by Sol Stein
“We are good friends, that’s all!”
“Would you lie for his sake?”
“I’m not lying.”
“You said the defendant pulled your hair. Did anyone else ever pull your hair?”
“Well, in school—”
“In school what?”
“The boys used to pull your hair.”
“So hair-pulling is not so unusual among kids in school. Yet Ed Japhet attacked young Urek when he was pulling your hair, according to your testimony?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Did you and Mr. Terence Japhet ever discuss the events of that evening, the evening of the fight?”
“Yes, in the hospital.”
“You heard his version of the story, and you told him your version?”
“It wasn’t a version. We talked about what happened.”
“Did you talk about what happened between you and Ed before Mr. Japhet arrived to pick you up?”
“Of course not.”
“Why not?”
“It’s none of his business. It’s none of your business.” Tears flooded her eyes now, and she could barely see the moving, pointing, stalking figure in front of her.
“Your Honor,” said Thomassy, “I think there’s a real question here about the charge, about whether in fact the alleged victim struck the first blow. There is also a real question as to whether this girl, in close friendship with the boy that struck the first blow, should really be considered an objective witness. I have no further questions.”
Chapter 18
Judge Clifford had asked to see counsel in chambers. The small conference room also served as the law library, three of its walls lined with tomes. On the fourth wall, next to the entrance door, hung portraits of Clifford’s predecessors, painted in oil by a local artist.
When Metcalf and Thomassy came in, Clifford had already removed his robe and lit up a cigar.
“Thomassy,” he said, “what the hell’s gotten into you?”
The lawyer chose to be silent.
“You got a rod up your ass? You were very rough on that girl. What were you trying to do out there?” In the face of Thomassy’s silence, he went on. “I’ll tell you what I think. You were trying to scare the hell out of her and her mother and father so that the next time she’s on the stand, in front of a jury, you’d have a frightened, thoroughly intimidated witness.” He turned to Metcalf. “You’ve got nothing to grin about. Your performance out there’s been C-minus.”
Thomassy stretched his legs under the table. He intertwined his fingers, thrust the palms of his hands toward Metcalf, and stretched his arms. “I was just feeling my way,” Thomassy said. “I’m sorry if I stepped over the line. Metcalf’s got a nice boy victim, nice girl friend, nice school-teacher-father, and I’ve got an inarticulate, hostile kid with a scar on his face. If nature stacks the deck, I’ve just got to work a bit harder.”
Judge Clifford couldn’t help chuckling. Thomassy was really something.
“I guess you know where we’re at,” he said.
“I guess,” said Thomassy.
From Metcalf s expression, it was clear he didn’t.
“The nitty-gritty,” said the judge, “is the tire chain. I appreciate your floor show from the hardware store, but I think we’re into a potentially deadly weapon.”
“And a knife,” said Metcalf.
“Yes, how’re you going to handle that, Metcalf?”
“The nurse’s aide, Alice Ginsler. The one Urek bumped into. She can identify.”
“Tell you what,” said the judge. “You fellows are keeping me awake, for which I’m always grateful. But I see a grand jury finding enough to indict for first-degree assault. I’m passing you on to White Plains.”
“I see,” said Thomassy, wondering how he might keep Urek from making an outburst in the courtroom when he heard the news.
“No hard feelings, I hope,” said the judge, stubbing his cigar out carefully so he could relight it later. “It must have been obvious to you, George, that I would have to hold him.” He slipped his arms into the robe, which Metcalf held out for him.
“No hard feelings,” said Thomassy. He looked at Metcalf, who was now well out of it. All he’d have to do was to pass on his notes to the D.A.’s office. This case was over his head, anyway.
The judge went out into the courtroom first, the hubbub instantly hushing.
“After you,” said Thomassy, letting Metcalf precede him through the door.
Thomassy went directly over to the defense table, where Urek, like everyone else in the courtroom, was standing. The judge sat. They all sat.
Thomassy whispered to Urek. “Take that pad. Write down the names and addresses of the three kids who were with you at the high school that night. If you remember any of the phone numbers, write them down too. Write down a description of each kid, as best you can.” That would keep him busy.
“I have advised counsel,” said Judge Clifford, “that from the information produced thus far, it seems to me necessary to pass the case on to the grand jury. The defendant is continued in bail.” He tapped his gavel once, a note of solemn finality rendered out of habit.
The spectators jabbered. Thomassy constructed the local newspaper headlines in his head. Urek, busy writing on the pad, hadn’t even heard. But his parents got the message, and they were heading toward the defense table. Thomassy rose to meet them.
“Let’s discuss this in your home, not here,” he said to Mr. Urek.
Inside the Urek house, Thomassy said, “No coffee,” before it was offered. “Let’s all talk.”
“Is this very bad?” asked Paul Urek.
“There are two ways of looking at it,” said Thomassy. “I could see early on that the judge wasn’t going to dismiss the case as a schoolyard fight. Clifford’s not stupid. He sees the possibility of first-degree assault with a dangerous instrument, which is a felony and might mean a year in jail or more if we lose. But…”
He could feel them hanging on to his words.
