The Criminal

by Jim Thompson

  “Son of a b—h!” he said. “Those G-d D—d dimwitted Talberts! I ought to sue ’em for mopery!”

  “Some people is certainly stupid all right,” I said. “But I guess in a kind of crisis like this they’re probably kind of out of their minds.”

  “They ain’t got any G-d D—d minds!” he said. “Hold him there, Dick. Stall it some way. Just give me a couple of hours—an hour. You do that, and I’ll appreciate it. I’ll appreciate it, very much, Dick.”

  “I’ll certainly do my best, Mr. Kossmeyer” I said. “I can’t make no promises, but—”

  He banged up the phone.

  I went on back to the booth where Charlie Alt was.

  He looked at me, looking sort of sore, an’ then he kind of laughed. “Halvers?” he said.

  “Halvers?” I said. “Halvers on what, Charlie?”

  “Halvers on what you get from Kossmeyer,” he said. “H—, it’s only fair, Dick. I was going to call him myself if you hadn’t got firsts on the phone. I’d’ve give you half if I’d called him.”

  Well, there was two schools of thought on that, if you follow my meaning. But there wasn’t much else I could do so I said, well, all right, if he felt he was entitled to it.

  “Kossy says we should stall,” I said. “We stall an hour or maybe two until he can get hold of some judge for a habeas, he’ll appreciate it very much.”

  “Kossy’s all right,” Charlie said. “He’s one good Jew if you ask me.”

  “What you got to say a thing like that for?” I said. “He can’t help it if he’s a Jew, can he? What’s wrong with being a Jew?”

  “H—,” Charlie said. “What you snapping me up for? I say something nice about him, and you snap me up.”

  “Well,” I said.

  “You’d better watch yourself, Dick,” he said. “You go around acting like that and people will think maybe you’re part Jew yourself.”

  “Like who maybe will think that?” I said. “Anyway, I’d a lot rather be a Jew than some certain other people I know, if you follow my meaning.”

  “Yeah?” he said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  He sat and frowned at me a minute or two, and then he picked up the menu.

  “H—,” he said, looking at the menu. “I don’t know why you got to get sore, Dick. Didn’t I say Kossy was a good friend of mine? Didn’t I say he was a hundred per cent gentleman and the best lawyer in town? H—, that’s nothing to get sore about.”

  “Well, all right,” I said. “I guess maybe I misunderstood you.”

  “I tell you what I think I’ll do,” he said. “I’d just as soon skip the peas. That makes two thirty-five instead of two-fifty.”

  “I’d just as soon, too,” I said. “We can get some extra bread for nothing if we want.”

  We gave our order to the waiter, told him to make the steaks extra well done. The d.a. telephoned when we’d just started eating, so the waiter told him we was eating and he said to tell us to get a move on.

  “What the h—?” Charlie said. “We ain’t supposed to eat any more?”

  “That’s what I say,” I said. “I guess maybe we can’t order our steaks the way we want ’em.”

  “What you think Kossy will give us, Dick?” he said.

  “Well…twenty apiece, maybe,” I said. “Probably fifty if we can stall until he comes up with the habeas.”

  Charlie kind of whistled. “Fif-ty bucks! What I can’t do with that! You really think he will, Dick?”

  “Why not?” I said. “I got fifty from Kossy two or three times. Things that wasn’t as much trouble as this.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “But there wasn’t anyone else in on it. He didn’t have to pay no one but you.”

  “He didn’t, huh?” I winked at him. “Vas you dere, Charlie?”

  “Wow! Fifty bucks!” Charlie said. “I tell you something, Dick. I’ll do something if you will. What you say we each drop an extra quarter for Who Flung Dung?”

  (The waiter’s name was Hop Lee, but Charlie always called him Hopalong or Who Flung Dung or something like that. Just kidding, you understand.)

  “You mean we give him fifty cents besides the thirty cents?” I said. “Almost a dollar tip?”

  “What the h—?” Charlie said. “We can afford it, can’t we?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” I said. “Suppose we can’t stall long enough. We maybe can’t get away with it.”

  “We’ll get away with it,” Charlie said. “I’ll knock Clinton down and set on him if I have to.”

