A change of gravity

by George V. Higgins

  "You beat that, fuckin' luxury crossbow? Whole buncha those bolts had for it, too, stubby iron arrows they use inna thing there; don't make any noise 'cept this sort of whoosh you let 'em go, but the guy says ah fuckin' thing'll go right through an engine block; right through a Ford engine block. What's this country comin' to, you wanna try an' tell me that! Guys sellin' things like that, people they don't even know, total strangers, even? Someone could wind up getting' killed, that kind of shit goin' on.

  "Anyway, they've got him going non-stop, the fake teenager, I mean.

  Just as fast as he can move, 'fore his cases start comin' up in court next week and some shyster-lawyer finally gets smart, asks for a hearin' on probable cause; kid hast ah come in, testify.

  Everyone gets to see what he looks like, he is no good anymore. Party's over.

  "But inna meantime they're sure getting' their money's worth. Corporal Baker, down the Monson station, used to be up in Northampton, brought in the last two the kid bagged. He told me kid made seven buys in nine bars down in Chicopee and Springfield just last night alone, three or four more in Holyoke tonight 'fore they hustle him up here.

  "Grabbed one guy, parkin' lot at Donatello's, sellin' crack outta his car. Fuckin' two-year-old Isuzu, whadda they call it, Rodeo, Trooper, something. Trooper, I think it is. Anyway, it looks brand-new. They bust him, he's got two-and-a-half kilos. Run him and they find out that he's also got a couple priors. So they cuff him and they seize his fuckin' truck, all right? On top of charging him. Baker said they thought they could've had another guy that was there, too, in this blue Bronco." Julian, Merrion thought. "Forfeit his fuckin' car too. But before they could get him, they're so busy the guy with the Trooper, guy inna Bronco sees what's goin' down, and peels off. Outta there.

  Didn't even get a plate on him. They're pissed; fact he ran, you know he's dirty could've taken his ride too.

  "What the hell, huh? I suppose they figure as long's they're already out there, why the hell not? Not gonna do any harm; might just as well go ahead, do it. "Oh, nice car you got there. Sellin' contraband out of it? Sellin' illegal drugs, is that what it's gonna be?

  Naughty-naughty." Take his car. He's a big boy, isn't he? Shouldah known better.

  "I guess that's the way they look at it, anyway. You want my opinion, though, I would say the guy's been fucked. Serves the bastard right, I guess, peddlin' that shit. He don't care then why should I? Guy he picked to sell's a cop. People sell this guy anything. Then the next thing they know, they're up to their ears in the shit. Well, that's the chance that they took.

  '1 don't know, though, you come down to it, what difference it really makes, they do find out he looks like. This's the young trooper I mean. Half these people that're sellin', either so stoned themselves alia time, or else they're always loaded, out of their minds; they dunno the fuck they're doin' anyway. Or else they're just naturally fuckin' stupid. You know what I bet you could do? Could go right up to them and tell 'em, face to face, every single other person inna fuckin' gin-mill with them is an undercover cop, and have it be the fuckin' truth, and you know something'? It wouldn't make any difference; wouldn't make any difference at all. They'd still be there, sellin' stuff an' lettin' the people buy it from them, whether they know them or not, got any idea who it is. It's as simple as that.

  "They think it's all a fuckin' joke; a laugh, is what they think. They think that that's all it is. You know, no big deal, they get caught sellin' coke. Year in the can, mandatory? Yeah, sure; tell me another one, willya? Half the time their lawyer's even got a fuckin' clue what he's doin' alia time, he's gonna get a deal, put 'em right back onna street. They get so they know the routine there, you know? You do this; you do that; you get busted; so what? That's what it is. You should know that.

  "So, good, they get so they're part of it there. They get into the system, they fin'ly become part of it themselves. "Till their faces start getting' to where they're becomin' familiar, you know? To the people down at Probation; start to get so sick of seeing these bums they can't stand it anymore. "What's this? You back here again, you asshole?" "Till it gets to the point someone goes to the DA and says:

  "Hey, get this jerk some time, willya, Christ sake for a change? Sick of lookin' at him every week." And then maybe they go away. Then maybe they do do some time. But then again, maybe they don't. It all sort of just depends, you know? It always all depends." He shrugged.

