SW03 -The Underground Man

by Parnell Hall

  “What do you mean, when the family found out?”

  “Oh, like Uncle Jack had been acting different for a while, you know? Like not talking. Which wasn’t like him. So Jason and Fred were concerned about it. I heard ‘em talkin’. They were wondering what’s up. They asked Uncle Jack questions, trying to worm it out of him. He wasn’t talking.

  “Then one day he brings her to the house.”

  “Julie?”

  “Yeah, Julie. I tell you, Jason nearly hit the roof.”

  “How come?”

  “Well, for one thing, she’s young. Well, not young young. She’s like forty. But compared to Uncle Jack.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I told you. Jason went bananas. Fred and Carl too. I mean, this is the worst thing that could happen. Like they’re all expecting one day Uncle Jack’s gonna kick the bucket and they’re gonna come into the money. And now this. You should have heard ‘em. I mean, it’s twenty-five years since his wife died. He’s never been serious about another woman since. Suddenly, at age seventy-five he’s got a girlfriend. Well, Jason and Fred take one look and see their inheritance going out the window. What if Uncle Jack should marry?”

  Steve looked at Jeremy narrowly. “How would you feel about that?”

  Jeremy shrugged. “Hey, it’s his life and his money. At seventy-five it’s hard to figure, but if the guy wants to have fun, that’s his business.”

  “What about you? Don’t you stand to inherit?”

  “Oh, sure. A nice trust fund with Aunt Rose in charge. Whoopdedo.”

  “Still, something to lose.”

  Jeremy shrugged. “Uncle Jack wouldn’t screw me. Even if he got married, so what? There’s enough to go around. Jason and Fred, they want it all.”

  “And Carl?”

  “Carl too, but he’s a numbnuts, you know? Well, they all are, but Carl in particular, you know what I mean?”

  “Yeah. So what happened with Julie?”

  “About what you’d expect. Jason and Fred start working on Uncle Jack, trying to poison him against her. I tell you, it didn’t work. He just got pissed off. Clammed up more than ever. Told them to fuck off.

  “That’s when they got smart. Instead of working on him, they started working on her. Not directly, you know. They hired a private dick to dig into her background. The guy nosed around, and it turned out there was something to find.

  “This woman—Julie Creston—she was an actress. Turns out Creston was her stage name. Her real name was Harwell. She was from Minnesota. Came out here when she was young, tried to make it as an actress. Evidently had a rough time getting started. Anyway, about twenty years ago she’s busted twice for prostitution.”

  Steve nodded. “I see.”

  “Yeah,” Jeremy said. “So did Fred and Jason. When they found out, they figured they hit the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. They took the report and gave it to Uncle Jack.”

  “What happened?”

  “He hit the ceiling. Went bananas. Screaming. Cursing. I was upstairs in my room, I still heard him. He laid it on the line. If they ever mentioned it again, if he ever heard one word of this, he’d kill them.”

  “So what happened then?”

  “Then they did what they should have done in the first place. From their point of view, I mean—really they shouldn’t have done nothing, it was none of their business. Anyway, instead of going to him they went to her.” Jeremy shrugged. “At least that’s what I figure they did.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I didn’t actually hear them talking about it. All I know is what happened.”

  “What was that?”

  “Julie disappeared.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. Uncle Jack went to see her, she was gone. Packed up. Moved out. No forwarding address.

  “So the way I see it, Jason and Fred went to her, dangled that report in front of her face. Told her they’d smear her with it.”

  “How could they do that if Uncle Jack didn’t care?”

  “Yeah, but she didn’t know that. And she was working now. As an actress, I mean. She’d done an Equalizer, a Kate and Allie. Probably told her they’d sell her story to the National Enquirer.”

  Steve frowned. “That’s pretty thin.”

  “Well, it worked. When Uncle Jack went to look for her, she was gone.

  “Well, that’s when the shit hit the fan. Uncle Jack came back, gave us all hell. Never seen a man so mad. Screaming. Cursing. His face was bright red, his veins popping out of his forehead. I thought he’d have a stroke.

