Sol Stein - Other people

Widmer got me on the phone early. "George," he said, "Francine was very upset last night."

"I'm not surprised."

"What happened?"

"Did you ask her?"

"She wouldn't say anything."

"Then it's not my place to."

"Please?"

"There was a trespassing incident involving the man who raped her, Ned. Fortunately, the police were able to intervene. I've lodged a trespassing complaint."

"George, I want her out of that apartment. I don't care what it costs."

"She doesn't take instruction from me, Ned. You'd better talk to her yourself. Remember, there's that damn lease."

"I don't give a damn about the lease! Anyway, breaking leases should be child's play for you, George."

"Ned, there are leases and leases. I don't even know who owns that building. It might take good money."

"I don't care."

"One thing's sure, Ned. There won't be an escape clause on the grounds that the folks upstairs include a rapist and the super is a one-armed freak."

"What's this about the super?"

"He was with Koslak last night. He was the one who let him in the apartment."

"Jesus, George, there must be a way."

"Sure, let's run a sublease ad. Wanted: tenant for apartment under rapist. Ned, you can't even say 'Gentlemen Only' in an ad any more! Want to take the responsibility of a sublease to another young woman without telling her what she's getting into?"

"I don't care if the apartment sits empty. George, are you pursuing the original complaint?"

"You bet your life."

"When?"

"Right now. Today."

"Keep me posted, George. And one other thing."

"What?"

"Don't tell Francine I called."

Thank heaven for disbarred lawyers. Without someone like Fat Tar-bell, my investigative work would be a lot more time-consuming. If a disbarred lawyer doesn't want to spend the rest of his life clerking for paralegal wages, he's got to develop a specialty. Tarbell is a sucker fish on the body of the Westchester D.A.'s office.

I can tell Tarbell likes me. He follows the cases for which he supplies information, and keeps score. He knows what my score is, and it is through him that at least part of my reputation among lawyers in this county is built.

I doubt anybody'd go after Tarbell. Not any more. He knows too much.

I phoned him, asked about his Mrs. and his kid John — John's at Yale Law School and I can tell you he's one lawyer who's never going to get caught doing anything that'd get him disbarred. Then I got down to it.

"I'd like to talk Cunham into a criminal prosecution."

"Shame on you. Who do you want to get?"

"Somebody a client wants to get. How's Cunham fixed?"

"Up to his ass. He's shuffling troublemakers like you off on a kid named Lefkowitz. Know him?"

I didn't and asked Tarbell to fill me in.

"I'll tell you. He wears a key chain."

"Thanks a lot."

"How many guys you know today wear a key chain? He's Harvard summa , Columbia Law, listen, he's had the same girl friend since high school. He weekends in Amagansett where he breaks the law smoking grass with some other unmarried couples they share a rental with. Twenty-seven, an assistant D.A., he thinks he's riding shotgun for God. He's going to be Attorney General by the time he's forty."

"I'll bet."

"Well, there are two ways of dealing with a kid like Lefkowitz," Tarbell went on. "You can Stepin Fetchit, kiss young massa's ass, make him feel so big and so good he'll get his rocks off doing a favor for Big Shot Thomassy. However, George Thomassy no good as Stepin Fetchit. You better zap him. He's chicken shit if you come on strong. What's the complaint?"

"Rape," I said.

"Forget it. Not this year."

"Want to bet a case of wine?"

"I never gamble," said Tarbell. "You'd have to have Cunham's family jewels in your safe."

"You got anything useful?" I asked.

"Don't I always? Except this particular bit takes a very tough character to use."

I didn't say a thing.

"It'll cost you two hundred if you use it, four hundred if it works."

"Photograph?"

"Newspaper clip."

"I'll be over."

"Look, do me a favor," said Tarbell, "don't come to my place this time."

"You keeping an underage mistress?"

"Just meet me in the Gristede's parking lot in half an hour."

"I hope whoever's tapping your phone isn't listening."

"I pay real good to have it cleaned regulady."

"You think of everything."

"If I thought of everything, I wouldn't have lost my license. I'd be making a fortune like you guys."

I spotted Fat Tarbell in his Ford before he saw me. I walked over to the driver's window and said, "Don't move."

Tarbell laughed. "Come on, I saw you in the mirror. Here, put this in your wallet. I don't want you to lose it unless you lose your wallet."

"This is a Xerox."

"I've got the original if you ever need it. No extra charge."

"I wish there were easier ways."

"Fuck that. I'd be out of business."

As I watched him drive off, I thought if I ever got disbarred, what would I do to make a living?

When I phoned Lefkowitz I said I wanted to see him at 3:00 P.M. that day and I hoped it wouldn't be too inconvenient. He started to say something about a previous appointment, which I told him he could blame me for in canceling and I would be there at three sharp.

When I arrived I told the secretary not to bother I knew the way and went right past her, around the L, and into the office marked "Gerald R. Lefkowitz." He looked up from his newspaper, actually blushed folding it up like he had been caught masturbating, and I said, "Three o'clock on the button."

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Thomassy," said the boy lawyer, holding out a flustered hand.

"Lefkowitz," I said, "I'm not much for sitting around offices. Why don't we take a walk. Okay?"

He glanced over at the armchair he had been planning to seat me in as if to apologize to it for it missing this opportunity to have George Thomassy's celebrated ass sitting in it for half an hour.

"I hope you walk with a brisk stride," I said.

"I hope so," said Lefkowitz. In two minutes we were outside, and I set the pace at Thomassy's not-quite-marathon walking speed.

"Exercising the body stimulates the mind," I said. "Don't you agree?

He agreed.

I was going to get him to agree to a lot more before the walk was over. First I filled him in on the facts. Then I said, "Lefkowitz, we're not going to have trouble over the sexual aspects because you're a member of a smart new generation with no hang-ups, so we can talk frankly, right?"

When he said "right" he was already short of breath. Good.

"You didn't by any chance row at Harvard?"

He shook his head.

"Pity," I said. "Great sport. Now. What happened to Miss Widmer, you'll recall that's the name of the complainant, was a crime of violence, that's what we have to keep foremost in our minds. I'd wanted to be sure to brief you thoroughly before I see Gary."

His speech was beginning to crack up into breathy stretches. "There are… certain kinds of cases… rape is one of them… that Mr. Cunham is not fond of putting before mixed company."

"I've heard he uses that expression about the Grand Jury. You tired? You want to sit down on that bench?"

Lefkowitz declined the chance to rest. Foolish.

"When you've added to your experience," I said, "you'll find that the majority of so-called sex crimes have nothing to do with sex. I don't mean your peeping tom or your run-of-the-mill exhibitionist. I'm talking about forcing sex on someone."

"Rape," said Lefkowitz.

"Right. Maybe it'll be easier to judge my conclusion — and I want you to be the judge, Lefkowitz — if you consider a case of male-to-male rape, say in prison."