Tales From Gavagan's Bar (39 page)

             
"Why don't more people do it, then?" demanded Mr. Gross. "A fellow that could lift an elephant could make a lot of money with a circus or something."

             
"Mr. Cohan, give everybody another round," said Doc Brenner. "I can tell you why, Mr. Gross. It's not so easy as it sounds. In the first place, you have to find a genuine guru, or yogi, and most of them are fakes."

             
"Yeah," said Witherwax, "and then you gotta spend ten years sitting on spikes or something like that, and you only get about a cup of rice a day, and no Martinis, and this book says you dasn't even think about women. By the time you done all that, what the hell, you wouldn't care whether you could lift an elephant or not, so it doesn't matter."

             
"That's about right," said Brenner. "It's like looking in one of those crystal balls. They say the people who really have one that works get so excited over what they see that they want to keep on seeing and can't make any use of it."

             
"The statement is not universally true," said someone.

             
All three turned to look at a tall man with an air of histrionic dignity and a spray of grey around the edges of his hair, who
had just placed on the bar beside him one of the handled leather cases in which bowling balls are transported. "And what would you be having, Mr. Leaf?" asked Mr. Cohan.

             
"A Rob Roy," said the tall man. He turned to the others. "I am at present defending a client, a most unworldly man who arouses my deepest sympathy. I have every reason to believe that he not only possessed a genuine and functional crystal ball but was an adept in its employment. Yet use was made of his discoveries."

             
"You're a lawyer?" asked Brenner.

             
"I am an attorney," said the tall man.

             
Mr. Cohan said: "Make you acquainted. This is Counsellor Leaf, Mr. Witherwax, Mr. Gross, Doc Brenner. The next round is on the house."

             
Hands were shaken. Mr. Gross said: "Ain't you the Madison Leaf what defended my wife's cousin Irving, the time he got accused of putting the porcupine in the mayor's bed?"

             
"Ah, yes, a fascinating case.
People
vs.
Potasz,
as I remember."

             
"It was—" began Mr. Gross, but Brenner extended a hand. "I'd like to hear about this client with the crystal ball, if you can say anything about it before the trial."

             
"Yeah, me too," said Witherwax, and Mr. Cohan said: "Me brother Julius, that's on the force, says you can get into a lot of trouble telling fortunes."

             
Madison Leaf delicately poised his second
Rob Roy, the one that was on the house, and looked around until he was sure that his audience was giving him its full attention.

#
★
#

             
Gentlemen [he said gravely], I have accepted this case without fee because I am convinced of the essential innocence
of the unfortunate Mr. Jackson—that is, his innocence of the matter charged. It is true that he changed his name from the one originally given him to Bokar Rapurjee Jackson; but that is not a crime in this state, and it may even be described as a legitimate device for the exercise of his peculiar profession. As to his claims to the cannonball, I have been forced to advise him that they rest on legally dubious
ground. No doubt a claim could be made out under the precedent in
Untervoort
vs.
Vandermyer,
as given in the 43rd volume of the Wisconsin reports. However, judgment would doubtless encounter the opposition of the Indian government, and as the U.S. Circuit Court decided in the matter of Mayfine—

             
[Witherwax said: "I don't understand these complications."]

             
[Madison Leaf bowed.] Quite correct. Under the influence of such agreeable company and Mr. Cohan's excellent beverages, I had momentarily forgotten that I was not addressing a professional audience. I beg your pardon.

             
Mr. Jackson applied to me in—no, that is not quite correct; I shall have to go back and lay the foundation. Very well; there was a gentleman, and I use the word advisedly, named Frederick Washington. Now the late Frederick Washington, a gentleman of color, of dark color; and a most remarkable character. My connection with Mr. Washington began when he besought my good offices in composing certain differences between the group of which he was the leader and another group of similar ambiance.

             
[Witherwax gazed admiringly at Madison Leaf; Gross whispered behind a hand to Brenner: "Does that mean they were doctors, with that about the ambulance?"]

             
I perceive you do not quite apprehend [said Madison Leaf, taking what might be called judicial cognizance of the interruption]. I will explain. The late Mr. Washington, at the time he sought me, was engaged in the promotion of a sport, or game, having to do with predicting the order in which certain figures would recur in the reports of the New York Stock Exchange. This sport is somewhat extensively engaged in, and the rewards for success are considerable.

             
I understood from Mr. Washington that he began to engage in this sport as one of those who risk certain sums of money on their ability to forecast series of numbers. In this endeavor he had become so very successful that he had accumulated an amount of capital which permitted others to make wagers with him.

             
[Mr. Cohan frowned. "Me brother Julius says the whole numbers game is a racket," he said.]

