A change of gravity

by George V. Higgins

  "Terrifying' is a word they often use.

  "This is the man whose woman's smoking truly infuriates him. He likes screwing her and having her blow him. For that he has to be around her, so he tries not to let her smoking make him mad. But self-control isn't Lowell's stock in trade. Self-restraint isn't something that he's good at, especially where sex's also involved.

  "This guy is what teenage boys wish they were. He's a sex engine. In the place where you and I have got our penises, he's got a jack-hammer.

  He's what they call a paraph iliac He's got an abnormally powerful sex drive. There really is such a thing as being sexually insatiable, and he is that. When he's been in the can, they've had to put him in solitary several times for sexually running amok, assaulting other inmates. Either he wants to bugger them and they don't want him to, or else he wants them to blow him and they're not keen on that either, so as a result he's going to beat on them until they see it his way.

  "Keep in mind what kind of polished gentlemen make up our prison populations. These guys that he's threatening are thugs themselves, hardened criminals like him and they're afraid of him.

  "When he's been in solitary, locked up by himself; knowing there's a TV camera on him every minute; no access to any erotic material outside his own diseased imagination; he's been observed masturbating to orgasm eleven times in one twenty-four-hour period. In that same period he also had a wet dream. He'd been jerking off all day that is what they had him doing; merrily watchin' dirty movies every half hour or so.

  Then he went to sleep for a while, five or six hours, I guess and while he was asleep he got hard and came off again. And then when he woke up, the first thing he did was jack off.

  "This was at one of the institutions where the psychologist got permission to test this new aversion-therapy on him. It sounds like some kind of a fantastic joke, but it's some starry-eyed nitwit's bright idea of a new treatment for sex offenders child molesters; bell-ringers; guys who beat up prostitutes; rapists."

  "Every type of leading citizen," Merrion said.

  "Right," Paradisio said. "I guess no one's ever proven it works, but then no one's ever proven any of the standard, traditional approaches've worked either. I don't think anyone's ever come up with a cure for those guys they could demonstrate was reliable. So you could ever feel really comfortable letting them loose. Basically they show the dirty pervert all kinds of filthy stuff, find out what really turns him on. Then overpower him with it: Show him dirty movies and let him beat his meat until it's raw or it falls off, whichever comes first. It sounds to me almost as though it oughta be cruel and unusual punishment, stir the guy up into such a frenzy that he does that to himself; has so much fun he really hurts himself."

  "While the medics thoughtfully look on and take notes, I presume,"

  Merrion said. "All in the interest of science, of course. Are we still sure we know which one of these people in the playroom's the guy who's got the problem? Or is it just possible that both of them're now upstanding one from watching the movies, the other one from watching the watcher?"

  "That was my first thought," Paradisio said. "Anyway, when they put Chappelle in the box and made him watch porn flicks all day, he took to it right off. He really seemed to like it."

  "Oh, I bet he did," Merrion said. "Much better 'n re shelving the books in the prison library. Much more fun watching' "Debbie do Dallas" 'n it is mopping down the dining hall. What'd he do, set a new record for the pony-lope?"

  "They shut the VCR off after three hours," Paradisio said. "By then he'd finished off five erections."

  "Very impressive," Merrion said. "They should groom him for the Olympics. Maybe the way to rehab this guy is get him a movie tryout.

  If he doesn't get stage-fright, he could be worth a fortune. He's not a bad guy after all; just a poor unhappy kid who missed his true calling in life."

  "Yeah," Paradise said, 'but they didn't do that, so as a result I've got him. What I'm afraid'll happen is that some night after he and Lady Janet've been drinking and he's been in her a couple or three times, he'll be ready again before she is. And she'll say "No, let's wait a minute, honey. Take a break and have a smoke, make ourselves another drink. We got all night to play." And he'll go berserk and either kill her for putting him off or else force her do it, and in the process be so rough he'll kill her without meaning to. Not that it'll matter much to her."