  “Well, all right,” I said. “You leave an extra two-bits and I will. But I’d feel a lot more comfortable about it if I had that fifty bucks in my pocket.”

  “Fifty bucks!” Charlie said. “Boy, oh, boy! You still want to make a deal on that Smith & Wesson, Dick?”

  “I’ll sell it,” I said. “I ain’t taking any old beat-up Colt in trade.”

  “Beat up?” he said. “And I guess that old Smith & Wesson ain’t beat up! I guess you bought it brand new from Mr. Smith and Wesson instead of taking it off of that nigger highjacker.”

  “I wouldn’t say anything about me taking things off of people, Charlie,” I said, “if you follow my meaning.”

  “Well, don’t go running down my Colt all the time,” he said. “People hear you knocking it all the time, I never will get rid of it. I had two or three trades worked up, and someone hears a knock on it—I ain’t saying it came from you, now—and the deal falls through.”

  “Look, Charlie,” I said. “Irregardless of what you may have heard to the contrary, I have never at any time or place knocked that Colt to anyone. On the contrary, Charlie, and I can prove it. Dusty Kramer, over on city vice, he came up to me the other day and said, frankly, what was my honest opinion, and I said frankly I didn’t see how a man could go wrong on a good Colt. I said you asked for my honest opinion, and there it is. You see yourself a good Colt at the right price and you better grab it.”

  “Well,” Charlie said. “I didn’t say you knocked it, Dick. I didn’t think you’d do a thing like that.”

  “You know why I don’t want to take in a trade,” I said. “I’ve explained the situation to you several times, Charlie. I got a Colt and I got a Smith & Wesson, and getting rid of the Smith & Wesson, I still have the Colt. I don’t want another one, two Colts, even if it ain’t all beat up.”

  “This is my last offer,” Charlie said. “I’ll swap you the Colt and fifteen dollars, no, twenty dollars. That’s my last offer, Dick, take it or leave it.”

  “You just made yourself a deal, mister,” I said.

  “I’ll pay you tomorrow,” he said, “just as soon as we get the dough from Kossmeyer.”

  “Well, all right,” I said, “but if it’s no dough, no deal. I got to have the cash on the line, Charlie.”

  “You’ll get it,” he said. “We’ll stall that Clinton if we have to hogtie him.”

  We finished our steak and potatoes, and had some pie and coffee. Then, we had second coffees and someway the waiter didn’t charge us for them, so we left that money for him, too. Another twenty cents with the eighty. An even dollar tip. Me and Charlie kind of wanted to be around when he picked it up, see how he’d act, you know, but he was busy with some other tables and we figured we’d better be getting back.

  Practically everyone had been gone from the courthouse when we left, and everyone was gone now. I mean all the other offices was closed up tight but the d.a.’s, and even the elevator boy had gone home. All the lights was off but just a few little ones, and we practically had to feel our way up the stairs and down the corridor.

  We got to the d.a.’s office, the first one you go into I mean that’s got the railing running down the center and went on through the gate. Charlie was in the lead and I was right on his heels, and when we stopped all of a sudden I piled right into him.

  “Excuse me, Charlie,” I said.

  “Shh,” he said. “G-d d—n!”

  He jerked his head at the doo
r of the witness room, and I listened. I heard the d.a. say something, and then I heard the kid say something. There was a sound about it I didn’t like one little bit, and I could tell that Charlie didn’t like it one little bit either.

  He turned around and looked at me, and I looked at him. I could tell he was thinking the same thought I was.

  “Well, Charlie,” I said. “I guess them was just about the most expensive steaks we’ll ever eat.”

  “G-d D—n,” he said. “S-n of a b—h!”

  “I guess we should’ve et ’em rare,” I said.

  “Shh,” he said. “Listen, G-d D—n it!”

  So we listened:

  “Now, Bob, you want to tell the truth, don’t you? Do you want to tell the truth or do you want to go on lying?”

  “Yes! I mean, no, I don’t want to! I mean I’m not I don’t k-know I—”

  “You don’t know what the truth is, do you, Bob? Isn’t that what you mean? You’d rather tell the truth than to tell a lie, wouldn’t you? If I helped you out and told you what the truth was, would you tell it or would you tell a lie?”

