was really afraid to hear this.

“Cash only, please.”

At least that wasn’t a surprise.

The loan was approved in ten days and I picked up the check the morning before I was to see Ted. What really intrigued me in the meantime was the way Pete avoided my questions.

“Honest to God, I can’t tell you what they do,” he protested. “It’s in the contract. I can’t tell a stinking soul.”

“But, Pete, I’m going to have it done, too. Don’t you think I have a right to know?”

“Sure you do, but it’s their job to tell you, not mine. If you should slip and let on that I told you…”

His eyes twitched uncontrollably beneath his bushy blonde eyebrows. It was the way he always reacted when he was nervous. He was probably more scared than I was. He knew what they could do.

I tried stopping by his house once during that two weeks ostensibly just to say hi, but I really wanted to take a look around. When Pete answered the door, I thought he was going to have breakdown or something. He spent the whole time looking nervously up and down the street and making excuses about leaving in a few minutes to visit relatives. I never did get into the house.

The point was that I had already made my decision and was stuck with it, but Pete couldn’t see it that way. He told me it would be safer if I waited “until after” before coming over again. He didn’t want them to see me “snooping around,” as he put it.

However, I still had an important question to ask him and I knew perfectly well he could answer this one. In fact, he was the only person who could. I took him aside as we were leaving our office the afternoon before I had my final meeting with Ted.

“Pete,” I said as I held onto his sleeve, “I’m on my way to finish this business tonight and there’s one thing I just have to know.”

His eyes began twitching. I could tell he was gearing up for another “I just can’t say any more” session.

“Is it worth it?” I asked.

He smiled the same way he had the morning he told me about Reconciliation Services, Inc. “Yeah, it is. If you love your kids half as much as I love mine.”

That was all I needed to firm up my wavering resolve.

I returned to Ted’s dingy office for the third time. Even though I was carrying a large amount of cash, I wasn’t worried about being robbed. Somehow, I felt protected as long as I was on his turf for a good reason. Like doing business. I didn’t know how many of the grubby hoods who were standing around would come to my aid if I did get jumped, but I guessed it’d be a few of the bigger ones. I didn’t think Ted would hire guys who ate quiche.

It seemed that every one of those streetlight people was eyeing the stranger among them. I kept my eyes to the ground.

This time, Ted was all business—no smiles, no yellow teeth.

“You got the money?”

I silently reached into my coat and withdrew a fat envelope. I tossed it on his desk.

He ruffled through the contents and I’m firmly convinced he counted every dollar of it as he did so.

“Fine, Mr. Norris, fine.”

He reached into his own coat. I took a step back, eyes wide, expecting a gun. Instead, he pulled out a ring of keys.

“Calm down, Mr. Norris. We’re in business together. I’m not about to harm a partner.”

I didn’t care for the implication of that. “Client” and “doing” business together were far more to my liking.

He flipped the keys onto his desk. I recognized them immediately—my old set of house keys.

“Your home is once again your castle, Mr. Norris. Your wife will be leaving the house at approximately six o’clock tomorrow night. Your kids will be in the hands of a babysitter. I’m sure you can come up with an excuse to send her home.”

I smiled as I picked up the set of keys that I hadn’t used in such a long time. Ted reached into the top desk drawer and pulled out a piece of paper.

“This is our standard contract.” He turned it around and held it toward me. “You won’t be receiving a copy, so I suggest you read it carefully and remember it.”

I took it from him with a feeling of foreboding. I’m no lawyer, but I have signed my share of leases and mortgages. This was the most incredible certificate I’d ever seen masquerading as a legal document. Its only two clauses were couched in an absolute minimum of legalese.

I,____________, agree to pay Reconciliation Services Inc. the sum of__________ dollars for services rendered.

I also promise not to divulge their trade practices to any source, public or private, under penalty of sanctions to be determined by Reconciliation Services, Inc.

SIGNED__________________ DATE__________

The case number was stamped in the upper right corner. No space for a Notary Public and no lines for witnesses’ signatures. Somehow, I didn’t think they were necessary. I filled in the four blanks.

“I can’t emphasize that last clause enough, Mr. Norris. Our methods are secret not only for our sake, but for yours as well.”

“I understand,” I said as I handed the contract back.

“Not yet you don’t, but you will.”

Another involuntary shudder.

“Now, when your wife returns…”

“Returns? You mean you’re not going to…”

“Kill her, Mr. Norris? Is that what you thought?” He laughed at me again. “Lord, no. Our methods aren’t quite that extreme.”