  "Okay with me, I guess."

  He snuffled. "So, but what's been goin' on with you, then, huh Amby?

  Last time we see you, I mean. That new black kid, Tyrone, he was in here last night with us, you no doubt probably know."

  Whalen had continued to practice the nosiness that had made him a good beat-cop after he had his chevrons sewn on and gone indoors to work. It was what he had been trained to do, and therefore what he did. "He can't help himself," he told Hilliard, telling him about Whalen's latest probe. "I don't know what it is he thinks he's doing.

  "Investigating," I guess. Keeping an eye out. That's what kept him alive when he was out on the street. Now he can't help doing it. I don't know what he's investigating or who he's investigating for doing it, and neither does he. But that doesn't make any difference. He's interested. He pigeon-holes people for ready reference "there's Bob the fireman, front of the firehouse, right where he oughta be; check" like he did keeping order on his beat. Even though there's no reason for it anymore.

  "It isn't that he doesn't like Tyrone or that he treats him badly when Tyrone goes down there. The fact Tyrone's been a clerk here now for over six years probably means he's not "a new black kid" any more, but that's Ev's label for him. When he calls Tyrone "the new black kid" he means that Tyrone is black and still relatively young, and the rest of us clerks are not. He says "new" and "black" when he means "different." It sounds like something's wrong but there isn't.

  "I know because I asked Tyrone, came right out and asked him. Made a big fool of myself doing it, too. At first I'm going to be, you know, diplomatic; I'm gonna be suave. Try to dance around it there, like I'm not after anything. I'm just making small' talk Monday morning, after his first night down there by himself: "So, how was it down there?

  Everything go okay?" Like it'd been his first date. "Well, ah, you didn't try to feel her up did you, son?" Very casual and everything, that's what I am; store the extra butter in my mouth, I am so cool.

  Mister fucking Smooth.

  "He thought I was asking him if he had any trouble makin' out the forms and stuff, and of course he thought that must mean that secretly I really think that he's kind of stupid. Because a moderately smart house cat could fill out those forms if it could figure out how to hold a ballpoint pen in one of its front paws and press down good and hard because it's making several copies.

  "Tyrone tries to keep his face straight. "Oh, fine-fine, no problem, fine." Like: "What the hell is the matter with you?"

  "So that made me get right to the point. I haven't got any choice now.

  I have to come right out and ask him.

  "Cause I don't want that happening, any racial shit, which these cops, some of them I know are capable of that. Even though some of the other cops they work with and get along with perfectly fine, no problems at all, they also happen to be black; makes absolutely no difference at all, they still are capable of this shit and there's no use pretending otherwise, and… and I just don't want any of it happening, any way at all. And if it is I want to know about it, and I'll do something about it. We got enough problems in this line of work without havin' any that shit goin' down.

  And we're not gonna have it, as long's I'm around in charge of things, and that's all there fuckin' is to it."

  "Tyrone," I said, "here is what it is: the guy is not a bigot. Ev Whalen's not a bigot and he's not a racist either. But if he said something, or did something, maybe acted a certain way that made you feel like he is, all you've got to do is tell me what it was that made you uncomfortable, and I'll put an end to it. On
ce I talk to him, he'll be just as upset as I am, you took it that way. Because he isn't that way. He's not that type of guy."

  "And Tyrone, Tyrone he just look at me and shake his head, and he be laffin' at me? He do, and then he say to me: "You really something', Amby, yes, you really, truly are." Then he clapped me on the back and said: "But you can put your mind at ease here, because everything is cool. Nothin' to concern yourself, not a thing at all. Everyone was very nice. Everything is cool."

  "I am never sure whether Tyrone's playin' straight with me or givin' me the leg, and I will admit that. He's been workin' for me in the same office with me for several years and they have been happy years. I think we like each other fine. But every now and then I get the feeling that my friend Tyrone may be funnin' with me some, you know?

  Just a little bit; keep his hand in and all, givin' me the leg when I think he's bein' straight."