  "If he's telling the truth," Merrion said. "Dangerous guys don't always do that, as I'm sure you probably know." He did not wish to believe that Chappelle was a threat. If he was then he would first have to think of something he could do that would keep Janet safe, and then he would have to do it. That would be more work for him. "More work's against the chief clerk's religion," Larry Lane had said.

  "Well, yeah," Paradisio said, 'but like I say: I don't think he's lying to me. He doesn't have anything to gain by doing it. Why lie if it doesn't get you anything? He doesn't give enough of a shit about me or the pathetic little things that I can do to him. Put him back in jail?

  It's practically his second home. I don't care, but it's still bad news for the broad. She's pissing him off. That's never a wise thing to do.

  "I think you should at least tell her. He's not doing this 'cause he's in love. Because he likes her, even feels sorry for her. He's fucking her because she's got the equipment, what he prefers to get the job done. Brains're not included in that, so it's okay with him that she's not only stupid but probably not right in the head, talks ragtime or isn't all there. Dependable pussy is what he's after, and that's what she's offering this week. This week and the week after next. If her talk starts to distract, he just buys her another drink. And if one pop doesn't quite do the job, another one after it will. Sooner or later she'll pass out on him, and then he can go to sleep. Knowing he'll get back into her again two or three times in the morning.

  "Lowell Chappelle is a practical man. Half-breeds're often that way, I've noticed. Used to working the fringes; they get pretty good at the game. You've got to find some way to warn her, and make her understand she's being warned."

  "If you just bought a carton of cigarettes, you mean," Merrion said to Janet. "If you bought a carton, say, every five days, then you wouldn't need to go down to Dineen's every morning, the way you do now.

  Then only every fifth day."

  "Well, maybe every three or four days," she said. "I've always been:

  "Have I got it?" Then I'll have it. The booze and the pills, and the cigarettes, too. Or if I had something to sniff." She frowned. "Which I haven't been doing for quite a long time. I wouldn't want you thinkin' that. But when I did, when I was doin' that, that was the way that I did it, all right? Just like with everything else. If I've got it, I'll use it. No matter how long it's supposed to last me, I'll use it if I got it around."

  "I wasn't suggesting…" Merrion said, 'anything like that. I didn't mean anything like that. That you might be back on the stuff.

  You gave me your word, you wouldn't do that you were all finished with that stuff. And that was an important part of our deal, that you'd keep that promise to me. Because otherwise, you know, all bets were off. No help from me with the judge. Or with the people over at Welfare, or with the building super, either, up at the place you live.

  Well, so far as I know, you have done that, stayed clean. So I'm still trying to help you."

  "Because those fuckin' neighbors of mine I've got up there," she said, 'they are real nosy people, and mean. The people who were there when I moved in there, like you said, when you got me in, those were very nice people there then. I got along with them good. But then one at a time, they all seem to've moved out. Always just one at a time. Almost so you wouldn't notice. And then if you did, well, you'd just assume, the new ones'll be just like them.

  "But it didn't turn out that way. These're not nice people there now.

  These're a very mean, loud, kind of people. I don't like them. I'd like to do something to them. Spray-paint their cars or som
ething like that. Get back at them for how they act. But I don't. I don't do anna thing say nothin', to them. I just go along there, minding my business, not a care in the world. Don't give them no bullshit at all.

  I'm not that kind of person. But I'm not so sure about them. I think if they wanted, get rid of a person, you know? That they might start thinkin' how to do it, that would hurt their reputation. And if they couldn't find something out, well, it's not like I'm sayin' I know they've done this, they got you all concerned here like you are today, so you thought you had to see me."

  "I have to see you every month, Janet," he said wearily. "It's part of our arrangement, and by now I shouldn't have to tell you again, every month when you come in. When I have someone call you and remind you to come in, it doesn't necessarily mean I've heard something about you. Or that I haven't, either. It's just time for you to come and see me and let me see how you're doing."