“I think I can handle both Japhets and the girl on the stand, no problem. That nurse’s aide worries me some. The big question mark is one we haven’t faced yet. Metcalf was going to get one of the other kids, one of your friends, to cop a plea. That means plead guilty to a minor offense in exchange for testifying against you.”
“They wouldn’t dare,” said Urek.
“We’ve got to be realistic. Someone always dares. The negative thing now is that in White Plains the prosecution’s case isn’t going to be handled by a bumbler like Metcalf. It’ll be one of the young assistant D.A.s for the county. They’re smart and ambitious, but don’t worry. We’ve got a big plus on our side from now on.”
Urek’s father couldn’t see what was hopeful.
“I think our case rests on the issue of reasonable doubt. If we stayed in this court, I’d have to convince the judge. Tough to do. If he decided on third degree, which is a misdemeanor, we’d have a six-man jury. All I’d have to do is convince one of them that there was a reasonable doubt as to your son’s guilt to get him off. That’s a six-to-one chance in our favor. But if the grand jury in White Plains finds a true bill, then we get a twelve-man jury. And all I have to do is convince one of them that there’s a reasonable doubt. That doubles the odds in our favor. It’s much easier, believe me, to hang up one juror out of twelve than one judge.”
Urek had a nervous smile on his face. His father said, “This is going to cost a lot more, isn’t it?”
“Don’t worry about that,” said Thomassy. “When I enjoy something, I charge less. We can always stretch out the payments.”
“Thank you,” said the father.
“One more thing. This is a long shot. I’ve had a call from a New York psychiatrist who’s been studying this case for reasons of his own. I’d like him to have a chat with your son. Depending on what he comes up with, we might call him as a defense witness. The prosecution wouldn’t be allowed to call him, so there’s no risk. Oka
y?”
All three Ureks nodded, though Thomassy wasn’t certain they had understood. He thought it best to avoid the word “insanity,” especially since he’d only plead it if the Japhet kid died.
“The doctor’s name is Koch. I’ll give you a ring and let you know when he can come.” He went over to the boy. “Remember one thing. The odds are more in our favor in White Plains. Don’t screw up. Don’t run away. Don’t get into any kind of new trouble.”
When he left, Thomassy felt good. He wished it was Tuesday.
*
Dr. Koch took a taxi to the Urek home. The driver asked for seventy-five cents. Koch gave him a dollar bill and hoped it would be enough. As the taxi pulled away, the driver waved, which was most unusual and friendly compared to New York.
The white frame house appeared whiter on the left side than on the right, and as Koch walked up the flagstone path he surmised that the house was in the slow process of being repainted a part at a time. The empty flowerpots on the two windows on either side of the entrance would, when spring came, contain geraniums. This so-called classless society in America had class distinctions even in the choice of flowers. Ah, well. He pushed the doorbell.
It was awkward at first, as he expected it would be, shaking hands with the father and the mother (when would he remember that in America one doesn’t shake hands with the women!) and then being introduced to the boy, who kept perhaps ten feet away as he nodded in response to Dr. Koch’s hello. The doctor thanked them for suggesting coffee, but said he didn’t really want any, nor anything else, and after a bit of shuffling they excused themselves, leaving the uncomfortable boy and the equally uncomfortable interviewer face to face.
“Mr. Thomassy said I have to talk to you,” said Urek.
“Only if you wish.” Then, after a moment, “How would it be if we took a walk?”
“Where?”
“Oh, no place in particular, just some air and exercise.”
“They think I’d run if I got out of the house.”
“If you ran away, where would you go?”
“I’m not running away.”
“I believe you.”
“Yeah.”
“Why should I not trust you?”
The boy didn’t move.
“Would you like a walk? It’s not greatly cold, just brisk, quite nice.”
“I’ll get my coat.”
What if the boy did run? Thomassy had made a big point of that. The father appeared just before they left the house.
“It’s all right,” said Koch. “We’ll walk awhile and then come back here.”
Outside they both walked with their hands rooted in their pockets, the leftover snow crunching under their feet.
Urek didn’t know what to say, certain only that Koch’s silence was an invitation for him to speak.
They turned the corner. The sidewalk was less wide, and they were forced to walk closer together.
“How is it for you in school? Do you like it?”
Urek hated questions like that.
“What kind of answer do you want?”
“The truth.”
“Well…”
“Yes.”
“School’s a bore.”
“All the time?”
“Most.”
“Whose fault do you think that is?”
Urek thought. “The teachers’.”
“Are they all boring?”
“Some of the things are okay, but they do it in such a boring way, it’s hard to stay awake.”
“Do you sleep enough at night?”
Urek laughed. “Sure.”
“Boredom is man’s worst enemy.”
The boy looked blank.
“Is there any teacher who isn’t boring?”
“Look, I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“No one is going to repeat what you and I say together.”
“Sure, sure.”
“Can you tell me your first name?”
“Stanley. Everybody calls me Urek.”
“Stanley, do you know what a psychiatrist is?”
“Are you a shrink?”
