Sarah was worrying about their only daughter, Susan, who was sixteen years old. More specifically, Sarah was worried about genetics. Her husband had told her on more occasions than she could count that she was blessed with splendid legs, thighs, and breasts. She wasn’t so sure now how she felt about her legs or thighs, but she agreed that she had very good breasts, and there was nothing she liked better (well, almost nothing) than having her breasts fondled. That was where genetics came in. She did not have to worry about her older boy, Alan, so far as genetics were concerned. Nor did she have to worry about her youngest son, Jeff. Alan was seventeen and Jeff was thirteen and the only thing she had to worry about where they were concerned was the possibility that they might begin smoking dope or something, in which case Meyer would break their respective heads. But genetics, ah, genetics.
Susan, from all external evidence, had inherited the splendid legs, thighs, and breasts Meyer was always telling Sarah she possessed. She had also inherited Sarah’s bee-stung lips, her own and Meyer’s blue eyes, plus blond hair that come from God knew where, and all of this put together made for a very attractive young lady who Sarah hoped was not as fond of being fondled as she herself was.
That was why Sarah wanted to suggest to Meyer that they both suggest to Susan that Susan suggest to their family doctor that perhaps he ought to put her on the pill. Sarah did not know whether or not her daughter was still a virgin. Susan had become awfully close-mouthed about personal matters in the past several months, a possible sign that she had already been initiated by some hot-blooded high school cowboy (I’ll kill him, Sarah thought), or, on the other hand, a possible sign that she was seriously considering initiation. Either way, Sarah did not want her daughter to become pregnant at the age of sixteen.
The problem, however, was explaining all of this to Meyer.
It was Sarah’s firm belief that Meyer thought their daughter had never been kissed.
Simultaneously, they both began speaking.
“I’ve been thinking...”
“Sarah, do you...?”
They both fell silent.
“Go ahead,” Meyer said. “You first.”
“No, you first.”
Meyer took a deep breath.
“They’re kidding me about the hairpiece,” he said.
“Who?”
“The guys.”
“So?”
“All the guys,” Meyer said.
“So?”
“So... Sarah... do you like the hairpiece?”
“It’s not me who has to like it,” Sarah said. “It’s on your head.”
“Well... do you think I look better with it or without it?”
Sarah considered this for what seemed a long time.
“Meyer,” she said, “I love you with hair or without hair. To me, you’re you, with hair or without hair. You can go around bald, if you like, or you can wear the wig you’ve already got, or you can buy a blond wig or a redheaded wig, you can grow a mustache or a beard, or you can paint your toenails purple, whatever you do I’ll love you. Because I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too,” he said, and hesitated. “But do you like the wig?”
“You want an honest answer?”
“Yes.”
“I love to kiss your shiny bald head,” she said.
“Then I’ll burn the wig,” he said.
“Yes, burn it.”
“Tomorrow,” he said.
“Whenever,” she said.
“Okay,” he said, but he wasn’t sure he would burn it. He sort of liked the way he looked in it. The wig made him look like a detective. He liked looking like a detective. He liked being a detective. Except when the Deaf Man was around. Why did the Deaf Man have to be around again? If it was the Deaf Man. But who else would be hanging girls from lampposts and then leaving identification around to make the job easy? It had to be the Deaf Man. He wondered suddenly if the Deaf Man wore a wig? The Deaf Man was blond, Carella had positively identified him that time he’d got shot. A tall blond man wearing a hearing aid in his right ear. But suppose the blond hair was a wig. Suppose the Deaf Man was really bald? Would they have to start calling him the Bald Man? Did people call Meyer himself the Bald Man behind his back? Was he known throughout the 87th Precinct as the Bald Detective? Throughout the entire city perhaps? The world? He did not want to be known as the bald anything. He wanted to be known as Meyer Meyer. Himself.
Sarah was talking.
He had missed the first several words of what she was saying, but it had something to do with people growing up to be beautiful and naturally attracting the attention of other people. He remembered the last time the Deaf Man had come to plague them. Why didn’t he pick on some other precinct, what the hell was it with him? Why the Eight-Seven? Sent photographs to them. Sent each photograph twice. Made it easy for them — well, not so easy, a philanthropist he wasn’t. But threw the challenge in their laps: Dope out what these pictures mean, and you’ll know what I’m up to this time. The pictures, once they doped them out, indicated that he was going to rob another bank. And rob a bank he did. Twice. Sent in a team he knew would be caught if the detectives had properly figured out the pictures he’d sent them, and then sent in a second team an hour and a half later. Almost got away with it, too. Called himself “Taubman” that time around. “Taubman” was German for the Deaf Man. Der taube mann. God, Meyer hoped he wasn’t back again.
“So what do you think?” Sarah said.
“I hope he isn’t back again,” Meyer said aloud.
“Who?”
“The Deaf Man.”
“Did you hear anything I said?”
“Well, sure, I...”
“Or are you deaf, too?” Sarah asked.
“What is it?” Meyer said.
“I asked you about Susan.”
“What about Susan?”
“She’s sixteen.”
“I know she’s sixteen.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“Like her mother.”
“Thank you. She’s beginning to attract boys.”
“She’s been attracting them since she was twelve,” Meyer said.
“You know that?”
“Of course I know it, am I blind? In fact, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Don’t you think it’s time she saw a doctor?”
“A doctor?” Sarah said.
“Yeah. To prescribe the pill for her.”
“Oh,” Sarah said.
“I know the idea may be upsetting to you...”
“No, no,” Sarah said.
“But I think it’s best to take the necessary precautions. Really. This isn’t the Middle Ages, you know.”
“I know,” Sarah said.
“So will you talk to her?”
“I’ll talk to her,” Sarah said. She was silent for a moment. Then she whispered, “I love you, you know that?” and kissed his shiny bald head.
Hawes loved to undress women.
He especially loved undressing women who wore eyeglasses.
Taking off their eyeglasses was tantamount to stripping them naked. A woman looked particularly soft and desirable once her eyeglasses were removed. He loved to kiss the closed eyelids of a woman whose eyeglasses he had just removed. When he started to take off Annie’s eyeglasses, she said, “No, don’t.”