The Court

by William J. Coughlin

  “As you said, I know about that part of his life.”

  “So now you want to know about the dirt?”

  Although Whittle’s endorsement was correct and the food was delicious, Green was too intent to eat. He merely toyed with his food as he spoke. “If there is any dirt, we would want to know it. A very crucial decision has to be made by the White House.”

  “Yeah, it wouldn’t look good if a Supreme Court justice went around buggering goats.”

  Green raised his eyebrows.

  “For Christ sake, I’m only kidding! You have my word of honor that Pentecost has never had sex with an animal, at least not to my knowledge.” Whittle grinned. “Although we did have one guy in the journalism school who used to slip down to the barns and … but you’re interested in Pentecost, not some old stories.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Okay, I’ll give it to you straight. He’s a goddamned workaholic, if that’s a vice. He spends every hour of his life concentrating on that law school. He’s well organized and has a gift for wrangling large donations from rich folks and large companies. Everything he does is calculated. He really works at it. He uses computers and everything else that modern technology can offer. And he still manages the usual things a dean does; he welcomes the students at the beginning of the semester, holds bullshit meetings when they think they’ve been screwed, and generally takes care of the school’s day-to-day administration.”

  Whittle slurped in some more tea, then continued. “He kisses the ass of those wise old men he lured away from the Ivy League joints. They’re the magnet for the money and for the students, and he knows it. Whatever those old boys want, they get.”

  “Sounds reasonable.”

  “I agree. But on the other side of the coin, he treats the younger faculty members like galley slaves. He seems to go out of his way to make their lives miserable. We have quite a turnover of the younger law teachers. With the exception of one, and I’ll come to that.”

  Whittle shrugged. “On the other hand, around the students he’s like a politician, always shaking hands, smiling, that kind of crap. You’d think the job was elective. And if a student gets out of hand, Pentecost will bend over backwards before taking any disciplinary action. Actually, he has quite a bunch of solid competent instructors. The students are kept too busy to get into any serious trouble, so he can afford to be lenient.”

  Green accepted a fortune cookie from the waitress. He broke it open as she left. It predicted he would soon come into money.

  “Pentecost doesn’t smoke,” Whittle continued. “And if he takes a drink he’ll nurse the thing all night, so there’s no problem there. I doubt very much if he has even smoked a bit of weed, let alone snorted coke. Not the type. He has no vices, as far as I know. He hasn’t even made any passes at the secretaries. And I would know if he had. In other words, the son-of-a-bitch is a paragon of virtue.”

  “You make that sound distasteful.”

  “Sometimes it can be,” Whittle snorted. “And there is another side to the coin. Pentecost is an overly ambitious bastard who wouldn’t hesitate to cut your throat if it meant even the slightest advantage to him. He knows no loyalty except to himself. I get the impression he’s the type that kisses the bathroom mirror every morning. The man really likes himself.”

  “What do you mean, no loyalty?”

  “My opinion, nothing more. I just know the type, that’s all. He has all the compassion of a computer chip. If something will benefit him, then he’s for it. And if not, he’s opposed. It’s a simple world for people like Pentecost. He will be your friend just so long as you are in a position to do something for him.”

  Green waved away some of Whittle’s cigar smoke. “Aren’t we all guilty of that, at least to some degree?”

  Whittle’s eyes narrowed. “Your old man wasn’t. I knew him. For that matter, I knew you too. Does that surprise you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was new on the job in those days. Your old man had something you don’t see much anymore—integrity. You know, integrity’s like good art, it’s hard to describe, but you know it when you see it.”

  “And me?”

  Whittle laughed. “Hey, if you were a bad kid I didn’t know about it. I did know about your brother though.”

  “Hank?”

  “You got any other brothers?”

  “No.”

  Whittle snapped a match and touched the flame to the now-dead cigar. The resulting smoke was almost poisonous. “Your brother was one of the world’s greatest studs. When he went to school here I thought he was going to corner the market on causing pregnancy. I often thought the local abortionists should have erected a statue to him. Jesus, he’d just walk by those young coeds and they seemed to get pregnant.”

  “And you got him out of trouble?”

  Whittle nodded. “A half dozen times at least. I never told your old man about it. Your father knew one or two things about honor. It would have really hurt him. I kept it to myself. What the hell, everything turned out all right. Your brother settled down, more or less. Nowadays he’s a model husband and father, and that’s something I never thought I’d live to see. He’s drinking too much, but I suppose that’s just middle age crisis catching up.”

  “I’m surprised about the drinking.”

  “It happens. So far it’s no big deal. He gets plastered quietly at home. I’m keeping my eye out, just in case.”

  “For his sake, or for the university’s?”

  Whittle’s eyes narrowed. “For the university. As I say, that is my job. I see the dark side of people. And there is a dark side to most. But not with your father. He was a hell of a guy. I hope some of that rubbed off on you. It did on your brother. That’s what saved him from being a bum.”

  Green nodded. “As fascinating as my family might be, I’m here to find out about Dean Pentecost. So far, you haven’t exactly opened up the secrets of the universe as far as he’s concerned.”

