“Jon Arnett.”
He got all ten, first try, no mistakes.
“Not bad,” Graham said.
“Not bad?”
“Take another look at them,” Graham said, and he gave Neal a couple of minutes before taking them back. Then he taped over everything but the eyes. He held up a card to Neal
“George Blanda?”
“‘George Blanda?’” Graham mimicked.
“Alex Sandusky?”
“It’s George Blanda.”
“Tricky.”
“Your first guess is usually right.”
They went on this way most of the day. Graham would place the cards in various groups, flash them, and have Neal recite them in order; or show him five different groupings and then ask in which group a particular card had been. On and on, backward, forward, and sideways-until Neal could answer correctly. Every time.
Next saturday. Neal‘s place.
“Jimmy Orr,” said Graham.
Neal closed his eyes. “Five eleven, one eighty-five, eighth year, Georgia.”
“Gino Cappelletti.”
“Six flat, one ninety, sixth year, Minnesota.”
“In the picture on the card, was he wearing home or away?”
“Home.”
“You sure?”
“Home.”
“Home is right.”
“Yeah, I know. Look, Graham, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but football cards are getting boring.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Right.”
Next saturday. Graham‘s place.
“Miss April.”
“Thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-seven. Brown hair, green eyes. Likes sunbathing, swimming, and water polo. Wants to be an actress. Turnoffs: tan lines and narrow-minded people.”
“Miss October.”
“Thirty-eight, twenty-five, thirty-eight. Blond, and blue. Five foot five. Hails from Texas. Likes horses, mellow music, and picnics. Wants to be an actress. Turnoffs: pollution, world hunger, and narrow-minded people.”
Graham got the tape out. “Who’s this?”
“Janice Crowley. Miss… some winter month…”
“Which winter month?”
“February.”
“You guessed.”
“But I guessed right.”
“How did you recognize her?”
“Modesty forbids.”
A few saturdays later. Neal’s place.
“I have a new one,” Neal said to Graham as he came through the door.
“A new what?”
“Memory game.” Neal held up the Saturday New York Times. “The crossword puzzle.”
Graham looked at it. There was nothing written in the squares.
“So what, you’re going to do the puzzle?”
“I already did.”
“Cute, Neal. Now let’s get to work.”
“It was tough.”
Graham plunked himself down in the decrepit easy chair. “You asked for it, kid. Okay, twelve down.”
“Apse.”
“Where are the answers?”
“Monday’s paper.”
“Thirty-one across.”
“Kipling.”
And so on and so forth, Graham wrote the answers in and checked the papers on Monday. They were all right. Graham told Ed Levine about it, and he told Ethan Kitteredge. Ethan Kitteredge phoned a friend at Princeton, who came up to New York with a bunch of tests. Neal didn’t want to take them until Graham held up three hundred baseball cards and offered the alternative, Neal took the tests and did pretty well.
8
Neal and graham had finished a particularly easy job one night, an over-and-out surveillance on a visiting toy salesman who had found his own Barbie doll in the Roosevelt and who should never have ordered room service.
“When his old lady hears these tapes…” Neal said as they strolled up Broadway.
Graham shook his head. “No, we’ll just file the report and use the tapes as backup.”
“You’re no fun.”
Graham slowed his pace, tipping Neal off that he had something on his mind. He wasn’t long getting it off.
“Neal, remember those tests you took?”
“That you made me take? Yeah.”
“You did good.”
“Swell.”
Graham made a point not to look at him as he said, “So you’re going to start Trinity School in the fall.”
Neal froze. “Bullshit, I am.”
Graham shrugged.
Neal turned to face him. “Who says? Who says I start Trinity in the fall?”
“The Man says. Levine says… I say.”
“Yeah? Well, I say no way.”
“Nobody’s asking you.”
Neal was angry. “It’s a prep school! Kids wear jackets and ties! Rich kids go there! Forget it!”
He started to turn away, but Graham grabbed him by the wrist and held him still.
“This is a great opportunity for you.”
“To be a fag. And leggo of me.”
Graham released his wrist. “You’re thirteen years old, Neal. You have to start thinking about your future.”
Neal stared at the sidewalk, “I think about it.”
“Yeah, you want to be me.”
Graham saw the tears begin to form. He pushed on, anyway.
“You want to be me, son. But you can’t be.”
“You do okay.”
“I do fine, but you can do better.”
“I don’t want to be better than you!”
“Listen, Neal. Listen. You’re smart. You have brains. You don’t want to spend your whole life sniffing people’s sheets, peeking through windows-”
“We do other things. The time we found that old lady who inherited the money… the lawyer we caught ripping off that guy… that kid that ran away we found-”
“I’m not saying you can’t work with me anymore. I’ll always want you to work with me. But you have to go to school!”
“I go to school.”
Graham laughed. “When you feel like it.”
“Okay, I’ll go to school, I will. But not that school!”
“The Man wanted to send you to one of those boarding schools in New England. I talked him out of it.”
“Talk him out of this!”
“I don’t want to.”
Neal spun around and walked away-fast. Let Mr. Wizard follow me if he can, he thought. Ain’t going to any rich little snobby fag school.
Graham let him go. Let him hide out for a while and think it over. He pointed his own nose to McKeegan’s for a cold one and a shot.
Neal showed up there two days later. He found Graham sitting on his customary stool. Neal sat down at the other end of the bar.
“Those schools cost a lot of money,” he said.
“A lot,” Graham agreed.
“Time you add in books, fucking uniforms, all that shit.”
“Very expensive.”
McKeegan brought Graham his pastrami on rye, fries, and a fresh beer. “The kid want anything?” he asked Graham.
“The kid doesn’t work for me anymore.”
“The kid has money of his own,” Neal said. “Give me a Coke.” He would have ordered a beer, but knew that failure would be a disaster.
“Diamond Jim will have a Coke,” McKeegan responded.
“So these books and stuff,” Neal continued, “where would I get the money? You won’t let me steal.”
“The Man will pick up your tab. Plus your usual pay for jobs. Also something he called ‘a modest allowance.’ You steal, I break your wrists.”
“Here’s your Coke,” McKeegan said. “Shall I keep the change?”
“Gimme.”
“You’ve been associating with Graham too much.”
“Tell me about it.”
Graham took a break from his pastrami. He knew he should have had the corned beef. “The Man said something about ‘grooming you for better things,’ whatever that means. At first, I thought he was talking about a horse.”
“Maybe he was.”
“Maybe.”
Neal sipped his Coke and set it down-an expansive gesture. He was pleased. “Tell you what. I’ll come back. Same pay. No school.”
“McKeegan, isn’t this kid underage?”
“You’ll never get anyone as good as I am.”
“Probably not, son.”
“So?”
“So, it comes to this.” Graham turned on his stool to face the boy. “You go to this school or you go your own way.”
Neal threw the Coke back as he’d seen the men do with the real stuff. “See you around,” he said, and headed for the door.
“You know what I think?” Graham asked as he inspected the pastrami for fat. “I think you want to go to this school but you’re afraid, because you think the other kids are better than you are.”