  Tyrone Thomas, thirty-eight, formerly of Cambridge, had become the third assistant clerk of the Canterbury District Court when Merrion had plucked him out of the lower third of the civil service list and appointed him in 1989 at the suggestion of State Sen. William Gallagher of Hingham, Chairman of the Senate Committee on Post Audit and Oversight. Merrion did not know or have any occasion to speak to Gallagher. Gallagher had never laid eyes on Thomas. Gallagher's suggestion had been relayed to Merrion by Dan Hilliard, president of Hampton Pond Community College.

  Hilliard's request for a special supplemental appropriation of $3.9 million to finance construction of a new HPCC building incorporating a student union and computer center along with 'much-needed faculty offices and expanded vocational counseling facilities' was short one vote for inclusion in the consensus budget under review by the Senate Committee on Ways and Means. Sen. Tobias Green of Boston controlled that vote.

  "I can't budge him, Dan," Gallagher told Hilhard. "You know I love you dearly and I want you to have your game room and your bar-and-grill and pool hall, jai-alai court and rumpus room. Everything you say you've got to have or else the students starved for knowledge'll burn down the entire campus and put you out of work. But Green's the swing-vote, and he's not gonna budge until he gets what he wants, which is a court clerkship for this Thomas kid. Not later; right now. Green has checked and he knows there's one open out at your end of the world, in Canterbury. If it's promised to someone else and you can't pry it loose, that's all right. At least it's all right with me. It wont be all right with Tobias; he'll call you a racist and say now he knows you're in the Klan. He thinks that, you don't get your building."

  Hilhard said he'd make the call and get back to Gallagher. Mernon said to Hilhard: "Good. Send that darky out here on the next stage. This's the best news I've had since my no-good fucking brother Chris swore to me for I think it was the fourth time that he'll never speak to me again. This time I think he means it. Now you come along and tell me that this means that fucking vacancy more like an open sore is finally going to be filled.

  "My Christian heart is filled with joy. Now I know Larry was telling the truth when he said he was happy when I got the job. He told me when Chassy Spring he was appointing me, 'cause you had hammered Chassy, he'd never been so damned relieved in all of his born days.

  "You getting it meant I was free. Free of all the nagging bastards who been after that damned job. "Sorry," I could then tell them, "Dan Hilhard's man's the winner. You gotta beef, it's with him. I can't help you one bit."

  "I didn't believe him then, but now I do, I do. It's the exact same thing with me. Now I can finally tell the late Richie Hammond's favorite nephew and also the late Larry Lane's grandson that the fucking job is filled and they are out of fucking luck, "So stop pestering me and beat it."

  "The Lane grandson especially. His mother came from miles away she was in Japan, the time to help boot Grampa Larry out of his own house and make him go somewhere else to die. But her kid is delicate; he told me he suffers from chronic depression and can't leave his bedroom about ninety-eight days a year. I told him this makes it hard for me and Lennie Cavanaugh to see how he could possibly hold down a job in the courthouse. I told him having to go to the courthouse every day makes even perfectly normal and stable people like me, haven't got a thing wrong with them, feel pretty depressed quite a lot.

  "He thinks that shouldn't matter. He thinks the fact his gallant unsung dad singlehandedly resolved some trade dispute with Taiwan should make everything all right for him, always, in perpetuity. In other words, what I think doesn't matter. He wants the job and therefore I should give it to him.

  "Now I can tell him he's probably right, but I can't do it for him.

  And: "If you're down in Hell hstenin', Larry, understand that this one's for you." I can tell the same thing to the Hammond kid, too, who obviously doesn't know his late Uncle Richie hated me and did everything he could think of to fuck me over, or what warm feelings I still have for the bastard. "And Larry, if you're still kstenin', if you should run into Richie down there, tell him this one's also for me."

  "I will say to those two fresh kids: "Hate to tell you this, guys, but the both of you seem to've lost out. To a nigger, can you beat it?

  Hey, it's Affirmative Action what can I tell you? I've been neutered, made to sing soprano and rendered powerless, also my hands have been tied. But I want you to know, I'll always have you in my heart."

