In the Midst of Death Read online

Page 16

 

  "It doesnt ring a bell. Hes connected to the mayor?"

  "Well, thats what I heard. I know what he likes to do if that helps. Hes a toilet slave. "

  "What the hell is a toilet slave?"

  "I wish you knew because it doesnt especially thrill me to discuss it. " She put her teacup down. "A toilet slave is, well, theyll have different kinds of kinks, but an example would be that he wants to be ordered to drink piss or eat shit, or to clean out your ass with his tongue, or clean out the toilet, or other things. What you have to tell him to do can be really disgusting or it can just be sort of symbolic, like if you made him mop the bathroom floor. "

  "Why would anybody- never mind, dont tell me. "

  "Its getting to be a very strange world, Matt. "

  "Uh-huh. "

  "Like nobody seems to fuck anymore. You can make a ton doing masochist tricks. Theyll pay a fortune if you can fill up their fantasy for them. But I dont think its worth it. Id rather not have to contend with all that weirdness. "

  "Youre just an old-fashioned girl, Elaine. "

  "Thats me. Crinolines and lavender sachets and all those good things. Nother drink?"

  "Just a touch. "

  When she brought it I said, "Manns or Manch or something like that. Ill see if that goes anywhere. I think its a dead-end street anyway. Im getting more and more interested in cops. "

  "Because of what I said?"

  "That, and also something some other people have said. Did she have somebody on the force that sort of looked out for her?"

  "You mean the way you used to for me? Sure she did, but where does that get you? It was your friend. "

  "Broadfield?"

  "Sure. That extortion number was pure bullshit, but I guess you knew that. "

  I nodded. "She have anybody else?"

  "Could be, but I never heard about it. And no pimp and no boyfriends, unless you count Broadfield as a boyfriend. "

  "Any other cops in her life? Giving her a hard time, anything like that?"

  "Not that I heard about. "

  I took a sip of Scotch. "This is off the subject a little, Elaine, but do cops ever give you a hard time?"

  "Do you mean do they or have they ever? Its happened in the past. But then I learned a little. You have somebody regular, and the rest of the guys let you be. "

  "Sure. "

  "And if I get a hard time from somebody else, I mention some names or I make a phone call and everything cools down. You know whats worse? Not cops. Guys pretending to be cops. "

  "Impersonating an officer? Thats a criminal offense, you know. "

  "Well, shit, Matt, am I gonna press charges? Like Ive had cats flash badges at me, the whole number. You take a green kid who just got to town and all shes got to see is a silver shield and shell curl up in a corner and have kittens. Im supercool myself. I take a good look at the badge and it turns out to be a toy thing that a little kidll get to go with his cap pistol. Dont laugh, I mean it. Ive had that happen. "

  "And what do they want from you? Money?"

  "Oh, they pretend its a gag after I pick up on them. But its no gag. Ive had them want money, but mostly all they want is to get fucked for free. "

  "And they flash a toy badge. "

  "Ive seen badges youd swear came out of crackerjack boxes. "

  "Men are weird animals. "

  "Oh, men and women both, honey. Ill tell you something. Everybodys weird, fundamentally everybody is a snap. Sometimes its a sexual thing and sometimes its a different kind of weirdness, but one way or another everybodys nuts. You, me, the whole world. "

  IT wasnt particularly difficult to discover that Leon J. Manch had been appointed assistant deputy mayor a year and a half ago. All it took was a short session in the Forty-second Street library. There were a variety of Mannses and Mantzes in the volume of the Times Index I consulted, but none of them seemed to have anything significant to do with the current administration. Manch was mentioned only once in the Times Indexes for the past five years. The story dealt with his appointment, and I went to the trouble of reading the article in the microfilm room. It was a brief article, and Manch was one of half a dozen people treated in it; about all it did was announce that hed been appointed and identify him as a member of the bar. I learned nothing about his age, residence, marital status, or much of anything else. It didnt say he was a toilet slave, but I already knew that.

  I couldnt find him in the Manhattan telephone book. Maybe he lived in another borough, or outside of the city limits altogether. Maybe he had an unlisted phone or listed it in his wifes name. I called City Hall and was told that hed left for the day. I didnt even try for his home number.

  I called her from a bar on Madison and Fifty-first called OBriens. The bartenders name was Nick, and I knew him because he had worked at Armstrongs a year or so ago. We assured each other that it was a small world, bought each other a few drinks, and then I went to the phone booth in the back and dialed her number. I had to look it up in my notebook.

  When she answered I said, "Its Matthew. Can you talk?"

  "Hello. Yes, I can talk. Im all alone here. My sister and her husband drove in from Bayport and picked up the children this morning. Theyll be staying out there for, oh, for a while, anyway. They thought it would be better for the children and easier for me. I didnt really want them to take the kids, but I didnt have the strength to argue, and maybe theyre right, maybe its better this way. "

  "You sound a little shaky. "

  "Not shaky. Just very drawn, very worn out. Are you all right?"