“Then what do you do?”

“We reconcile people, Mr. Norris. Be patient. It wouldn’t do to get cold feet at this point. In any event, when she returns, your marital problems will be over and you’ll understand why we can guarantee our results.”

“How long will she be gone?”

“Two or three weeks.”

Our conversation didn’t last much longer after that. Mostly, he thanked me for my business. I went back to my apartment for what I expected would be the last time. I spent most of the night packing in anticipation. My sleep was restless and the dawn came much too early. Work the next day was a useless exercise. Not only was my mind elsewhere, but my body was too tired to respond to much of anything. Pete could see I wasn’t up to par, but he didn’t say anything. I think he suspected.

Around 6:30, I drove up to my house. My wife’s car was gone. I parked in the street and walked up the front door. I let myself in with the keys Ted had given me. It startled the daylights out of the poor babysitter.

“Wh-wh-wh-what are you doing here?” she asked fearfully.

“I’m sorry, Sheila. Didn’t Angela tell you she gave me permission to visit tonight?”

“No, Mr. Norris, she didn’t.”

Sheila knew it was a messy situation and I could tell she wasn’t sure who was lying, me or Angela. She was very uncomfortable at my showing up unannounced like this. Fortunately, the children broke the tension. Ricky and Sharon heard us and were yelling “Daddy! Daddy!” as they came running out of the kitchen and began wrapping themselves around my legs.

“I guess she must have forgotten. In fact, I’m going to be staying here for awhile. We’re going to talk about a reconciliation.”

“Oh, that’d be great.” Sheila smiled warmly, her cute little teen-aged eyes sparkling. “The kids really miss you.”

“I miss them, too,” I said, picking them up in each arm. “C’mon, we’ll all hop into the car and I’ll take you home.”

“Okay.”

The next two and a half weeks were the happiest I’d had since before the separation. I picked up Ricky and Sharon every night at the daysitter’s and spent the evening playing with them, reading them stories, and tucking them in. The only painful moments came when they occasionally asked, “When’s mommy coming home?” or “Are we gonna be a family again?” At least I wasn’t lying to them when I answered, “I don’t know” and “I hope so.”

A couple of times, I thought I had it figured out. I had to reject the idea of drugs, though, because that wouldn’t take three weeks. All they had to do was hand me a bottle and tell me how often to give her the pills. And then provide refills. So that wasn’t it.

And some kind of exotic brainwashing didn’t make much sense, either. Angela’s only 28 and I figured someone that young would eventually get over most of the effects of any physical or mental torture. That didn’t sound like guaranteed work to me. And besides, that would take longer than three weeks. A lot longer.

Then, suddenly, with no warning, Ted showed up at the house. It was almost midnight and the kids were in bed. I knew it had to be him as soon as I saw the black van pull up to the curb. I watched two figures huddle around the sliding side door for a few moments and then they turned, maneuvering a much smaller figure between them. It didn’t take me long to recognize Angela in the wheelchair.

I ran to open the door for them. Ted and the other man pushing the chair entered the hallway, but I didn’t look at them. I was staring at Angela. She looked a lot different. Sallow, lifeless eyes, blank facial expression, and an odd hair style. That grabbed me more than anything else. Her black hair had always been long and flowing, pulled back from her face, and cascading down her nape, but now it was cut in short bangs and thrust awkwardly forward. It took me a few moments to realize that Ted was talking to me.

“As for your acquaintances, Mr. Norris, we’ve found that concocting a story about a bathroom accident while visiting faraway friends or relatives is quite effective. Just be consistent with your details. In a few weeks, the hair will grow back and the scar will be completely hidden.”

“Scar? What scar?”

Ted reached down to Angela’s forehead and pulled her hair back. A thin cicatrix wound its way from temple to temple at the hairline.

“Now I think you can understand why we’re so expensive. Our facilities are quite professional, I assure you. We pride ourselves that we aren’t like some kind of backyard abortion clinic. And the medical expertise doesn’t come cheap, either. Our only drawback is that it’s dangerous for our patients to spend too much time recuperating at our clinic, so we have to send them home much sooner than we’d really like.”

I continued to stare at Angela’s head. “What kind of operation is this?” I asked, afraid of the answer.

“A lobotomy, Mr. Norris.”

I’m not quite sure how far my jaw dropped. Then I remembered the hell of the past few months. And the two little ones upstairs.

Worth every lousy penny.