  Whittle signaled for a fresh pot of tea. “Funny, you can never make tea like this at home, no matter what kind you use.” He studied his little porcelain cup before continuing. “There is a problem with Pentecost’s old lady.”

  “His wife?”

  Whittle’s fleshy face revealed his disgust. “Yes, his wife. She’s a perfect ice queen, just the right type for display at faculty teas. She looks like a New York model; nice-looking if you don’t like blood and are fond of bones. She is a chilly, indifferent woman. Oh, she does volunteer work and all of the other usual stuff expected of a dean’s wife. I told you Pentecost has a high turnover of young teachers at the law school, except for one, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that guy ain’t ever going to leave. Because every time the dean goes out of town on a trip—and he makes a lot of trips to drum up contributions and promote himself—this young stud comes over and gives the ice queen a jump.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Well, as you can imagine, she doesn’t advertise it. And lover boy never comes to the house after the dean is gone. They meet at a Jackson motel, twenty miles south of here.”

  “I asked how you know?”

  Whittle helped himself to some fresh tea that had been brought by Ah Sue. Green declined as Whittle offered to refresh his cup.

  He continued in a low voice. “They had a young guy on the faculty in the English Department. He was an instructor working toward his doctorate. But he wasn’t good enough to cut it. They told him he should forget it. He went down to that Jackson motel, got drunk, and damned near killed some bimbo he had picked up.”

  Malcolm Whittle again slurped in the hot tea. “Like I said, I know all the cops, and the Jackson boys called me as soon as they identified our little hero as belonging to us. He was screaming about how unfair the old university had been to him. I handled it. I took care of the bimbo’s hospital costs, plus giving her a little something for her trouble. The kid resigned without a whimper. It was that or go to jail.
Anyway, it was then when I found out about the lovely Mrs. Pentecost.”

  “How?”

  “While I was at the motel, the cops were interviewing other guests, getting statements about the screams and so forth. And who do they flush? Why none other than the icy Mrs. Pentecost and her young assistant professor of law. I saw them, but they didn’t see me. They gave the cops false names.”

  “Maybe it was just a one-time thing.”

  Whittle shook his head. “No. I checked. Everytime the dean leaves town she motors on down to that same motel. Not smart, but then we are all creatures of habit, aren’t we? I’ve been keeping an eye on it because that kind of thing can cause trouble. But they are discreet and they keep their noses clean. And I don’t anticipate the dean coming in one night and blowing them away.”

  “Do you think he’s capable of that?”

  “He’d be pissed that she was screwing one of the younger members of his staff, that’s what would make him angry. If she was humping the university president or the chairman of the trustees he’d probably cater in a towel service. No, even if he did find out, he’s not the type given to violence. He would just use it against her, as a lever for something he wanted. That’s how I figure him.”

  “You don’t paint a very appetizing picture.”

  “Truth can be ugly, and often is. But what the hell, there are a lot worse than him. I know, I see them.”

  “You don’t like ambitious people, do you?”

  “Sure. Some of my best friends are ambitious.” Whittle laughed. “But ambition without integrity is nothing. Do you know who said that?”

  “No.”

  “Your father.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The day had proved frustrating. Although he had learned a bit more about Pentecost, it wasn’t enough. But that was not on his mind. Now he felt nothing but a growing sense of apprehension.

  Jerry Green drove along the winding streets, following the directions and watching for his brother’s address. Although it was already dark most of the expensive homes had carriage lamps outside and their glow made the street scene look like the background for a slick magazine advertisement picturing the ultimate American success: the big house, well kept, surrounded by expanses of clipped lawns.

  His brother’s house was a two-story colonial with an attached garage. Both a front carriage light and a spotlight over the garage blazed in the night. It seemed as if every room in the house was lit.

  He had never been here before. The house was something new. It had been so long ago, that exploding unpleasantness. He could still remember the shouting, the sudden eruption that had severed the bond between them. It was a bitter memory. He presumed it would be equally bitter, if not more so, for Hank, his wife, and perhaps even his children. He hoped the evening wouldn’t be too unpleasant.

  Green parked on the concrete apron in front of the garage.

  He stepped out of the car and breathed deeply, inhaling the crisp night air. There was a feeling of snow. None was predicted, and even though he had been away from Michigan for years, he still retained his native ability to sense weather changes.

  The side door opened and Hank held out his hand. His other hand contained a very large glass. Green remembered Whittle’s remarks about his brother’s drinking.

  “Hey, Adele, it’s Jerry!” Hank Green gripped his hand and pulled him inside, leading him down a long hallway and into a large living room.

  She stood there. Adele was a different woman, much heavier, her dark hair streaked with gray, and she wore glasses. He remembered Adele as she had been, with a spectacular figure and a wild, almost wanton look about her. Now she looked like someone’s frumpy grandmother.

  She took his hand and lightly kissed his cheek, but there was no attempt at an embrace. She had not forgotten.

  “You look wonderful, Adele,” he said, drawing back. “Eternally young.”

  She smiled but her eyes held no sparkle. “You look well, Jerry. You’ve changed. I really don’t think I Would have recognized you on the street.” She paused, studying him. “You look more like … well … you look like Hank. There seems to be more of a resemblance now.”

