Sol Stein - Other people

"Happens every day."

"Right. But is it sexually motivated? Look, if a convict deprived of normal company builds up a head of steam, he can always use his hand. It's convenient — I almost said it's handy — doesn't bother anybody, relief is quick, and nobody gets hurt. However—" I stopped walking and looked straight at Lefkowitz. "Your heart okay? You're puffing a bit."

"Don't do much walking. Should do more."

"Continue?"

"Why not?"

"Okay. We were talking about a prisoner. If he wants some variety, there's always someone else's hand around for fair exchange. No big deal. Why then, I ask you, doesn't a day go by in any sizable jail without one or more single or gang rapes? I mean it's trouble compared to jacking off. They take the trouble because it's a method of control, of putting someone down, or keeping someone in line. Got it? If the guy who leads a gang rape lets everyone else have a piece afterwards, it's he who's the permission-giver. Rape is a function of power. The sex is incidental. The violence or threat of violence isn't. Which is back where we started. Rape is a crime of violence having relatively little to do with sex urges that can be satisfied in different and lots less complicated ways."

"That's a very interesting point of view, Mr. Thomassy."

I stopped, giving Lefkowitz a chance to puff while stationary.

"I am not in the habit," I told him, "of espousing interesting points of view. That's what law school teachers do. They're exercising their students' minds. I have to deal with the practical realities of crime in this county, and I wouldn't hold the view I have about rape if it wasn't — based on my experience — true. Follow?"

I had turned around and could see the relief in his face at the prospect of heading back toward his office.

"I would like to reflect on what you have said, Mr. Thomassy."

"I wish there were more time. But it's imperative that we get the Widmer case to the Grand Jury as soon as possible, and while you—" I gave him eyeball-to-eyeball for two seconds— "undoubtedly have the authority to do so yourself, I expect you will want to consult Gary since he has pronounced views on the matter. I could see him almost any time next week. Does that allow you enough time?"

Lefkowitz did not respond.

"I know what's troubling you," I said. "You don't like to have the boss say no. I want to assure you he won't."

"I don't mean to question your confidence, Mr. Thomassy, but on what basis do you think that Mr. Cunham would agree to put a difficult case on an unpopular subject before the jurors?"

"First, you will persuade him that we are talking about a crime of violence. Gary's very into violence, he uses it in all his speeches about how permissive Democrats in New York have reaped the whirlwind and how Cunham's Republican Westchester is a safe place to live because violence is not condoned, correct? Do you know a Mr. Morrell?"

"A who?"

"Charles Morrell?"

I could see his mind going like a pinball machine registering tilt .

"I used to see him in Amagansett," I said, "on my way out to East Hampton. Don't worry, he doesn't let me copy his customer list. The point is that smoking grass doesn't seem to harm people the way violence does, which is why you, and I, and Gary Cunham are concentrating on stopping violence, not victimless crimes that haven't been wiped off the statute books yet."

Mr. Gerald R. Lefkowitz, Amagansett weekend potsmoker, showed visible relief.

"Third, I know Gary will agree with your recommendation that the Widmer case go before the jury because of this."

I looked left and right as if I was about to slip Lefkowitz the Pentagon Papers. From my breast wallet I took the Xerox of the clipping from the Buffalo student newspaper. It was a mild little thing, really, Charles Cunham, identified as the son of Westchester's D.A., was lauded for his leadership role in two "controversial" student organizations, LEMAR and the Gay Activists Alliance. Lefkowitz looked at the clipping, at me, back at the clipping.

"Let me explain. I think it's fine that Gary's son is working for the legalization of marijuana, especially because of his background. It's not as if he's defying his father because he's working for legalization, right, of a harmless substance, right? I just think that Gary, and I really don't know him that well, I'm sure you've gotten to know him better working with him as closely as you do, I don't think he likes to advertise the fact that his son's sexual preference is what it is, perhaps he takes it as some kind of sign of personal failure on his part in raising the boy or setting an example. Who knows? Probably a very old-fashioned view. I know for a fact that one reporter in the Gannett chain is looking for a Gunham story. I don't know the background of that vendetta, whatever it is, but I don't think he ought to be prodded onto this one, don't you agree?"

I had to give Lefkowitz credit. He looked me straight in the eye when he said, "Mr. Thomassy, I believe you are trying to influence both my attitude toward this case and Mr. Gunham's attitude as well by an implicit threat."

"Did you think it was implicit? Mr. Lefkowitz, you're in the early part of what I am certain will be a marvelous career in the justice system . I can sum up by saying that above all, I don't believe in people getting hurt."

I slipped the clipping back in my wallet.

"I suppose you'll feel an obligation to alert Mr. Gunham to the fact that I don't believe in people getting hurt?"

"Goodbye, Mr. Thomassy." He held out his hand. I shook it.

"Goodbye, Mr. Lefkowitz. Please let my secretary know when I'm to see Mr. Gunham."

I watched young Lefkowitz trundle back to his office, a bit more knowledgeable about the facts of life than he had been before 3:00 P.M.

When it became obvious that the case was going to be taking me out of the office more than I could cover with ordinary excuses, I decided to tell X about the rape. I kept it to a minimum. I'd been attacked. Chances are that the man would be prosecuted. I was cooperating. I didn't tell him that it was me who was determined to get Koslak behind bars.

"I'm sorry it happened," X said. "I'm glad it didn't make the papers."

"The trial might," I told him.

"It could blow your security clearance."

"Is that all you're concerned about?"

"Don't get angry, Francine," he said. "No clearance, no job."

I couldn't allow myself to think about that. I immersed myself in my assignment, one I really liked. X was preparing a two-page insert on hypocrisy for a speech to be given by the American Ambassador to the U.N. It wasn't for a particular speech, but was to be kept on hand for any occasion that might prompt a speech in the Assembly. It was my boss's idea to round up ten or twelve quickly told examples of hypocritical conduct on the highest level. My job was to scour around for historical incidents in odd parts of the world so that it wouldn't look like we were picking on Western Europe or the Soviet Union. Every continent had to be included, except Australia. And the personages involved had to be immediately identifiable. The idea was that the insert would be used when the Ambassador addressed the Assembly as an adversary against a position taken by "the other side," which by this time included most of the world. It was assumed that whatever the Ambassador was speaking against could be attacked as hypocritical. I think the point of the exercise was to convey to the people who could still bear to listen to the U.N. on radio or watch snippets on TV that the Ambassador was a master of political history and irony, someone who could send up the enemy and therefore might be in line for high elective office. Of course the taxpayers' money was not supposed to be spent on promoting a domestic political candidate, so the exercise on hypocrisy was itself hypocritical, and I was having a good time ferreting out material for my boss to choose from.