Stu shook his head, wondering what his father was getting at.
“You heard them inside, and so you called out that you had come back, and they opened the door. Right?”
“Well, I knocked—”
“But you heard them in there. That’s why you knocked. To let them know you had come back. And you yourself didn’t go in. That’s right, isn’t it? You didn’t go in.”
“Yeah, they came out.”
“All right. So far, you’re in the clear. You were just like a bus driver or a cab driver who delivers a bunch of people to a party and then comes back for them. Now, when you returned to get that boy, Moose, that’s when you made a mistake, because you had no right to enter that house. One thing in your favor, of course, is that the door was open, so it was not breaking and entering. And get this. All the time you were thinking that there was this friend of yours lying sick, maybe seriously sick, in that house there—”
“You mean Moose? He was no friend of mine.”
“He was a classmate, wasn’t he? You never had a fight with him, did you? All right, so he was a friend of yours. And he was sick—”
“He was drunk.”
“You didn’t know that. All you knew was that they told you he had passed out. That’s like fainted. That’s serious. You had a car, so naturally you felt you had to go help him.” He glared at his son as though daring him to object to his interpretation.
And when his son remained silent, he leaned forward and said. “Now, this is important, and I want you to pay strict attention. You didn’t know what was wrong with Moose when you saw him. After all, you’re not a doctor. All you know is that he was lying there still. So your idea was to get out of there fast and get some help, call the police or a doctor. The idea that he might have been murdered never entered your head. All you know is that he didn’t look right—”
“But it had to be murder, because somebody put that sheet over his head.”
“You didn’t see how they wrapped him in the first place, did you?”
“No, but—”
“Look, what I’m trying to tell you is that you were not involved with any of this. You didn’t pick the place; you didn’t break into the house; you went back to get Moose only because he was sick and you had a car; and finally, when you saw he was very sick, your one thought was to get help for him.”
“But Didi and Bill said—”
“You wouldn’t be likely to remember what they said. All you remember was there was some talk about Moose and how they put him to bed. The details, you just don’t remember. You weren’t there; you didn’t see anything; you don’t know anything.”
“Yeah. I just pussyfoot.”
“That’s it.” said his father eagerly.
Stu rose. “And afterward, when it’s all over, what do I do? Get myself a new set of friends or move to another town? And what do I do about living with myself? I’m just a dumb kid, and you’re a smart big-time executive. Well, maybe you’re too smart. Nobody, certainly not Lanigan, is going to believe that all I had were noble thoughts. If I’m not involved, then I’m damn sure Lanigan’s not going to get me involved. Besides. I don’t think you’re worried about me, anyway.” He went to the door, and from the threshold he said. “It’s you, your reputation, you’re worried about.”
Mrs. Gorfinkle came in. “Oh—where’s Stu? Have you finished with him?”
“Yes, I’ve finished with him.” her husband said between clenched teeth.
“What’s the matter? Did you quarrel again?”
“You work and sweat and slave”—but Gorfinkle was talking to himself—“for what if not for your children? And what thanks do you get? To them you’re a hypocrite. You’re just thinking of yourself.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Jenkins looked curiously from the rabbi to Lanigan. “Here’s this guy been dumping on me all evening, and you wonder why I don’t want to help get him home so his daddy won’t know he’d been drinking? The way I felt it would have been better than a hootnanny to see his old man skin him alive. I don’t believe this turn the other cheek business you religious types go in for, Rabbi.”
“Neither do we. That’s Christian doctrine. We regard it as condoning sin.”
“Oh yeah?” He nodded. “That’s interesting.”
“You preferred to get back at him?” Lanigan suggested.
The Negro shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t give it no thought if you want to know. I just wanted to split. These were kids—most of them nice kids—but kids.”
“You only wanted to get home,” the rabbi offered.
“That’s right. It’d been a pretty dreary evening. It wasn’t the kids’ fault, but on the other hand, they didn’t help any. I just wanted out. So I picked up my bike at Didi’s and took off. Well. I hadn’t gone far when it started to rain. I could’ve gone back to Didi’s. I suppose, but then I thought of that Hillson House, and I knew the door was open.”
“Which was nearer, Hillson House or Didi’s?” asked the rabbi.
Jenkins shrugged. “What difference? Hillson House was on the way. Didi’s meant going back.”
“And you weren’t thinking about Moose lying there all nicely tied up and helpless?” asked Lanigan sarcastically.
“Not until after I got in.” said Jenkins cheerfully.
“Yet you were careful to wheel your bike across the sidewalk and hide it behind the bushes.”
“Why sure, man. I had no right to be in there for all the door was open.” He looked from one to the other to see if they understood. “So I went in and put the latch on the door.”
“Why did you do that?”
“They said the police come by and sometimes try the door. Then I looked out, and I see this car coming along. When he gets near the house, he slows down and just crawls by like he’s trying to look in, maybe. But he rides on.”
“Paff,” said Lanigan in an aside to the rabbi. The rabbi nodded.
“That kind of frightened me,” Jenkins went on, “so I pulled the shades down. I had a flashlight with me, but then I noticed I could still see some of the light from the streetlamp through the shades, so maybe somebody outside could see in. So I unhooked these heavy lined velvet drapes until it was pitch dark, and then I figured I was safe to use my flash.”
“Did you go in the little room to see Moose? Was he all right?”
“I didn’t have to see him; I could hear him snoring away. I peeked through the drapes, and this time I see this car parked right under the streetlamp, with a guy sitting at the wheel like he’s got nothing but time.”
“The same car?” asked Lanigan.
Jenkins shook his head. “I don’t know. I just got a glimpse of the car the first time—mostly his headlights, but at the time I don’t think it was the same one, because I started worrying about the third car.”
“The third car?”
“Sure. I see one car, and he passes slow. I see another, and he stops and waits. You know the drill. Trouble comes in threes. And the third car that comes along, the guy is bound to come in.” He looked at his questioners, satisfied that his logic was unassailable and that they would understand.
“And all this time you never once thought about Moose?” Lanigan’s voice showed disbelief.
“Sure. I thought about him,” said Jenkins. “I thought about him lying there, as you say, nice and helpless.”
“Ah.” Lanigan hitched his chair forward.
“I thought I ought to get some of my own back. Some stupid kid trick, but just something to make me feel better. If I’d had my paints with me, I would have painted his face black, maybe. That cracked me up—the thought of seeing his look when the kids found him like that. I thought of giving him a haircut maybe, something special, like trimming my initials in that whiffle of his, or maybe just pinching his shoes and hiding them on him. But, of course, that would have meant unwrapping him, and I didn’t want to do that.”