Gonzalo said, “What was the phone call about?”
Burry shook his head. “It is not something I should discuss. It is an unfortunate matter that involves a minor.”
“A minor what?”
“I’m using the word as a noun, Mr. Gonzalo, not as an adjective. It involves a human being who is only seventeen.”
Gonzalo said, “We understand your reluctance to discuss the matter, but I assure you, the fact that a minor is involved is irrelevant.” He paused and seemed to savor the word for a moment. “The terms of the dinner are that you answer our questions. Roger should have explained that to you.”
“May I stress again,” interrupted Avalon, “the confidentiality of our proceedings.”
“Including the waiter,” said Trumbull, scowling, “who is a valued member of this group.”
Burry glanced briefly at Henry, who had now taken up his post at the sideboard with his usual look of quiet attention, and said, “I won’t deny, gentlemen, that I’d welcome a discussion of the matter, for I’m very frustrated over it. Still, I cannot use the name of the young man. Will it suit the rules of your club if I refer to him only as John?”
Rubin said, “It’s our experience, Mr. Burry, that that kind of subterfuge always fails. You’ll slip and use his real name.”
“John is his real given name, Mr. Rubin, and is as nearly anonymous as a given name can be. I will merely refrain from using his last name.”
Halsted said, “I think we can allow that.”
Burry said, “Let me tell you about John first. He’s a good-looking young man, a bit undersized but keen, quick, and intelligent. His intelligence attracted the attention of his teachers at once and I, of course, am always on the lookout for such students. All students are, in theory, of equal importance and all deserve the best education we can give them, but the unusually bright ones are, of course, our special delight and, too often, our special heartbreak.”
“Why heartbreak?” asked Gonzalo quickly.
“Because very often a bright child is as much the victim of his social handcuffs as he would be if he had not a brain in his head. It’s a mistake to think that intelligence alone can lift you out of the mud, and there is no use in citing examples to the contrary. It may happen, given special circumstances; in most cases, it does not happen.”
“I presume,” said Rubin sardonically, “John is a child of the ghetto — as was my father in his time.”
Burry said in a deliberate and even tone, “John is a child of the ghetto, but not as your father was, Mr. Rubin. Your father and you can, if you are circumspect, hide your origin. You may change your name, be careful with your speech, abandon your idiosyn-cracies, and you might pass. It would take a special law to pin an identifying badge on you. John and others like him, however, are born with the identifying badge, and long before you can know them as individuals you recognize them as Blacks.”
Rubin looked uncomfortable. “I meant no offense.”
“None taken. Some Blacks do need identification, I might say. By the convention of our society a single Black ancestor makes one Black. A man might therefore be apparently White but socially Black. Take myself. I am Black.”
“That makes no difference to us, sir,” said Avalon austerely.
“Why should it?” said Burry. “Nor does it seem to make a difference to some of the students. One prominent non-obscene graffito in the fourth-floor toilet reads, ‘Burry is five-fourths white.’ Just the same, my one ancestor does make a difference in my attitude toward John.
“I’m desperate to give a youngster like that the kind of chance he might have if he looked like me. In the gathering crisis of our times the human species cannot afford to waste brains, and this one may be wasted.”
“Drugs?” asked Trumbull.
Burry shrugged. “Pot, of course. That’s a rite of passage with kids these days — like a corncob pipe was to Tom Sawyer, or to Mark Twain for that matter. And then for all the talk about the damage done by marijuana, the evidence is not as strong as for the damage done by tobacco, yet not only is tobacco smoking legal and socially acceptable, but the government subsidizes the tobacco growers.”
“You start with pot and you go on to heroin,” said Avalon dryly. “Another rite of passage.”
“Sometimes — especially if you make both equally illegal, so that the pot smoker fails to see much difference — but only sometimes. One can go from social drinking to alcoholism, a condition as dangerous as heroin and far more common, yet society does not for that reason condemn or outlaw social drinking.
“In any case,” Burry went on, “John is not deeply involved in pot and does not have the makings of a heroin addict. No, I’m afraid John’s temptations lie in another direction — crime.”
Avalon said, “What kind of crime, Mr. Burry?”
“Nothing exceedingly dramatic. I suspected him of being a purse snatcher, a shoplifter, a petty thief. It was only a suspicion, until tonight. Now, I’m afraid, it’s a certainty.”
“Is that what the phone call was about?” asked Gonzalo.
“It was about John,” said Burry despondently. “It was, indeed, from him. He is in trouble and he turned to me. There is some small satisfaction in that. I managed to obtain a lawyer for him and I promised to supply reasonable bail, if necessary. It was that which delayed our arrival. And yet I can take only minimal satisfaction from being of help now. I suspect I failed him to begin with.”
“In what way?” asked Gonzalo.
“If I had been more ingenious, I might have persuaded him to cooperate with the police.”
“Not much chance of that, Dan,” said Halsted. “Anyone who’s a schoolteacher knows that in the bright lexicon of youth there is no such word as ‘squeal.’ The guys who keep their mouths shut go to jail, but they are heroes to their peers and are taken care of. The squealers may stay out of jail but they’re ostracized and very likely beaten up.”
“I know that, Roger,” said Burry. “I need no education in the mores of the street, but I might have done it if I were smart enough. I’ll see him tonight after this meal — if you won’t mind my leaving by ten thirty at the latest — and if he’ll cooperate, I’ll get him out of the city. There are agencies who will help in this respect and I’ve used them before. These people we’re after won’t mount an inter-city hunt for him. It isn’t the Syndicate we’re talking about.”
Avalon twiddled his empty brandy glass and said, “What we talking about, Mr. Burry?”
“A burglary ring organized by medium-sized racketeers who employ high-school students as their field operatives. The kids bring in their takings and receive a percentage for their trouble. It saves them the trouble of trying to peddle the goods themselves — but if they hold out for their own profit and are caught, they are beaten up.”
Trumbull said, “It sounds very much like a Fagin operation.”
“It’s exactly a Fagin operation,” said Burry. “You don’t suppose the practice died out with Oliver Twist, do you?”
“And you’re after Fagin himself, I take it,” said Trumbull.
Burry said, “It certainly does no good to pick up the kids. They’re eventually let go and the game goes on. Even if they were not let go, replacements are easily obtained and the game still goes on. You’ve got to get the corrupters themselves. And beyond that,” he added sadly, “the quirks in our society that make such things possible.”
“If you can cure those quirks,” said Avalon, “you will have achieved a first for our ten thousand years of so-called civilization.”
“Then at least the corrupters,” said Burry. “If I were smart enough to see my way into persuading John to go in with me—”