Philip Dick: Humpty Dumpty in Oakland

Only two and a half days had passed since he and Julie had started on their trip. I wonder where she is, Al thought as he sat on a bench in one of the courtrooms, waiting to be arraigned. Did she go back to Reno? Is she there now? Strange he thought, to be back here. He had never expected to see Oakland again. Through a window of the courtroom he could make out the public buildings of Alameda County, and somewhere, not far out of sight, would be Lake Merritt. Where, many times, he had gone canoeing.

Coming back by air made the distance seem short. I didn’t get very far, he decided. A few hours away; that’s all, for those who travel by air. It had never occurred to him to take a plane. That must be the kind of thing Lydia meant, he thought. When she said I understood the world so little.

Someone, evidently an employee of the court, came over and told him he should have an attorney.

“Okay,” he said. The whole thing seemed vague to him. “I will.”

“You want to phone?”

“Maybe later,” Al said. He could not think of anyone to phone. He wished that he had his pills with him. Perhaps he did; he began fishing in his pockets, but without success. No, he realized. The Anacin tin was in another pair of pants. Or the police had taken it away; they had gone over all his things. Maybe that’s what happened to me, he thought. Somehow I got cut off from my pills.

The next he knew, a short, bald, foreign-looking man in a double-breasted suit had come into the courtroom. I know him, Al said to himself. Maybe he’s my lawyer. But then he remembered him. It was Lydia’s lawyer, whatever his name was.

Several people conferred with the lawyer, and then Al found himself being moved out of the courtroom, down a hallway. I’m really in their hands, he said to himself. They guide me around wherever they want. A policeman pointed to an open door, and Al entered a side room, a sort of office with chairs and a table.

“Thanks,” he said to the policeman. But the policeman had already gone on.

The door opened and Lydia’s short, bald, foreign lawyer entered with his briefcase; moving rapidly, in an important manner, he seated himself facing Al and unzipped his briefcase. For a moment he glanced over papers and then he looked up. He smiled. They all smile, Al thought. Maybe that’s how you can tell them.

“I’m Boris Tsarnas,” the lawyer said. “We have met.”

“Yeah,” Al said.

“Mrs. Fergesson didn’t want to see you, at least at this time. I’m her counsel, you understand, in this matter.” His voice dropped to a drone. “As well as other matters involving the estate of her deceased husband and so forth.” He studied Al for so long that Al became uncomfortable. The man had bright, intelligent eyes, small as they were. “The investment,” Tsarnas said, “was perfectly reputable.”

That was it then. That explained it. Al nodded.

“We had all the financial records, all the statements from the accountants, gone over. The net return on her investment will probably be very high; at least ten percent, possibly more. Possibly as high as twelve. Harman was acting without any recompense. He has no involvement with the enterprise, save that he knows both Mr. Bradford and the deceased Mr. Fergesson. It appears that he was doing precisely as he indicated, offering his informed guidance in securing for the deceased a premium investment which now becomes advantageous to the heir, Mrs. Fergesson. And so I have advised her.” He snapped his briefcase shut. In a friendly manner, he said, “I thought you would be interested in knowing. You seemed to have some concern over Mr. Harman’s reliability. When the check in question was stopped at Mrs. Fergesson’s insistence, Mr. Harman proceeded to make good on it himself. That is, he advanced forty-one thousand dollars of his own money to Mr. Bradford to cover the sum, until such time as the check would be made good. So he risked a good deal of his own cash to be sure the investment opportunity was secured and therefore not lost to the widow of the deceased.”

Presently Al said, “Lydia knows all this?”

“As soon as we had gone over the financial statements, we so informed her. This Marin Gardens place is well thought of, in Marin County real-estate investment circles. A number of sanguine people on the other side of the Bay, and a few here, have bought in.”

Al said, “What’s that got to do with her having me arrested?”

“You obtained a large sum from Mrs. Fergesson under false pretenses. You alleged that while working to protect her interests you encountered a severe loss, and you intimated that she was responsible and so should make good. As soon as she told me what she had done, I advised her to start action to stop that check.” The man’s eyes danced. “But of course you put it right through. Mrs. Fergesson then wished me to advise her concerning further action. You had, as we discovered, left California as soon as you had cashed the check.” His smile grew. “The bank informed us that you had converted the two thousand dollars into traveler’s checks. And we found that both you and your wife had packed and left together. In fact she had packed while you cashed the check.” He continued to smile at Al, almost as if he admired him.

“I sold her a car,” Al said.

“A thirty-year-old car completely in ruins. Worth no more than a few dollars as scrap.”

It was true. He had to admit it. “But they wrecked the car,” he said.

“Who?” Tsarnas’s eyes blazed up briefly.

“Harman and his goons.”

“Nonsense. Yes, you told her that. The Oakland police have the vandals. The car was wrecked even before Mr. Fergesson’s death, by some kids who’ve been vandalizing property up and down West Oakland for months.”

“Juveniles,” Al murmured.

“Yes,” Tsarnas said.

Al said, “Harman got my wife fired.”

“Your wife wasn’t fired,” Tsarnas said.

Al stared at him.

“If its important to establish this, and I don’t quite see why it is, we—that is, the Harman organization—checked with your wife’s employer. She quit, sir. She said that her husband now had a decent job and she had been wanting to quit for quite some time. It was not unexpected. They had no idea where she or you might have gone; she simply quit and left the office. Her check is being mailed to her. She didn’t even wait to pick it up.” The lawyer studied Al. “You were interested in Fergesson’s money, I take it; the accrual from the sale of his garage. Or was it a grudge because he sold his garage? Why did you go to so much trouble to bilk Mrs. Fergesson, deceiving her regarding the investment arranged through Mr. Harman, and then settle for two thousand instead of the—”

“I have nothing to say,” Al said. Somewhere he remembered that statement; it seemed to be right. It seemed to be what he wanted.

Considering, Tsarnas at length said, “Mrs. Fergesson is interested in having her money restored to her. Not in persecuting you. Do you have the money?”

“Most of it,” Al said.

“It can be arranged,” Tsarnas said, “that if you make full restitution, no charges will be pressed. There are innumerable expenses connected with your arrest in Utah and your return here; probably something would have to be worked out with both states. I don’t know. Anyhow, if you are willing and able—”

“I am,” Al said. “Willing and able. I can sell my lot and the rest of my cars. To get the money.”

“You have no record?” Tsarnas said. “No history of bunko stuff of this kind?”

“No history at all,” Al said.

“Were you working alone?” Tsarnas said. “I’m just curious. I know Mrs. Fergesson had great fondness and admiration for you, up to the moment she realized—and don’t imagine she wanted to realize—that you had bilked her out of two thousand dollars. My Lord, didn’t you work with her husband for a number of years?”