Mario Puzo - Fools die

I was impressed and surprised. It had seemed such a little thing we had done. Just taking some money for doing a harmless little hocus-pocus. It hadn’t even seemed crooked. Just an accommodation, a meeting in terms of interest between two different parties beneficial to both and harmful to no one. Sure, we had broken a few laws, but we hadn’t done anything really bad. And here the government was spending thousands of dollars to put us in jail. It didn’t seem fair. We hadn’t shot anybody, we hadn’t stuck up a bank, we hadn’t embezzled funds or forged checks or received stolen goods or committed rape or even been spies for the Russians. What the hell was all the fuss about? I laughed. For some reason I was suddenly in really good spirits.

“What the hell are you laughing about?” Frank said. “This is serious.”

There were people scattered all around us, some within earshot. I said to Frank cheerfully, “What the hell do we have to worry about? We’re innocent, and we know this is all a bunch of bullshit. Fuck them all.”

He grinned back at me, catching on. “Yeah,” he said. “But still, I’d like to kill a few of these little pricks.”

“Don’t even say that kidding.” I gave him a warning look. They might have this hail bugged. “You know you don’t mean it.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Frank said reluctantly. “You’d think these guys would be proud to serve their country. I didn’t squawk, and I’ve been through one war.”

Then we heard Frank’s name being called out by one of the bailiffs near the two huge doors with the big black and white sign on them that read “Grand Jury Room.” As Frank went in, I saw Paul Hemsi coming out. I went up to him and said, “Hi Paul, how you doing?” I held out my hand and he shook it.

He seemed uncomfortable but didn’t look guilty. “How’s your father?” I said.

“He’s OK,” Paul said. He hesitated briefly. “I know Fm not supposed to talk about my testimony. You know I can’t do that. But my father said to tell you not to worry about anything.”

I felt a wild surge of relief. He had been my one real worry. But Cully had said he would fix the Hemsi family, and now it seemed to be done. I didn’t know how Cully had managed it and I didn’t care. I watched Paul go to the bank of elevators, and then another one of my customers, a young kid who was an apprentice theater director I had enlisted at no charge, came up to me. He was really concerned about me, and he told me that he and his friends would testify that I had never asked for or received money from them. I thanked him and shook hands. I made some jokes and smiled a lot and it wasn’t even acting. I was playing the role of the jolly slick bribe taker thereby projecting his all-American innocence. I realized with some surprise that I was enjoying the whole thing. In fact, I was holding court with a lot of my customers, who were all telling me what a bunch of shit the whole business was, caused by a few soreheads. I even felt that Frank might beat the rap. Then I saw Frank come out of the grand jury room and heard my name called. Frank looked a little grim but mad, and I could tell he hadn’t cracked, that he was going to fight it out. I went through the two huge doors and into the grand jury room. By the time I went out through the doors I had wiped the smile off my face.

It was nothing like the movies. The grand jury seemed to be a mass of people sitting in rows of folding chairs. Not in a jury box or anything. The district attorney stood by a desk with sheets of paper he read from. There was a stenotype reporter sitting at a tiny desk with his machine on it. I was directed to sit on a chair that was on a little raised platform so that the jury could see me clearly. It was almost as if I were the ladderman in a baccarat pit.

The district attorney was a young guy dressed in a very conservative black suit with a white shirt and neatly knotted sky blue tie. He had thick black hair and very pale skin. I didn’t know his name, and never knew it. His voice was very calm and very detached as he asked me questions. He was just putting information into the record, not trying to impress the jury.

He didn’t even come near me when he asked his questions, just stood by his desk. He established my identity and my job.

“Mr. Merlyn,” he said, “did you ever solicit money from anyone for any reason whatsoever?”

“No,” I said. I looked at him and the jury members right in the eye as I gave my answers. I kept my face serious, though for some reason I wanted to smile. I was still high.

The district attorney said, “Did you receive any money from anyone in order for him to be enlisted in the six months’ Army Reserve program?”

“No,” I said.

“Do you have any knowledge of any other person’s receiving money contrary to law in order to receive preferred treatment in any way?”

“No,” I said, still looking at him and the mass of people sitting so uncomfortably on their small folding chairs. The room was an interior room and dark with bad lighting. I couldn’t really make out their faces.

“Do you have any knowledge of any superior officer or anyone else at all using special influence to get someone into the six months’ program when his name was not on the waiting lists kept by your office?”

I knew he would ask a question like that. And I had thought about whether I should mention the congressman who had come down with the heir of the steel fortune and made the major toe the line. Or tell how the Reserve colonel and some of the other Reserve officers had put their own friends’ sons on the list out of turn. Maybe that would scare off the investigators or divert attention to those higher-ups. But then I realized that the reason the FBI was taking all this trouble was to uncover higher-ups, and if that happened, the investigation would be intensified. Also, the whole affair would acquire more importance to the newspapers if a congressman were involved. So I had decided to keep my mouth shut. If I were indicted and tried, my lawyer could always use that information. So now I shook my head and said, “No.”

The district attorney shuffled his papers and then said, without looking at me, “That will be all. You’re excused.” I got out of my chair and stepped down and left the jury room. And then I realized why I was so cheerful, so high, almost delighted.

I had been a magician, really. All those years when everybody was sailing along, taking bribes without a worry in the world, I had peered into the future and foreseen this day. These questions, this courthouse, the FBI, the specter of prison. And I had cast spells against them. I had hidden my money with Cully. I had taken great pains not to make enemies among all the people I had done illegal business with. I had never explicitly asked for any definite sum of money. And when some of my customers had stuffed me, I had never chased them. Even Mr. Hemsi after promising to make me happy for the rest of my life. Well, he had made me happy just by getting his son not to testify. Maybe that’s what had turned the trick, not Cully. Except that I knew better. It was Cully who had got me off the hook. But OK, even if I had needed a little help, I was still a magician. Everything had happened exactly as I knew it would. I was really proud of myself. I didn’t care that maybe I was just a slick hustler who took intelligent precautions.

When Cully got off the plane, he took a taxi to a famous bank in Manhattan. He looked at his watch. It was after 10 A.M. Gronevelt would be making his call right now to the vice-president of the bank that Cully was delivering the money to.

Everything was as planned. Cully was ushered into the vice-president’s office, and behind closed, locked doors, he delivered the briefcase.