Like many humorless men, Ehrlinger loves to be entertained. I play the fool for him and he likes me for it.
“Yes?” He looks toward us annoyed and glances at Morgan’s papers that the clerk has just placed on his desk. “Can’t this wait? This man’s just been arrested. The police can hold him for twenty-four hours. Why couldn’t he have his bail hearing tomorrow with everyone else?”
“Influence,” I break in quickly. “You know these crooks, Your Honor. They have friends in low places.”
“Oh, it’s you, Phoenician, is it?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Well, let’s get on with it, then.”
“Wait just a moment, Your Honor. There’s something I’ve always wanted to do, sir.”
“What? What’s that?”
“No, no don’t pay any attention to me, sir. Just go on writing that precedent-making opinion.”
“Here, what’s all this about then?”
I rush to the hatrack where Ehrlinger’s robe is hanging. I lift its hem, draw it back and lean in under it, manipulating my right arm free of the robe and holding it up. Still bent down and hidden in the garment I pivot toward the judge. “Hold it.” I clench my exposed hand into a fist. “There! Got your picture, Your Honor!” I creep back out of the robe and stand up beaming.
“Oh, Phoenician,” Ehrlinger says. “Tarnation, sir, a man your age. All right, now, all right,” he says like Ted Mack on The Amateur Hour, “that will do. Let’s see what we’ve got here.” He turns back to the file and I wink at Morgan. Ehrlinger studies the file for a moment and looks back up. “Well,” he says, “according to this there have been no previous arrests. Is that right?”
“Yes, sir.” Morgan says.
Ehrlinger grins. “Punched him, did you?”
“I’m afraid I did, sir.”
“Fetched him a good one?”
“I guess so, Your Honor.”
“Well, strictly speaking, you’re supposed to keep your hands to yourself, and since these students had a permit for their rally it was quite proper for the police to bind you over.”
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Still—” Ehrlinger says.
“When I heard him urging those kids to burn their draft cards—”
“Couldn’t control yourself.”
“No, sir.”
“Wait a minute.”
“Well, when I was your age I’d like to think I’d have done the same.”
“Hold on.”
“He was a pimply, long-haired freak. To tell you the truth, Your Honor, it was more like slugging a girl.”
“Well, you can’t say he didn’t have it coming.”
“I’m even kind of ashamed.”
“Jesus!”
“Broke his jaw, did you?”
“I’m afraid so, sir.”
“Under the circumstances it would be hypocritical of me to congratulate you, Mr. Morgan, and the law’s the law. There were a lot of witnesses at that rally. I’m afraid you’ll have to appear.”
“I know that, Your Honor.”
“Still, I’ll try not to make it too hard on you. We’ll set a fifty-dollar bond.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. I didn’t anticipate any of this, so I don’t happen to have that much cash on me.”
“I understand.”
“Fifty dollars? Fifty?”
“I’m glad you brought him by, Phoenician. You showed good judgment. There’s no sense in a man like this having to spend even an extra minute in jail.”
“He broke his jaw!” I shout.
“Yes,” the judge says.
I turn to Morgan. “He was making a speech?”
“Yeah,” Morgan says, “terrible things.”
“A rabble-rouser?”
“Until I clipped him.”
“Judge, this man broke a boy’s jaw. No matter what you or I may think of the young man’s politics, it’s perfectly apparent that the kid was a student leader, a public speaker. Who can tell what disastrous effect Morgan’s punch might have on that young fellow’s future platform performances? Suppose he meant to go into radio? Or be a singer? To let Mr. Morgan off on a pledge of just fifty dollars — why it’s…it’s condoning, it’s tantamount to a dereliction of duty.”
“Always having me on, Phoenician,” Ehrlinger says blandly. “That’s humor, so it’s all right, but blatantly to try to up the ante at a patriot’s expense just to line your pockets with a few paltry dollars, that’s something else. No. To be perfectly frank, Phoenician, I know as well as you do that the bail in these circumstances is five hundred dollars. It’s my little joke on you.”
It’s useless. “Sure. That’s a good one, Your Honor.”
“Just turn your documents over to the clerk on the way out. Your appearance is in three weeks, Mr. Morgan. Will that be all right?”
“Yes, Your Honor. Thank you.”
Outside I take out my checkbook. “Wait a minute,” Morgan says, “what are you doing?”
“Writing a check.”
“Hold on,” he says uncomfortably, “money doesn’t change hands unless I fail to appear.”
“Yes, that’s right. Sign here, please. By my penciled x.” He’s glaring at me now, but he signs the forms and I give them to the clerk together with the check. We step into the elevator together.
“Your fee’s what? Ten percent? Here’s your five bucks.” He holds the bill out stiffly to me but I make no motion to take it. I study him carefully. “What is it, the suit? It don’t cost five bucks to clean a suit. Give me two-fifty change.” I hand him two dollars and fifty cents and he tries to give me the five-dollar bill again. “Go on,” he says, “take it.”
“It’s been taken care of.”
“What do you mean it’s been taken care of?”
“It’s been taken care of. There’s a gentleman waiting for you outside. A professional golfer I think he said.”
Morgan’s face drains. “What for?” he asks hoarsely.
“How should I know? Maybe he needs you to fill out a foursome.”
“You son of a bitch,” he screams, “you sold me out!”
“That’s right. I pick up a cool twelve fifty on the deal.”
“Cocksucker!”
He comes for me and I draw my gun and press the emergency button. The elevator jerks to a stop. “You’re Mafia and you don’t carry cash and you don’t pack a gun. Me, I’m an honest man and am lumbered with both. All right, I figure we’ve both been screwed. That’s why I’m doing you this favor.”
“Some favor.”
“You bet some favor. I was supposed to get fifteen hundred bucks for you. How the hell could I know all the cops wanted you for was for smacking some goddamn hippie? Painstaking attention to detail, we try harder. Bygones are bygones. The favor is I warned you.”
“The guy’s outside, you said. What am I supposed to do?”
“It’s a courthouse here. Confess a crime. Expose yourself to a meter maid. Up to you. I’m getting out on three. You’re not.” I press three. We stop and the door opens. “Vaya con Dios, Uncle Sam.” As I step out I bang a button, but before it can shut I lean my weight against the door. “One more thing. If you should happen to get away from that palooka, just remember your appearance is in three weeks. I’ve got fifty bucks tied up in you. If you don’t show up, I’ll come get you.” I release the door, it closes behind me and we’re quits.