  "I know, but I'm just sayin'," she said, 'that if they told you something then they must've made it up. "Cause they didn't see nothin'. All I am sayin' here is that they could've, they could've done that, it's the kind of thing they might do."

  She looked anxious and wrung her hands. "You see what I'm sayin' to you? They're the type of people that would, would do something like that, make up some bad things, just to get someone in trouble. These are very mean people. They would do that to me. They would do that to anyone, really. They wouldn't stop at anna thing It wouldn't matter to them. Somebody really should do, you know, something about them.

  Someone really should. Before they go and hurt somebody else. They really don't care what they do, as long as they get their own way."

  She paused and thought, frowning, looking at the floor. She nodded, as though satisifed she had settled something in her mind that had troubled her. "I could do it myself," she said, looking up and nodding again. "I could fix them myself if I hadda. I don't know if you know this, if this's something I told you, before, but I can take care of myself. A lot of people; all my life a lot of people've been always thinking I couldn't do that, take care of myself. And some of them thought, well, they tried to do things to me. And then they were very surprised. I gave them a big surprise. I can do things. So I could, if I hadda, do something. And I would, too. Except for this thing I got, that you got over me; maybe it'd be better this time if you did it instead. If you did something to them for me. That I shouldn't, you know, do anything? Might get me in more trouble here?"

  "No, you shouldn't," he said. "You have to stay out of trouble. That's your most important job right now: you stay out of trouble for a year.

  You're almost home now; only one month more to go. Then you'll have done it, the year. You can do that, you'll be free. You wont have to come in and see me anymore, which I know you don't look forward to.

  Being on your own again, and we'll hafta see if we can get you not her job. So that's what you want to concentrate on. Just a little bit longer: proving that you can behave."

  Janet wasn't bright but she was clever. She was playing for time.

  Sooner or later he'd become tired or hungry; have to go to the bathroom; meet his next appointment; decide to go home. Then instead of it being necessary for her to plead fatigue, played-out memory, generalized confusion, or something else, anything, in order to escape, he would call it off and let her go.

  Merrion had first encountered play-acting during his indoctrination as a rookie clerk working the juvenile court session under the carefully reserved supervision of Larry Lane: Brylcreemed up swept wave of hair and the heavily spiced Jade East after-shave lotion; flared trousers and the counterfeit Gucci loafers; bushy grey-black mutton-chop sideburns: Lawrence D. Lane, Clerk of the Court, acting monarch of every damned thing he surveyed. "You're only young for a while."

  Larry did it with panache; he did not like training novices. "No mercy," he said, telling Merrion how to deal with beggars seeking undeserved favors or asking them on days when Merrion did not feel like granting any, even to the worthy. "For any damned reason at all, or for no reason at all. No quarter. Especially when they start in on you, giving you the old routine. They're trying to distract you. Get you to thinkin' about something else, and then actually discussin' it, talkin' about it with them, something' you weren't even thinkin' about when they came in.

  "When they do that, you start saying "Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit, and more bullshit." And you keep on sayin' it, all right? Until they get discouraged, go away, and stop trying to do it. I tell you, son, I tell you true: it's the only way."

  Merrion had been politically insinuated into Lane's office as a reward for more than six years of doglike devoted service, the first two as an unpaid volunteer, in behalf of the electoral ambitions of Assistant by de facto House Majority Leader Daniel Hilliard. Roger Hulsman of Wey-mouth retained his clawlike hold on the title, the perquisites and pay, for what he had announced would be his final term thus 'laming his own fuckin' duck," as Hilliard said.

  That political experience had made Merrion mistrust any tactic of dismissing a voter or disappointing a potential ally except the familiar one getting rid of the petitioner by soothingly lulling him into the hopeful but mistaken belief that if at all possible his wishes would be granted; sending him away already softened up for the gradual accretion of the understanding that he wasn't going to get what his patron had already made painfully clear was going to be extremely hard to bring about. A neutral party seeking a favor was a loyal friend in prospect. If circumstances made it necessary to reject his proposal, the prudent politician tried to do it so that he did not go away an enemy.