             
[Madison Leaf regarded him from the distance of miles and centuries.] To refer to a man's business as a "racket" is an actionable statement [he said]. I may say that I contemplate no action, however, and as the heirs of the late Mr. Washington may be somewhat difficult to discover, I do not think you are in danger.

             
Mr. Washington was naturally aware that other entrepreneurs were engaged in the promotion of the same sport. The reason he applied to me was that he wished to suggest the drawing of an agreement, under which players in one geographical part of the city became automatically patrons of his game, while the remainder would operate through another gentleman, who had been in business for some time—Mr. Angelo Carnuto.

             
I pointed out to Mr. Washington that such an agreement would probably be without legal force, if written. "Look," he said. "I can ruin this Carnuto's racket any time I want, but peace is a wonderful thing, and I would like to have more of it."

             
I concurred that it is always better to settle differences by agreement than by any other means. I also remarked that I would be glad to act as Mr. Washington's emissary before Mr. Carnuto, but that it would be necessary for me to understand the full strength of the position I was representing. It was therefore desirable that he inform me of what means he proposed to use in ruining Mr. Carnuto's business, provided no agreement were reached.

             
Somewhat to my astonishment, he demurred, and in a highly evasive manner. I opened the interview by imagining that he had crude physical violence in mind, but Mr. Washington's approach convinced me that it was something subtler and perhaps more dangerous. I therefore informed him that unless he gave me his full confidence, I could not act as his attorney. He threatened to retain someone else; I advised him to do so, merely remarking that as I had performed some legal services for Mr. Carnuto and possessed
his confidence, few other emissaries would find him so approachable.

             
At this point in our conversation, which, I may mention, took place in Mr. Washington's office, there entered one of his assistants. This gentleman was in a state of considerable agitation. He said he had received a telephonic message to the effect that unless Mr. Washington laid off—as he put it—his intestines would be wound around a doorknob.

             
Mr. Washington was evidently not a man of great physical courage. His countenance assumed a singularly unpleasant color. I may say that the event was not entirely fortuitous. It is a lawyer's duty to be prepared for all eventualities required by the humble service of his client—

             
[Gross belched loudly. Madison Leaf threw back his head and then apparently decided that this was not intended as a comment.]

             
Mr. Cohan [he said], will you please give us more of the same prescription? It is an attorney's duty to become aware of all facts that may benefit his client. I had not neglected that duty. When Mr. Washington summoned me, I was already somewhat aware of what he might have in mind, since, as I have said, I was not unacquainted with Mr. Carnuto. In fact, I had informed Mr. Carnuto that I proposed to call on Mr. Washington, and suggested to him that if our conference were interrupted by such a telephone call as the one actually received, a peaceable settlement might become easier.

             
Mr. Carnuto might, indeed, have adopted a threatening attitude earlier. But he was most anxious to adjust matters so that this sport might be carried on in a manner pleasing and profitable to all parties concerned; and the plain fact was that, while Mr. Washington's business was known to be operating in a manner gratifying to himself, Mr. Carnuto's own business was showing a startling decline in profits. Analysis showed this to be due to the fact that players in the Negro section of the city were showing an extraordinary ability to select the winning numbers. Mr. Carnuto was convinced that the appearance of Mr. Washington on the
scene had something to do with this but feared that the mere elimination of the gentleman, without discovering what lay behind him, would only intensify the difficulty.

             
You may judge, therefore, that I was deeply interested when Mr. Washington originally remarked that he could ruin Mr. Carnuto's business. After he had a little recovered from the shock of the telephone call, therefore, I remarked that it was fortunate indeed that he had asked me to advise him; that I understood this to be practically a declaration of war between the two; but that I might still be able to avert trouble if Mr. Washington would honor me with his confidence.

             
Mr. Washington became sulky. I said nothing. The assistant who had brought the message said: "He want me to call him back by four o'clock, boss. What should I ought to tell him?"

             
Mr. Washington addressed me. "If I told you, you wouldn't never believe me," he said. "But I'll show you, and then you can tell Angie I sure got something."

             
We got into his car and proceeded to Rathburne Street, in the Negro section, to a small store in the middle of the block. There were curtains in what had been the show windows, which were far from clean. Across the door was rather crudely painted the words: "Church of the Living Light."

             
Inside the floor space was cut off by a curtain, in front of which a fat colored woman sat behind a kitchen table that had been painted with red enamel. She regarded me in an unflattering manner, which became still more unflattering when Mr. Washington said that we must see Mr. Jackson at once, but she made her way through the curtain. Presently she came back and announced: "The Master will see you."