  “Y-yes—no! I don’t know! Y-you got me all m-mix—”

  “You didn’t mean to kill that girl, did you, Bob? Did you? Just answer yes or no; did you or didn’t you mean to kill her?”

  “I…n-no.”

  “If you didn’t mean to, then it would be an accident wouldn’t it? Isn’t that right, Bob?”

  “I—I—I g-guess.”

  You didn’t go near the golf course, did you? Well, how do you know it wasn’t a half a mile? Did you measure it? How do you know it wasn’t a mile or two miles or…”

  “Because I told you an’ told—”

  “But that was a lie, remember? You wanted me to tell you the truth, because you’d rather tell the truth than tell a lie. Isn’t that right?”

  “I—I don’t know! I’m telling the truth!”

  “Fine. Of course, you are. You’re beginning to remember, get straightened out, and now you’re telling the truth. You’re a good boy, Bob. I knew it all the time. You liked little Josie. You might have got frightened and lost your head, everyone does that, but you liked her. You wouldn’t have killed her accidentally and then just wandered on off to the golf course as if nothing had happened. You don’t want me to think you’d do that, do you?”

  “N-no…”

  “How many times did you and she do it, Bob?”

  “J-just—”

  “Sure, but once can be several, can’t it? It could be, couldn’t it, Bob? You know, several times together?”

  “I d-don’t…WHAT YOU WANT ME TO SAY? WHAT YOU—”

  “Oh, I can’t tell you what to say, Bob. That wouldn’t be fair. Now, if you want me to help you remember—tell it in the right words so people will know you’re a fine boy and it was all just a mistake like anyone might make…Is that what you mean, Bob? You want me to help you, put it in the right words, so—”

  “Y-Y-YES!”

  Charlie Alt yanked the cigar out of his mouth, and flung it on the floor.

  “G-d D—n,” he said. “Good-bye fifty bucks!”

  10

  I. Kossmeyer

  I walked around my desk, and got right in front of Mrs. Talbert. I let my hands dangle, kangaroo fashion, pulled the corners of my mouth down and started fluttering my eyelids. It was a pretty good imitation of her, if I do say so.

  “Now, this is the way you look, Mrs. Talbert,” I said. “This is the way you sound…Wheeoo, yoweee, boo-hoo, blab-blab, honestly, actually, really, I can’t stand it, yickety-yickety-yoo, blah blah blah.”

  It took her completely by surprise. She couldn’t make up her mind whether to laugh or get sore.

  “W-well—well, honestly!” she began. “I—”

  “You see?” I grinned at her. “There you go again.”

  Well, she was pretty red-faced for a moment, and then suddenly she burst out laughing. Talbert gave her a startled look. I don’t imagine he’d heard her laugh like that in years. I don’t imagine he could have pulled a gag or a bit of clowning if his life depended on it.

  “Now, that’s better,” I said. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, Mrs. Talbert? A pretty young woman like you running around like a hen with its head off. Cackling and gabbling around about everything you know and ten times as much that you don’t. Weeping and wailing and yackety-yak bloo-blahing. Why, if you weren’t so pretty I’d turn you over my knee and paddle you.”

  She blushed, and giggled. “Why, Mr. Kossmeyer! You awful—”

  “Well, all right,” I said. “You be a good girl from now on. No more gabbing to anyone. No more pitching the dirt to or about anyone. No more bloo-booing and boohooing and all around nuttiness. We need friends, all we can get, understand? We need to act confident. You want to talk to someone you come and see me. We’ll give your old man a sleeping pill, and throw a wingding.”

  “Mr. Kossmeyer!” she simpered. “You’re just simply terrible!”

  “You’ll think I’m terrible,” I said, “if you give me any more trouble. Now, scram on out of here while your husband and I have a little talk. Go out and talk to my secretary. Tell her I said to order you up the biggest coke in town or I won’t hold her on my knee any more.”

  She went out giggling and blushing, and the poor old biddy actually twitched her butt at me. I drew the chair she’d been sitting in up in front of Talbert.

  “All right,” I said. “She needed that. That was for laughs. This isn’t. How much money can you raise?”

  “Well—uh—” He hesitated cautiously. “How much will you need?”