  "Im fine. "

  "I wish you were here. "

  "So do I. "

  "Oh, dear. I wish I knew how I felt about all of this. It frightens me. Do you know what I mean?"

  "Yes. "

  "His lawyer called earlier. Have you spoken to him?"

  "No. Was he trying to get in touch with me?"

  "He didnt seem very interested in you, as a matter of fact. He was very confident about winning in court, and when I said that you were trying to find out who really killed that woman, he seemed- how shall I put it? I got the impression that he believed Jerry was guilty. He intends to get him acquitted, but he doesnt really believe for a minute that hes really innocent. "

  "A lot of lawyers are like that, Diana. "

  "Like a surgeon who decides its his job to remove an appendix. Whether theres anything wrong with the appendix or not. "

  "Im not sure its exactly the same thing, but I know what you mean. I wonder if theres any point in my contacting that lawyer. "

  "I dont know. What I was starting to say… Oh, its silly, and its hard to say. Matthew? I was disappointed when I picked up the phone and it was the lawyer. Because I was hoping, oh, that it would be you. " Pause. "Matthew?"

  "Im here. "

  "Should I not have said that?"

  "No, dont be silly. " I caught my breath. The telephone booth had gotten unbearably warm. I opened the door a little. "I wanted to call you earlier. I shouldnt be calling now, really. I cant say Ive made very much progress. "

  "Im glad you called, anyway. Are you getting anywhere at all?"

  "Maybe. Did your husband ever say anything to you about writing a book?"

  "Me write a book? I wouldnt know where to start. I used to write poetry. Not very good poetry, Im afraid. "

  "I meant did he say anything about the possibility of him writing a book. "

  "Jerry? He doesnt read books, let alone write them. Why?"

  "Ill tell you when I see you. Im learning things. The question is whether or not theyll fit together into something significant. He didnt do it. I know that much. "

  "Youre more certain of it than you were yesterday. "

  "Yes. " Pause. "Ive been thinking about you. "

  "Thats good. I think its good. What sort of thoughts?"

  "Curious ones. "

  "Good curious or bad curious?"

  "Oh, good, I guess. "

  "Ive been
thinking, too. "

  Chapter 11

  I wound up spending the evening in the Village. I was oddly restless, possessed of an undirected energy that enervated me and kept me moving. It was a Friday night, and the better downtown bars were crowded and noisy as they always are on Fridays. I hit the Kettle and Minettas and Whiteys and McBells and the San Giorgio and the Lions Head and the Riviera and other places the names of which I dont remember. But because I couldnt settle in anywhere I wound up having only one drink to a bar and walking off most of the effect of the alcohol between drinks. I kept moving and I kept drifting west, away from the tourist area and closer to where the Village rubs up against the Hudson River.

  It must have been around midnight when I hit Sinthias. It was fairly far west on Christopher Street, the last stop for gay cruisers on their way to meet the longshoremen and truckers in the shadow of the docks. Gay bars do not threaten me, but neither are they places I habitually seek out. I sometimes dropped in to Sinthiass when I was in the neighborhood because I know the owner fairly well. Fifteen years back Id had to arrest him for contributing to the delinquency of a minor. The minor in question had been seventeen and jaded, and Id only made the collar because Id had no choice- the boys father had lodged a formal complaint. Kennys lawyer had a quiet talk with the boys father and gave him an idea what he would bring out in open court, and that was the end of that.

  Over the years Kenny and I had developed a relationship somewhere in the uncertain ground between acquaintance and friendship. He was behind the bar when I walked in, and as always he looked a young twenty-eight years old. His real age must be just about double that, and you have to stand very close to him to spot the face-lift scars. And the carefully combed hair is all Kennys own, even if the blond color is a gift from a lady named Clairol.

  He had around fifteen customers. Seeing them one at a time youd have no cause to suspect they were gay, but collectively their homosexuality became unmistakable, almost a presence in the long narrow room. Perhaps it was their reaction to my intrusion that was palpable. People who spend their lives in any sort of half-world can always recognize a cop, and I still havent learned how to avoid looking like one.

  "Sir Matthew of Scudder," Kenny sang out. "Welcome, welcome as always. The trade around here is rarely quite so rough as your estimable self. Still bourbon, darling? Still neat?"

  "Fine, Kenny. "

  "Im glad to see nothing changes. You are a constant in a madcap world. "

  I took a seat at the bar. The other drinkers had relaxed when Kenny hailed me, which may well be what hed had in mind in making such a production out of it. He poured quite a lot of bourbon into a glass and set it on the bar in front of me. I drank some of it. Kenny leaned toward me, propping himself up on his elbows. His face was deeply tanned. He spends his summers on Fire Island and uses a sunlamp the rest of the year.

  "Working, sweets?"

  "Yes, as a matter of fact. "

  He sighed. "It happens to the best of us. Ive been back in harness since Labor Day and Im still not used to it. Such a joy lying in the sun all summer and leaving this place for Alfred to mismanage. You know Alfred?"