Koch laughed. “Yes, sometimes.”
“You listen to people?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you want to talk to me?”
Be patient, Koch told himself. He is frightened.
“Have you ever gone fishing?”
“Sure, what’s that got—”
“You fish, hoping the fish—”
“I ain’t a fish.”
“No, no, Mr. Thomassy would call this a fishing expedition for ideas, hoping to find some that might be of help to him in defending you.” A moment’s silence as they slowed their walk. “We were talking about school.”
“Okay.”
“Which was boring to you because of the teachers. All of them?”
“Not all the time. Gym’s okay, but the teacher doesn’t talk much. There was one teacher who got sort of interesting.”
“A gym teacher?”
“No.”
“What subject was that?”
“Science.”
“Oh, are you interested in science?”
“What I mean is, the teacher made it sound like it was exciting, you know what I mean?”
“I think I do. Who was it?”
“Mr. Japhet.”
Dr. Koch didn’t want his surprise to show.
“You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?” asked Urek.
“No, no. How did you do in Mr. Japhet’s course?”
“He didn’t like me.”
“Why would he not like you?”
“Look, I could tell from the first day. Some of the kids he was chatty with, you know, the ass-kissers, the kids who get dressed up for school like it was church, when he came around the room looking into their notebooks he’d say, ‘Good, good,’ and crap like that.”
“Did he say, ‘Good, good,’ to you?”
“He said, how come you don’t use the English language right. I said what the hell did he think I was talking. He said I didn’t have a sentence right. I said I had studied the lesson, I dared him to show me where I was wrong, and he said it was wrong because it wasn’t literate, some shit like that.”
Koch stared at the boy.
“I didn’t mean to say ‘shit.’”
“That’s all right. You mean you had the content right?”
“Every fact was right out of the book he assigned. I had nothing wrong—”
“Except the words you put it in.”
“What difference does that make?”
“Did he tell you to take remedial English?”
“He gave me a flunk on the paper. So I cut his class.”
“Yes?”
“I mean, he asked me why I was absent when he saw me in the hall. I couldn’t say I was sick or anything. So I said the truth.”
“You said what?”
“I said he put me down. He acted surprised. Surprised! He said he wanted to see my mother or father. I told him my father worked and I didn’t want my mother to come to yessir him. He said I was insolent, I’ll never forget that word he used. I told him he was insolent. I didn’t even know for sure what it meant. I cut his class the rest of the week. That finished it. He sent the principal some kind of note that I wasn’t prepared to take a science course. Shit!”
Dr. Koch walked along with the boy in silence; then he said, “I would like to ask you about something difficult.”
“Like what?”
“Do you think you can talk to me about that locker-room business?”
Urek said nothing.
“Why don’t we turn around and walk back to the house.”
They walked uphill now, in silence. After a while Urek said, “The boys paid me a quarter a month. Everybody knows it.”
“How many boys did you collect from regularly?”
“Well, Mr. Chadwick, the principal, he exaggerated like hell. It was only sixty-one.”
; Dr. Koch did the figures in his head. “That’s fifteen dollars a month.”
“Not even, because some of the kids owed it to me when they didn’t have it. It’s hard to collect from some of them, even though they promised to pay. I never beat a kid up for not paying.”
“Do you think you could have earned fifteen dollars a month by working?”
“That was work, doc. I had to patrol. I had to keep my guys in line. And did you ever see a hacksaw—it’s a lot of work.”
“Hacksaw?”
“To cut open a lock if they didn’t pay.”
“Did you have to do that often?”
“Till they caught on it’s cheaper to pay than to buy a new lock. That Japhet kid, he paid five dollars and seventy-five cents for that tempered lock I couldn’t get through, isn’t that crazy? I figured out he could have bought twenty-eight months of protection for that money. Nine months to the school year, he’d of graduated and been ahead of the game if he wasn’t so stubborn.”
“I see. If you got a job in a grocery store on Saturdays, or mowed lawns in spring and summer, or did something regular after school for a storekeeper, swept up, anything, deliveries, couldn’t you have earned a lot more per month?”
“Yeah.”
“What does that mean?”
“I tried it.”
“Well?”
“You know how lousy people are when you work for them, do this, do that, never say nothing when you do something right, they don’t tell you how they want something done, they criticize you if you do it wrong. I worked for Pete’s Hardware, and they accused me of stealing parts!”
“You didn’t, did you?”
“I was going to pay for them out of my pay. I was just putting them aside because my father was fixing up the downstairs bathroom, and he told me the parts he needed. My father would have paid me back. They had no business accusing me of cheating. You know, Pete told the employment office at the school on me so it’d be impossible to get another job? What was I supposed to do, go on relief, they wouldn’t give me relief. I’m sixteen! They give niggers relief, and I wanted to work!”
“I understand what you are saying.”
“You don’t think I did something wrong?”
“That is not for me to say.”
“I’ll tell you something. It wasn’t the fifteen bucks, it was being my own boss. But every time I passed Japhet’s locker with that tempered lock on it, I would get so mad I could have—I’m saying too much.”