And on the way there Assado would periodically giggle to himself like something was the most amusing notion he’d ever had. But he looked older than when I first met him, less colorful.
“I just have questions,” he said when we sat down at the empty-save-for-one-drowsy-woman bar. “Questions I know you’ll want to answer. I sit around thinking about this case, that’s all I do, and I get these questions. And I get these questions and I think, who can help me answer them? And I always come back to you, because you know so much about what happened that night.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I think, for example, about how much money was taken that night. Millions, lots of them, and all in cash like that. People don’t realize that money like that invites its own problems you know? I mean what do you do with it? You can’t walk into a bank and deposit it into your account right? What do you do, put it under your mattress? We’re talking about millions. I mean this presents problems even for people who are engaged in long-standing and consistent criminal activity, criminals. I’m sure you know that they devise all sorts of fake businesses and everything to convert the money into the kind that can be deposited into bank accounts. You’re wondering where I’m going with this. Well if my theory’s right and the person or persons who took this money are not really practiced criminals but more like ordinary people who found themselves with some inside information and did this on the spur of the moment so to speak, then it stands to reason that they will have even more problems than the average criminal in laundering this money no? So that’s one of my questions. You know, where’s the money and what kind of problems is it causing the holder, how will they try to legitimize it? Which of the two of them has it?”
“ . . .”
“Yeah I guess I should mention that. I know now that two men did it. I can’t tell you how I know that or anything, it’s a pending criminal investigation, and no matter how close we are to making the arrests I can’t compromise the integrity of that in any way, I’m sure you understand. Anyway I bet only one of the two currently has the money and that’s got to make the other one uncomfortable you know what I mean? So that’s another question I have. By the way did you remember yet who you were just visiting at The Plaza?”
“ . . .”
“The other thing is this with regard to the two guys we now know were involved. If I was one of them how would I know that my partner wasn’t in some way cooperating with the police in return for leniency? And since I couldn’t know that wouldn’t I be tempted to beat him to the punch so to speak by talking to the police or specifically a detective that I knew was working on the case so I could get that leniency for myself? I mean there comes a time when a person should be able to see the handwriting on the wall as it were and start thinking seriously about cutting their losses don’t you think? You have to wonder why I’m so interested in speaking with you. How I’ve been able to progress and proceed in this manner. Don’t you?”
Assado kept talking without pause and somewhere in there I decided to give up, that all was lost. I wasn’t even listening to what he was saying anymore but he was looking at me and smiling and I can’t really say I hated him anymore just that I was tired and wanted it all to be over. Then he laughed.
“What?” I said.
“No just that some people really aren’t cut out for prison you know? You’re a very good-looking guy actually. I know this guy in state corrections and the truth is that the sexual assault problem in New York State prisons is largely a thing of the past. But, you know, do you even want to have that like in the back of your mind and whatnot? Have you thought about that? By the way what are you, Italian? You a paisan?”
I looked away and he kept talking, on and on. I could hear him now. He started talking about money.
“What?” I said.
“I’m trying to help you, the money.”
“I don’t understand, what?”
“The money. If we were to locate it, that could be a great help to you. Of course I’d have to talk to my supervisor you understand? Don’t you?”
“Yeah I think I do. I understand now, thank you.”
“So?”
“And I am Italian.”
“Really? I thought so, where from?”
“Italy.”
“Where in Italy.”
“A little village by the heel. Tiramisu di Bosco I think it was called. I came over by myself when I was a couple of weeks old.”
“I see, you’re pulling my leg.”
“I have a couple of questions myself that maybe you can answer Assado. Is that all right?”
He sat up.
“Like I was wondering why you’re even working on this case since it didn’t occur in your precinct.”
“Well I’m not going to discuss that.”
“Oh, because when I called your precinct a short while ago with an offer of information they didn’t seem to know what I was talking about.”
“Well they wouldn’t.”
“So is it like one of those Hollywood-type things where you’re like suspended but you’re so used to administering your own brand of street justice that you pursue the truth on your free time? Is that what it’s like?”
“Maybe.”
“Well what is it exactly?”
“There are parallels.”
“Because I also know that neither of the detectives that met with DeLeon has talked to you about this case.”
“How I conduct this investigation is really none of your business.”
“Just questions Assado, don’t get so bent out of shape.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Also I noticed that when you showed me those pictures from the scene they were like copies of copies and I would’ve just expected better access to the evidence from the lead detective on the case. Then there’s all the times you mentioned specifics about what happened at 410 but since you never spoke with either of those narcotics detectives and the investigation doesn’t even properly belong to your precinct then your source for that information can only be . . . but that can’t be right . . . can it?”
There was a long pause here where Assado would smile and take long drinks from his glass then look around and murmur. Finally he looked directly at me.