  “And he’s ordering everybody out of the house. ‘Get out of my house!’ that’s what he said. Over and over. ‘I want you out!’”

  “Did they go?”

  “Are you kidding? They told him he was an old man, he didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “Well, they knew what he was talking about, all right. They just didn’t believe him. Didn’t think he was serious. I didn’t either, frankly. I mean, he was just upset. He couldn’t really mean it.

  “But the next day it was the same thing. He’d calmed down, but he hadn’t changed his mind. It was his house, we could damn well get the hell out.

  “Of course, nobody listened to him. Nobody took him seriously.

  “After a while he gave up. Stopped talking about it. Everybody figured it had blown over.

  “Next thing you know, a moving van’s pulling up outside. The guys are packing up Uncle Jack’s stuff, putting it on the truck. That’s how we found out he’s sold the house.

  “Well, naturally Jason and Fred are hysterical. What’s happening? Where’s he moving to?

  “Found out he’s not moving anywhere. His stuff’s just going into storage.

  “Jason says, ‘You’re crazy. Where you gonna live?’ Uncle Jack say he don’t give a shit, he’d rather live on the subways than with him.

  “So that’s it. The moving van packs up and goes. Uncle Jack leaves with ‘em. Two days later the new owner shows up with the papers, tells us we got till the end of the month to pack up and get out.”

  Jeremy stopped and looked at Steve. “So you see, he’s not crazy. Not like they said. He had a reason for what he did.

  “So, whaddya think? Can you get him out?”

  Steve frowned. “I don’t know. The way you tell it, it’s a sympathetic story, makes a good case. Will you testify to all that?”

  Jeremy looked horrified. “Christ no. Are you kidding? These guys may be creeps, but they’re family. I gotta live with them. Shit no, they can’t even know I talked to you. I played hooky to come here. I should be in school now. It’s no big deal—I done it before—so even if the school calls home, they won’t figure I’m here. They won’t know.

  “And they don’t have to know, do they? ’Cause I’m not asking you to do anything for me. It’s all for Uncle Jack.

  “So will you do it? Will you get him out?”

  Steve frowned. He looked at Jeremy, who was gazing up at him like an expectant puppy asking to be walked.

  An expectant puppy with green hair and an earring.

  Steve shook his head. “I’m not sure I can,” he said.

  “All right. But will you try?”

  Steve sighed. “Yeah. I’ll try.”

  7.

  MARK TAYLOR FLOPPED HIS BULK into the clients’ chair, pulled out his notebook and said, “Shoot.”

  “I’ve got two jobs for you,” Steve said. “One’s easy, one’s hard.”

  “I like the sound of the hard one.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “More money in it. You got a big retainer?”

  “No.”

  “Then I like it less. What’s up?”

  “Remember the homeless millionaire?”

  “Him again?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s in Bellevue.”

  “I’m not surprised. So?”

  “So I gotta get him
out.”

  Taylor nodded. “That figures. I’m surprised the shrinks let him call you.”

  “They didn’t.”

  “No? Then how’d you hear about it?”

  “From a kid with green hair.”

  “What?”

  Steve gave Mark Taylor a rundown on his meeting with Jeremy Dawson. Taylor listened without interrupting, adding an occasional grunt or writing an occasional note.

  When Steve was finished, Taylor said, “O.K., what’s my end of this?”

  “Julie Creston.”

  “What about her?”

  “Find her.”

  “How?”

  “You’re the detective. I’m just a lawyer. You got her stage name, her real name, some shows she was in, and a couple of hooker busts. You even know where she came from. She might have just gone home.”

  “Yeah, and she might not,” Taylor said. “And this was months ago. By now in all probability she’s in another state doing another job under another name.”

  “I thought you liked the hard ones, Mark. More money and all that.”

  “Yeah. But I like to get results. O.K. I’ll put some men on it. So what’s the easy job?”

  “That is the easy job, Mark.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Steve grinned. “Yes, I am. That’s the hard job. The easy job is a piece of cake.” Steve jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Tracy’s typing up a writ of habeas corpus for Jack Walsh. When she’s finished, I need to have it served.”

