Barner said, "How did you know how much was being offered as a reward?"
"They had the radio on-WINS," Moyle said. "I was in this one hot room the whole time, no air conditioner even, just a fan and a radio. I was on a couch that smelled like somebody spilled some chick's nail polish on it. I just had to sit there or lay down to sleep, with my feet tied to the leg of the couch. I hardly got any sleep at all. I didn't know what these perverted creeps were gonna do to me next, ampute my hemorrhoids or extract my bottom teeth. There were two of them who did all the talking, and this one guy really liked to bust my nuts, tell me I was a homophobic shithead, and I was gonna pay for my sins."
"Those were the words the kidnapper used?" I asked. " 'Homophobic shithead' and
'pay for your sins'?"
"Yeah. The fag scumbag."
Jeris cleared his throat theatrically, but it went right by Moyle. He was back on his own turf and figured he could unwind and work on getting back to being himself.
I said, "The two who spoke-was there anything distinctive about their voices?"
"You mean like, did they lithp? No."
"They were both adult men?"
"Yeah."
"New Yorkers?"
"How do you mean?"
"Did either man have an accent? Brooklyn? Queens? I. ocust Valley lockjaw?"
"No," Moyle said. "They just talked regular American Knglish, like me."
Moyle in fact had a mild South Boston accent, as if his vocal cords had been replaced early in life by a kazoo that somebody had stepped on. I said, "Did they sound like they were from Boston?"
"Oh. I dunno. I guess not, no."
"Were there any other voices that you heard, male or female?"
"No women," Moyle said. "But everybody was mostly, like, in another room. I might have heard a woman out there at one time. But I couldn't make out what anybody was talking about. There was always one of them in my room holding a gun on me, they said. They untied my hands, but I didn't try anything because twice this one sadist pushed a gun barrel against my forehead and said to cooperate or he'd blow my brains right through the wall. This was the one that really scared the piss out of me. He called me a sinner and an unrighteous man. This one wouldn't even let me take my blindfold off when I took a crap-God, I was practically having diarrhea-and he made me leave the bathroom door open while the pervert stands there and watches me take a shit."
I said, "He called you an 'unrighteous man'? Those were the words one of them used?"
Barner glanced my way, then back at Moyle, who said, "Yeah, this one might have been a religious nut. A queer religious nut."
"What did these two call each other?" Barner said. "What names did they use?"
"No names," Moyle said, blowing cigar smoke. "I think they were being careful not to."
Barner said, "Did they mention Jay Plankton?"
"Oh, yeah. They had plenty to say about Jay and the show."
I said, "All unfavorable?"
"This one guy, the one who was busting my onions, he said when they got hold of Jay, Jay was gonna feel the pain. That's what the guy said, 'feel the pain.' He said my tattoos were nothing compared to what was in store for Jay. He said when I was released I should tell you all that."
"Who all?" I said. "You should tell who all that?"
"You all."
"Did he actually use our names?"
Moyle's beedy eyes all but disappeared as he considered this. "No," he said. "It was just, tell the cops. He didn't mention any names in particular."
Barner said, "Is it your impression that these people were planning on injuring the J-Bird? Is that what they were saying?"
"They could," Moyle said. "It sounded bad. They talked about sending Jay to a
'reeducation farm.' First they were going to take me to a reeducation farm, they said. But then they decided I wasn't reeducatable. I think that's when they decided to tattoo me and let me go, and to snatch Jay instead."
Jeris pointed his cigar at Moyle and said, "Leo, that's a great tribute to your manhood, if not your intelligence." Jeris grinned, but Moyle still wasn't quite ready for amusement at his own expense, and he just looked confused.
"Did they talk about the Forces of Free Faggotry?" I asked. "The FFF?"
"Oh yeah. Blah- blah, blah- blah, blah- blah. FFF this, FFF that. Last night, I'd had it up to here, and I told them, 'To me, you're all just a bunch of fucking fruitcakes.' And I think that's when they decided I was hopeless, and unreeducatable."
"But," I said, "if you were unreeducatable, what made them think Plankton would be any different? You guys on the J-Bird show are famous for all being on the same wave-length. Especially on the subject of gays and gay rights."
Jeris was quick to cut in and say, "Don here is gay himself, Leo. So be careful how you answer, ha-ha."
Moyle looked at me and said, "You don't look like a fag, Don. What're you doing, undercover work?"
I said, "And you do look like a fag, Leo. You've got love notes to Elton John and Ricky Martin tattooed on your upper arms. Things get confusing sometimes, don't they?"
Moyle reddened, and it was hard to tell which was stronger, his humiliation or his rage. As soon as he had entered his apartment, he had hiked up the air-conditioning and put on a New York Jets sweatshirt, covering up the infuriating inkwork.
"I asked about it at Lenox Hill," Moyle said, crushing out his cigar butt. "Tattoos can be removed. It takes time, but I've already talked to one of the top dermatologists in New York-who's a huge fan of the show, by the way-and he says he can pretty much erase them. If I have to, I can have my own tattoos done on top of the residue of the ones these barbarians put on me. Pol Pot had nothing on these shitheads. They're going to pay too. Kidnapping and assault. I want their heads. I want their sick, perverted fag heads!" Moyle had begun to tremble, and a vein on his left temple was throbbing dangerously.
I said, "I guess you'll just have to get used to the fact, however, that your tattoos are going to live on in the annals of tabloid journalism. To help restore your mental health, Leo, you might want to skip picking up tomorrow's Post and Daily News."
Moyle winced and looked even more agitated, but Jeris tried to help out. "Look at it this way, Leo: this is great juice for the show, once Jay gets back. Assuming he does come back, which I tend to think he will. That's because these FFFers, they're only talking about reeducating Jay, maybe roughing him up a little, like you say, but I'll bet not letting rats loose on his liver or any heavy shit like that. Look, Larry King's people called, and Fox, the Today Show -they all want you. Not Jay, but you, Leo. And Steve called and told me-he said, tell Leo to do 'em all; don't let even one opportunity slip away. Assuming you feel up to it, of course, which by Monday Steve is reasonably certain you will, and I am too.
"I mean, get some sleep, some brew, some pussy, and you'll be all set for some exposure. In fact, Steve wants you to do the show on Monday if Jay's not back. I've got the entire staff working on bookings. We'll get people who understand what you've been through, and can empathize, and who're still mad as hell over what happened to them. I'll get Patty Hearst, Lindbergh's daughter-what's her name and some of the hostages from Iran and Lebanon like Terry Anderson. Or Loni.
Was she kidnapped, too? Steve thinks this whole FFF thing is gonna do the show no harm at all-assuming, of course that you come out of it with your mental gazoomies intact, which appears to be the case, and that Jay does, too. Getting Jay back on the show Tuesday or Wednesday would be ideal, in fact.
"Detective Barner," Jeris said to Lyle, who had listened to this recitation with a look of wonder, "do you think it's possible, based on what you know of the FFF and Leo's experience, that your department can track down the kidnappers and get Jay sprung by, say, midweek?"