  Lane smelled Merrion's reservation. "This isn't politics you're playing now, not while you're in here. Not when you're dealing with the scum that we have to deal with. These bastards can't do a thing for you or to you. What these bastards are's fuckin' helpless. In here you don't have to be nice, even pretend to be nice. You're official; you are real; and this's the real fuckin' world, where you are right now. They are the real people in it, the dirt off the street that's tracked in here.

  "The outside where you used to be may've looked like the real world to you and Hilliard, but trust me, my friend, it was not. Out there you were dealing with other real people who wanted to be doing what they were doing, in the place where they were doing it. Sometimes it was the same thing you wanted, or Hilliard wanted, so you had to fight those other people to get it. Sometimes you beat them and sometimes they beat you, but most times either way, you could respect them.

  "What you're doing in here is dealing with scum. They don't want to be in here. They don't want anything except Out, so they can go back to doing what they did want that got them hauled in here. They hate you but they respect you. You're god to them, at least for that day that they're here. But don't let it go to your head; every other day somebody else's money, somebody else's car, the booze or the white powder is their god. It's not like they're choosy. But just the same, that day when you're their god is a long one. It's the rest of their lives. That's what it looks like to them. That's as far as they can see; it's the way that they think and they live. The only way they can think, you see? Because that's the way that they live.

  "They got a short attention span. A long weekend for them's as long as your whole baseball season. They think in terms of how long they've got left to be high on what they just smoked or injected or sniffed, before they have to go out and get some more money, one way or the other, to get stuff to get high again before otherwise they crash and burn. Our week is a month in their lives, and six months in the County House for these bozos's the same as the rest of their lives. It's further'n their eyes can see.

  "So that's the new power you got now. It's you who decides what it's gonna be for them. Whether they live or whether they die: doesn't matter. Good reason; bad reason; no reason at all, except you got a hair 'cross your ass. All totally up to you here.

  "Most of them already know. They know if they don't like what you say you will do for them or to them, even if it's n
othin', they're up shit creek. Nowhere else to go. Your bad mood is their tough shit. Any place else they go, over your head, upstairs: if they get anything at all they'll get less, or else so damned much more that when they leave this place they'll wish they'd known enough just to've stopped at you.

  "You're thinkin': "What if one of these bozos gets mad, what if he gets really mad? What if he goes to his rep, to my rabbi? What'll happen to me if he does?"

  "I'll tell you what happens then, he tries to pull any that shit," Lane said. "Not one fuckin' thing's what happens. Not one fuckin' thing.

  Because you know what? There'll come a day, this year or next, when His rep or your rabbi's gonna need a big favor, and this'll be the only place in the whole fuckin' world he can get that favor done. His kid takes a bust or his wife's drivin' under; some guy he owes big takes a collar for asking' a lady cop in plain clothes if she'd like to give him a blow-job. Lemme tell you something', pal: When that day comes that this guy's rep or your rabbi has to make that phone call, here, to get it straightened out as he knows it will he doesn't want havin' you remember how he stuck it up your ass when some shit bird-civilian complained. As he knows you will if he ever does.

  "He didn't put you in here so that you'd get mad at him, and then when he needed something, get even tell him to go fuck himself. He put you in here so that some day when he absolutely has to get a favor done, you'll remember him kindly and be grateful to him for that thing he did for you, so long ago.

  "So, when the scumbag, any scumbag, goes and gripes to his rep about you, your rabbi wont do a damned thing to you; that's what he'll do.

  Why you think it is that the guys like Brother Hilliard put their friends in here? You ever think about that? It's because they know what we find out, just as soon's we get in here: We become bulletproof.

  Bulletproof even from them. In this job, we're immortal. If you're smart you only want your friends to be immortal, and to stay your friends after they do.