  "Same for the other four hundred and thirty-two people who've also let it be known that they'd like the job. Not a bunch of fireballs; most of them look to me like they need their rest and generally manage to get it. I will tell them you got me in a hammerlock, ignored my piteous cries, and ordered me like the Nazi you are to give it to this fine young gentleman of color. So now they can stop calling me and start calling you day and night to threaten you with death for giving it to Amos. Or was it Andy you just said? Whichever, doesn't matter;

  I can't wait 'til he gets here."

  Senator Green until his entry into politics in 1981 had for several years taught social studies and coached the jay vee football and basketball teams at Cambridge Ridge and Latin High School, where he had encountered Tyrone Thomas. Thomas had been the youngest son of a single mother whose two elder boys, by different footloose fathers, had both been in trouble with the law before apparently getting themselves straightened out as US Army volunteers. Tyrone had not been a standout as student or athlete, but he was a genuinely nice kid, and he had become one of Green's favorites, using his average intelligence as diligently in the classroom as he did his body and his average skills when playing sports, cheerfully doing what Green, his mentor and after a while his surrogate father told him to do. He earned a B+ average and varsity letters as a second-stringer in football, basketball and track, and received a need-based scholarship from the College of the Holy Cross in Worcester.

  Correctly assessing as poor his prospects of even a brief career in professional sports, and believing that the practices and games took too much time away from his studies, Thomas dropped football midway through his first season and basketball after his sophomore year at the Cross, slightly disappointing one of the basketball coaches who had hoped he might develop into a capable substitute small forward, but gratifying Green. Green said Thomas's decision was a mature judgment, confirmed by his subsequent graduation with a 2.7 grade-point low B average in sociology, and his subsequent admission to the New England School of Law in Boston.

  Thomas earned his J.D. while partially supporting himself and two children his wife, Carol, also worked, as a $17,000-a-year clerk-typist in the State Department of Revenue as a $24,000-a-year assistant manager of the Great American Inn motel on Fresh Pond Parkway in Arlington. When he graduated he had firm assurances from GAI upper management that his record in Arlington coupled with his college and law degrees put him on the fast track for early promotion to the national executive offices in Alexandria. He was flattered and inclined to stay with the company.

  Senator Green told him not to do it. He said: "If you do that, Tyrone, if you sell yourse
lf to them, you will be a big fool. Because that is how they do it now. They don't sell us in the markets any more to white planters who will own us 'til they decide it's time to sell us again. What they show us now is this tinhorn fantasy of a great career so that we will sell ourself on it; do it to ourselves. What they will do with you is they will take you down there to Virginia, and give you some hocus-pocus about how grand you're going to be, if you stay with Good Kind Massa Company.

  "What that grandness will be, Tyrone, when you finally achieve it and your head has cleared enough so that you can see what you have got, will be a desk and a chair outside of the office where the white boys go inside and shut the door to run the store, and that is where you'll always be, no matter where they send you. And send you they will. They will make you move and move, and then they'll make you move again, all around this great big country, anywhere they need to put a black man's face where folks can see it. No matter what they call it, that will be your purpose. That's what you'll be for. A mannequin, store-window dummy, nothing more 'n that; and you and Carol and your kids will have one lousy life. You wont ever be, anywhere, son.

  "You'll always be where you happen to be now, on the way to someplace else. Not where you were before and not where you're going next, never anywhere. And then one day you'll get old and be retired, and you wont know where you want to be, or even where you've been. That's what they've always done to us, kept us on the move. "Noplace" will be your home. And that's no way to live.

  "No, you listen to me, Tyrone. I've never let you down. I will find something for you. I will find you a good place."

  "What was the other one's name there again now?" Whalen said. "The woman, I mean, not the new black kid. Jeannie, Jeannie Flagg there, 'm I right? Now there is a very nice broad. All of us like her a lot.

  Not much to look at, I grant you that, she should lose a few pounds, but still, a very nice broad. Very businesslike woman. Knows what her job is and does it. Very professional person. Last week there we had her in here both nights. Didn't see you at all.