  Taylor nodded. “Can do. What happens then?”

  “Then we got a dogfight. The hospital will resist it and we’ll wind up with a competency hearing.”

  “How does that work?”

  “I don’t know. I never had one.”

  “So how you gonna handle it?”

  “Smoothly, effortlessly, and with a great casual flair.”

  “Fuck you. I mean really.”

  Steve shook his head. “Beats the hell out of me.” He grinned. “Frankly, all I know about ‘em comes from reading Perry Mason murder mysteries.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Not at all. Of course, Erie Stanley Gardner was a lawyer, so they should be fairly accurate.”

  “Steve—”

  “I know, I know. I’m only half kidding, Mark. The way I understand it, here’s the way it’s gonna go. We’ll serve the habeas corpus. A judge will schedule a competency hearing and order Bellevue to produce Jack Walsh in court. Bellevue won’t do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “You see, that’s the whole point. Walsh has been committed. That means a psychiatrist at Bellevue has certified him insane. Declared him incompetent. Well, if Bellevue takes the position Jack Walsh is incompetent to handle his affairs, they also have to take the position he’s incompetent to testify in court.

  “So they won’t produce him. Instead they’ll produce the admitting psychiatrist to testify that he’s in no condition to be there.

  “That’s fine. I’ll immediately raise a big stink, demanding that they produce Jack Walsh. At the same time, I’ll be hoping like hell they don’t do it.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You never saw Jack Walsh, did you?”

  “No.”

  “Right. If you had, you wouldn’t ask. Anyway, I don’t want to give the judge and the attorney a chance to go after him. I want to go after the psychiatrist.”

  “The psychiatrist?”

  “Yeah. Him and the relatives. First I’ll attack the psychiatrist on the grounds he had no basis for making his judgment. Then I’ll attack the relatives to show that they were motivated by personal interest.”

  “Can you do that?”

  “Probably. The relatives are a greedy bunch. I don’t expect them to come off well.

  “The psychiatrist is another matter. If I could show he had a financial stake in this, I’d be home free. But that’s probably out of the question. Most likely he’ll be some highly respected shrink just doin’ what he thinks is right.”

  “So there’s nothing you can do?”

  “No, there’s plenty I can do. What I’ll have going for me is the fact the shrink only saw the guy once, and has to be basing his diagnosis on things the relatives told him.”

  “So, say you can do all that. Then what?”

  “Then,” Steve said, “the judge isn’t going to be swayed by the doctor’s assurance of the patient’s incompetence. He’ll issue a court order, and Bellevue will have to produce Jack Walsh in court.”

  “Yeah. And what happens then?”

  Steve shrugged. “Then we’re fucked.”

  8.

  JUDGE WASHBURN ADJUSTED HIS GLASSES, picked up a paper from his bench, and squinted at it. “This is a hearing in the case of one Jack Walsh. Application has been made to declare Jack Walsh incompetent and have Rose Tindel and Jason Tindel named conservators. The Tindels are represented by Robert Franklyn. Mr. Franklyn, are your parties in court?”

  Franklyn, slim, tall, carefully groomed and impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit, smiled, bowed and said, “Yes, Your Honor.” He turned and gestured to Jason and Rose Tindel.

  Franklyn’s clients had been well coached. The Tindels oozed respectability. They were dressed neatly, conservatively. Their expressions radiated a mixture of frank sincerity and benevolent concern.

  “And who are the parties with them?” Judge Washburn asked.

  Franklyn indicated a couple sitting next to the Tindels, similarly dressed but slightly younger. “That would be their cousins, Fred and Pat Grayson.” He indicated a somewhat severe looking older woman. “Claire Chesterton.” Moving down the row. “And Carl Jenson.”

  Judge Washburn nodded. “And on the other side we have ...” He referred to his paper, “... a Mr. Steve Winslow appearing as attorney for Jack Walsh.”

  Steve rose and bowed to the judge.