  “More than I’ll get out of you,” I said. “So make it light on me.”

  He frowned, uncomfortably. He just wasn’t used to doing business this way. “Well, I, uh—I just don’t know. If you could give me some idea—”

  “Look,” I said. “Look, Mr. Talbert. You’ve already placed me under a very serious handicap. If you’d done what you should have instead of giving way to your emotions and losing your head, you wouldn’t be here and your boy wouldn’t be where he is.”

  “I know,” he said. “I don’t know why I—”

  I cut him off. “Forget it. It’s over and done, so let’s get back to the subject. All I ask of my clients is that they pay their own way as far as they can. You tell me what you can do, and we’ll let it go at that.”

  “Well,” he said. “A—uh—thousand dollars?”

  I nodded, staring at him. “All right, Mr. Talbert. You know what you can do.”

  “Will you…?” He looked down at the floor. “I wouldn’t want to feel that Bob wasn’t—that the money—”

  “It won’t make a bit of difference,” I said. “I’ll do just as much for a thousand as I would for ten thousand. Or a hundred. I always do my best. That’s all I ask my clients to do.”

  “I’ve got a house,” he said. “A pretty good equity in it. I kind of hoped that—”

  “Many of my clients don’t have so much as a suit of clothes, Mr. Talbert. Not even the price of their next meal.”

  “I’ll get as much as I can,” he said. “Whatever I can get, well, I’ll be glad to do it.”

  “Good,” I said, “Get busy on it right away.”

  He looked a little let down. Gratitude yet, he expected! I was putting the blocks to him, and I wasn’t even being nice about it. I tricked him and kicked him at the same time.

  That was the way he felt, and why the hell I let it bother me I don’t know, because I’ve never had a client who didn’t feel exactly the same way. Enough: they don’t know what that is. But too much—that’s simple. Too much is what they pay you. And it’s still too much if they don’t pay anything. You’re getting all that free publicity, see? Worth plenty of dough to you. And I’ve actually had ’em try to collect!

  “Well, I believe that’s about all,” I said. “If you want to run along now, get busy on that money…”

  “But—” He got to his feet slowly, frowning—�
�But what are you going to do, Mr. Kossmeyer?”

  I shrugged. “Whatever is necessary, Mr. Talbert.”

  “Well, I…I just wondered. I kind of wanted to know.”

  “That’s it,” I said. “Whatever is necessary.”

  I smiled and nodded at him. He turned toward the door, hesitated. And then it came, the old, old question:

  Mumbled and jumbled and garbled, as it almost always is, but still the same old question.

  “Mr. Talbert,” I said. “I never think but one thing. I not only think it but I believe it. As an officer of the court, I’m professionally and morally obliged to. Otherwise, I would be an accomplice in perjury and the obstruction of justice. I have had no guilty clients, Mr. Talbert. To the best of my knowledge and belief, they are always innocent.”

  “Well,” he said, shamefaced. “Of course, I was sure that—”

  “Go right on being sure,” I said.

  “It’ll be all right, won’t it? You’ll—he’ll be cleared?”

  “My clients are very seldom convicted,” I said. “The real trouble often comes later.”

  “Oh?” He blinked at me. “How do you—”

  “All the judges aren’t in the courtroom,” I said. “So never stop being sure. Never let the boy know that you’re not sure.”

  “It’s so mixed up,” he said, absently. “It’s all so mixed up. I know he couldn’t have done it. I know they made him sign that confession. Why, you look at it this way, Mr. Kossmeyer. I know it maybe looks funny, but—”

  “Certainly,” I said. “You’re absolutely right, Mr. Talbert.” I grabbed him by the hand, shook it and shoved him out the door.

  …I waited a couple of days before I dropped in on the district attorney. I had a few things I wanted to take care of first, and I thought it would be a good idea to let him stew a while. As I saw it, he’d be expecting me right away; it would worry him when I didn’t show. I hoped, of course, that he might get worried enough to come to me. But I hadn’t got any other breaks on the deal, and I didn’t get that one.

  “Why, Kossy,” he said, jumping up from his desk. “This is a pleasant surprise! Sit down, sit down. How have you been, anyway?”