  “She’s trying to say that you’ve become better looking,” Hank said. “How about a drink? What’cha want?”

  “What’cha got?” Green answered, mimicking him as he used to do when they were young.

  Hank laughed, reminded of that more pleasant time in their past. “I got more kinds of booze than the best bar in New York, Just name it.”

  “Scotch.”

  “Soda?”

  “Jesus, we’re standing around here like we were at a convention,” Hank said. “Give me your coat and sit down.”

  Green surrendered his overcoat and sat in one of the living room chairs. Two sofas and two matching chairs had been arranged to form a square around the brick wall fireplace. A family picture had been placed at one end of the mantel. A large framed photograph of their father was at the other end. There was nothing else on the long mantel.

  Adele perched her ample form on the arm of a sofa.

  “Beautiful place, Adele,” he said. “When did you move?”

  She thought for a moment. “Oh, five or six years ago. This place was just the right size for our family then. But now that the children are moving away it’s really too big. I’d like to move into one of those condominiums.”

  “I live in a condominium in Arlington. I like it.”

  “Hank says you were divorced. Do you stay in contact with Alice?”

  Green felt uncomfortable under her gaze. Women were dangerous. They plowed right ahead without any regard to tact or sensitivity. They all seemed to be controlled by a primal sense of curiosity.

  “I haven’t seen her in years. I see David once a year for a short visit. When you last saw him he was just a small boy. He’s sixteen now and grown. Alice is married to a dentist in Oregon. We correspond when necessary about David. You know, just the usual things, school business, health, trips, that sort of thing.”

  “Was it bitter?”

  “You mean the divorce?”

  “Yes.”

  He shrugged. “No more or no less than the usual, I suppose. We just came to the point where we couldn’t stand the sight of each other. Although it wasn’t exactly an amicable parting, we did manage to refrain from physical violence. It seems that being three thousand miles apart is just about right. At that distance we can tolerate each other.”

  “And you’re married again, Hank tells me.” Her tone hinted at an underlying disapproval, as if somehow he was being unfaithful to his former wife.

  “Yes. My wife is an accountant. Second marriage for both.” He paused, sensing her next question. “No children.”

  “She had no children by her first marriage?” Adele’s raised eyebrow showed her definite disapproval.

  Hank reentered the room carrying a small tray with brimming glasses. “Hey, Adele, let him alone.” He grinned as he handed a glass to his brother. “If she was a prosecutor we wouldn’t have a crime problem. A real third-degree artist, my wife.”

  “It’s normal,” she replied evenly, almost sternly. “When you haven’t seen a member of your family for a number of years, it’s normal to want to know about his personal life. I’m not being nosy.”

  Hank handed her a drink, then set the tray on a table, and slouched down in one of the sofas. “Okay, so you’re normal.”

  Green sipped the scotch. His brother had made the drink very strong. Usually, he would have resented it, but there was an unusual tension in him, almost a fear, and he felt that he could use the assistance of a little bottled courage.

  “Do you ever see many of the old crowd?” Green hoped to draw the conversation away from himself.

  “Yeah. Hell, I see everybody,” Hank replied. “Outside of you, I can’t think of anyone who ever left here. If you stick around for a while you’re bound to run into them. They all work around here. Remember Elmer Jobst?”

 
“The stork?”

  “Yeah. Big and lanky, remember? Looks just like he used to, only now he’s bald. He has three boys, all of them as tall as Elmer and all of them just as awkward.” Hank Green laughed at a memory. “He lives just down the street. Sells insurance.”

  “He owns an agency,” Adele corrected him.

  “Same thing,” he growled at his wife. “It’s weird, I suppose, to spend your entire life surrounded by the people who went to high school with you. It’s like being inbred. Christ, you know everybody and everybody knows you. This might as well be Pitcairn Island.…”

  “Washington is a city of strangers,” Jerry Green said. “You know only the people you work with, maybe a neighbor or two, but that’s it. Carol and I lived next to a cabinet member for two years and never even met the man.”

  “That stranger business can have its advantages,” Hank said, smiling. “Hell, if Adele and I get into a shouting fight the next day the whole place knows about it. This isn’t a small town anymore, but it doesn’t matter. The inner community, the league of the old boys and girls, they know. Same thing if a man or a woman wants to screw around. How the hell you going to keep it quiet if the motel owner is an old school chum?”

  “That never seemed to have bothered you.” Adele said it lightly, but there was a sting in her words. She sipped her drink, her eyes emotionless.

  “Ah!” Hank gestured with his hand is if pushing the whole subject away. He took a long pull at his drink.

  “How are the children, Adele?”

  It was a happy choice. She seemed to relax as she began a long litany listing the situation and accomplishments of each of her five children. She spoke of her oldest daughter but did not mention any problems with abortions or drugs. He saw his brother wink at him as Adele went on painting a picture of the perfect American family. Green sipped his drink and listened. It was interesting. Adele was correct, it was normal to want to know the intimate details of one’s own family. Hank refilled both their glasses while Adele continued on with her family history.