“So you want to do it this way huh? I tried to be nice but I guess you prefer this.”
“What you said about your friend in corrections was nice I suppose, I didn’t like that.”
“You know what? You have no idea who you’re fucking with. No idea at all.”
“I think I know exactly whom. I’m just not overly impressed, there’s a difference.”
“I could disappear you if I wanted. It just so happens you know where something valuable is. And I got news for you, the wrong people know that you know where it is. I was offering to help you. I could do you myself, say you reached for my gun.”
“I’m right here.”
Assado pointed to his glass then raised two fingers. When the glass was empty he turned to face me and I sensed he was shedding a character he had created.
“You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into do you? Let me give you some free advice then do whatever you want because personally I don’t give a fuck if you live or die. You like playing bad guy? Well the guy you’re fucking with, and no I don’t mean Escalera, isn’t playing and I think you know that. He isn’t playing and he’s immense and he’s got you in his cross hairs. You got your little reprieve. That’s what this has been the last few days, an opportunity. If you had availed yourself of it, told me where the money was, I maybe, maybe, could’ve convinced that animal not to hunt you down and end you, to just take back his boss’s money and leave the matter at that. Now? Well that was your chance but you didn’t take it and now I have no sympathy for you. What you did was wrong and you know it.”
“Said the cop on the drug dealer’s payroll, who I’m sure would’ve rushed right over to said drug dealer with the money instead of taking it for himself and never being hea
rd from again.”
“See that’s what I mean about you not comprehending fully, how you fail to understand the severity of the situation you’re in. What you’re about to learn is there are certain things in life that cannot be controlled or even contained. A certain violence gets unbound and there’s nothing in our godless universe to slow it. All the world’s malevolence and evil concentrated into one creature. That’s the thought occurred to me when I first saw Ballena and since 410 he’s grown worse, everyone sees it. So when you say I would keep the money I laugh because I would no sooner make an enemy of that than I would try to obliterate the Sun. You simply don’t defy Ballena in that way, no sane person would. So I’m giving you one last chance. You know me now and I surely know you. Tell me what I want to hear and you’ll never see me again. More importantly, you won’t see that thing I hesitate to even call a man. You get to choose, speak to end this or suffer greatly for your silence. Live, or die the kind of protracted death you least want, which is it?”
He stared and I looked down at my drink.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said with barely sufficient air.
“I tried to be your friend.”
“You threatened my life, stop patting yourself on the back.”
“Tell me who the other guy is, we’ll deal with him and I’ll put in a good word for you. Nobody has to know.”
“I can’t.”
“Then you’ll get what you deserve.”
“We all will.”
He said something else then left. I was shaking and looking around. The nearby woman raised her face to reveal a coaster stuck to her check. I downed a copper-colored shot and left. I felt not entirely sure what had just happened but confident I was finally rid of Assado who had bleakened my every move for days. As I saw it there wasn’t prison to worry about anymore, I was maybe even happy.
Though not as happy as Toomberg was the day the Supreme Court heard argument in Atkins v. Virginia because that day, late in the afternoon, Toomberg walked into my office with a silly smile plastered on his lumpy face and optimistic hope for mankind in his heart.
“Well I’m back,” he said. “Don’t you want to know how it went?”
“Back from where?” I said.
“I told you, D.C., the Supreme Court, remember? To watch the oral argument on Atkins versus Virginia?”
“Oh right, sorry. So what happened?”
“What happened, I’m happy to report, is that all indications are that we are finally prepared to declare unequivocally that a certain state-sponsored activity, namely the execution of mentally-retarded individuals, is unconscionable and cannot continue. We have evolved to that point and that makes me happy.”
“Who’s we?”
“Society, more specifically this country, and even more specifically the Supreme Court of this country as one of the bodies we’ve entrusted with making these determinations.”
“Good grief.”
“Surely you grasp the significance don’t you? Jalen Kingg’s going to be all right.”
“Hold on will you? Start at the beginning. First, what makes you so sure they’re going to rule in our favor?”
“Well I observed the argument and the questioning was definitely in our favor.”
“Okay, that’s the first bad sign. What else?”
“Also I have a good friend from law school.”
“Harvard.”
“Yes.”
“Wow, that was just a stab in the dark. Aren’t you impressed?”
“And he clerks for one of the justices.”
“Souter.”
“No.”
“Scalia.”
“No. Anyway I spoke to him after the argument.”
“Ginsberg.”
“I’m really not at liberty to say.”
“So it’s Ginsberg, what’s she like?”
“It’s not Ginsberg and I’d rather not say.”
“There’s only nine, give me a second.”
“I spoke to him and he said that his justice, who represents a critical vote, is leaning in our favor, strongly leaning.”
“Ah-hah.”
“What?”