  Judge Washburn hesitated a moment before proceeding. Steve smiled. With long hair, blue jeans, corduroy jacket and bright red tie, he was the only one in the courtroom who looked slightly out of place.

  Judge Washburn said, “Mr. Winslow has filed a writ of habeas corpus ordering that Jack Walsh be produced in court.” Washburn turned to Franklyn. “Is Mr. Walsh here?”

  “He is not, Your Honor,” Franklyn said. “Mr. Walsh is in Bellevue hospital. He suffered a nervous breakdown, and is presently in no condition to appear in court. I have the admitting psychiatrist from Bellevue here to testify to that effect.”

  Judge Washburn nodded again. “I see. Mr. Winslow’s petition states that Mr. Walsh is being held at Bellevue against his will. He asks that that commitment be set aside and the petitioner released.”

  “That is utter nonsense,” Franklyn said. “He is not being held against his will. He is a sick man, entrusted to the care of competent physicians. He has been placed there by caring family members, attempting to see that his best interests are protected.”

  “This complaint alleges that Jack Walsh was hauled off the subway, incarcerated at Bellevue, and denied access to his attorney. Furthermore, the complaint alleges that Jack Walsh is medically and emotionally sound, and that there is no reason whatsoever for his commitment.”

  Franklyn’s smile was frosty. “May I ask if Mr. Winslow’s contention is borne out by the opinion of a reputable psychiatrist?”

  Winslow’s smile was equally cold. “May I ask how one is expected to obtain such an opinion when one is denied access to one’s client?”

  Judge Washburn held up his hand. “Gentlemen, this is not a debate. Let’s try to move things along. Now, I note the commitment papers were signed by one Jason Tindel. Let’s hear from him first. Jason Tindel take the stand.”

  Jason Tindel got up, looked at the other relatives who nodded encouragement. He walked to the witness stand, and sat.

  “Does Your Honor wish me to question the witness?” Franklyn said.

  “I’ll ask the questions,” Judge Washburn said. He turned to the witness. �
�Mr. Tindel, what is your relationship to the petitioner, Jack Walsh?”

  “My wife is his great-niece. She is the granddaughter of his sister.”

  Judge Washburn frowned. “Has he no closer living relatives?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “I see. And you have signed the commitment papers, placing Jack Walsh in Bellevue, and are seeking to have him declared incompetent and you and Rose Tindel named conservators. Is that correct?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What grounds do you have for feeling that Jack Walsh is not competent to carry on his own affairs?”

  Jason Tindel chuckled, shook his head. “I have so many, Your Honor, I don’t know where to begin. Jack Walsh was once a very sharp man. But he’s seventy-five, and I’m sorry to say, recently his mind is going.”

  “Could you give me examples?”

  “I certainly could.” Jason Tindel ticked the points off on his fingers. “Within the last year he’s estranged himself from all his relatives. He’s sold his house out from under him and gone to live on the subway with the bums and bag ladies.”

  Judge Washburn frowned. “On the subway, Mr. Tindel?”

  “That’s right, Your Honor.”

  “And how do you know this?”

  “For one thing, he told us. When he left, I mean. He told us that was what he was going to do. For another thing, I saw him myself.”

  “And when was that?”

  “Shortly after he moved out. I saw him on the street. I must say, it was quite a shock. He was dressed in rags like a bum. Naturally, I followed him to see what he was up to. And he went down in the subway and hung out with the bums on the platform.”

  “I see,” Judge Washburn said. “Was there anything else?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. He’s also withdrawn over two hundred thousand dollars in cash from his bank account.”

  Judge Washburn raised his eyebrows. “Two hundred thousand?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And what did he do with this money?”

  Jason Tindel shrugged. “As far as I know, he’s been carrying it on him.”

  “Two hundred thousand in cash?”

  “That’s right. The man is a millionaire, Your Honor. Yet he dresses like a bum, lives on the subway, and is carrying large sums of money in cash around with him. Under the circumstances, much as we hated to do it, we felt we had to take what steps we could in order to conserve his estate.”