“So it’s one of the swing guys, you just all but revealed your source my friend.”
“Really? Who are the swing justices?”
“No idea.”
“More importantly, he said he has it on good authority that another critical vote will go our way. There you have it, actual progress”
“So we just wait then?”
“Correct, once the decision comes down we’ll have some legal maneuvering to do but I feel very confident that victory will be ours. What are those?”
“Letters.”
“What kind?”
“To and from Jalen.”
“Might I see?”
“If you must.”
He grabbed them and his smile grew, which growth I had not thought possible.
“You know, you like to pretend you’re this off-the-cuff guy who couldn’t be bothered with procedure and rules but look at you you’re meticulous!” he said. “Every letter you’ve ever sent him or received from him copied and filed in chronological order, and nothing is even slightly out of place on your desk, ha ha!”
“Look at me? Look at you, you’re positively giddy.”
“I am indeed.”
“That’s kind of rude Toom, don’t you think, to act all happy like that when the rest of us are miserable?”
“Who’s happy?” asked Conley walking in.
“Toom here,” I said. “He’s all happy because the Supreme Court will allegedly soon rule it unconstitutional to execute the mentally retarded.”
“Says who?”
“Says he and he’s never wrong.”
“But how do you know?”
“Just leave it at that please I don’t want to hear the whole account again.”
“So why does it make you happy? How does it affect you? Is he allowed to answer those Casi?”
“He may.”
“I’m happy because of the progress it represents or will represent.”
“How do you mean that?”
“Simply this, I believe it is wrong to kill a person as punishment for their actions when that person is mentally challenged. I believe all sorts of similar things and often find that society at large disagrees with me. Consequently on those rare occasions where society comes into agreement with me on an ethical issue such as this one I become hopeful and happy in a sense and consider it progress.”
“You call that progress? Progress will be when there are no more retards. Then we won’t have to worry about whether or not they’re getting fried.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Besides you’re describing progress as society agreeing with you on a position you hold but what if you’re wrong in holding that position? In that case you wouldn’t be looking at societal progress but rather more like a regression.”
“But if I thought that adopting the position would constitute a societal regression then I wouldn’t personally hold the position either.”
“But you could be mistaken.”
“In which case I wouldn’t know I was mistaken since part of being mistaken is believing you’re right so I would still be justified in being happy. And what did you mean no more re—, no more mentally challenged individuals.”
“Oh boy,” I said.
“There’s a project,” Conley said.
“No please no,” I said.
“Look there’s no such thing as human progress Melvyn. At least not of the kind you’re describing. What I’m saying is don’t celebrate when people are nicer to retards, instead be impatient for the time when endeavors like the Human Genome Project make retards a thing of the past. Because the great injustice is not that these people are occasionally being executed. The inexcusable injustice is that they exist at all. Why should someone be born with a brain that doesn’t function properly. Is the ability of your
brain an important thing? Do you want to be one of those people? Of course not. So why do we stand for other people having that misfortune? Because it’s not us and we’re selfish and that’s unacceptable.”
“So what do you propose? Until then this is still progress.”
“No, no no no no no and no. The first sign of progress will come when we give up.”
“Give up?”
“Exactly. Imagine yourself father to two boys. For years they trade punches in their common room while you try in vain to get them to get along. Finally one day you give up and just separate them, put them in different rooms. Problem solved, no more fighting. That’s where we are. So you say people are slaughtering each other unabated because they don’t like their opponent’s skin? Well I say stop trying to educate these lice and just make everyone’s skin the same. That’ll end the slaughter. Do you doubt it? Only when we give up in that manner will you start to see genuine progress.”
“Wait a minute,” said Toomberg but just then Conley was paged to reception and not often have I felt such relief. After he left Toom turned to me.
“By the way, there’s another reason I’ve been feeling so sanguine about humanity of late and that’s your brief.”
“Huh?”
“I just finished reading it and don’t really know what word to use to describe it.”
“The word finished I most covet.”
“Well I certainly don’t think it could be filed exactly as is.”
“No I told you, you’ll fix it.”
“It would almost certainly get you disbarred or something but it’s nonetheless an astonishing document and as such it filled me with optimism. That someone was capable of that. That someone wanted to do that, someone I know no less. It had qualities of art. In fact I discussed it extensively with my wife and even though we ultimately concluded it was not art we gave it more than passing consideration. I think what ultimately denied it that lofty status was the work’s selfish prescriptivism if that makes any sense, its innervating desire for a specific result. True art, by contrast, seems marked by a generous susceptibility to extrapolation. Your work, understandably, is not sufficiently oriented in that direction to constitute art and has more in common with something like advertising. Advertising of course, despite the activities it often subsumes, is not art and neither, regrettably, is your document.”
A Naked Singularity: A Novel Page 75