The Bonfire of the Vanities (43 page)

“How often do you use it at night?”

Desperately Sherman tried to calculate the correct answer. If he said
often
, did that make it more likely he was out driving
that night
? But if he said
seldom—
then wouldn’t he be more certain about whether he was driving or not that particular night?

“I don’t know,” he said. “Not a
lot—
but I guess reasonably often, comparatively.”

“Not a lot but reasonably often comparatively,” said the little detective in a monotone. By the time he reached
comparatively
, he was looking at his partner. He turned back and looked down at Sherman once more from his perch on the edge of the desk.

“Well, let’s get back to the car. Why don’t we go take a look at it. Whaddaya say?”

“Now?”

“Sure.”

“This isn’t a good time.”

“You got an appointment or something?”

“I’m—waiting for my wife.”

“You going out?”

“I—uhhhhhhhhhhh.” The first-person singular degenerated into a sigh.

“You going out in the car?” asked Goldberg. “We could take a look at it. Don’t take a second.”

For an instant Sherman thought of bringing the car from the garage and letting them look at it in front of the building. But suppose they didn’t sit still for that? Suppose they came along—and talked to Dan?

“I hear you say your wife’s coming home soon?” asked the smaller one. “Maybe we oughta wait and talk to her, too. Maybe she’ll remember if anybody was using the car Tuesday night a week ago.”

“Well, she—this just isn’t a good time, gentlemen.”

“When is a good time?” asked the smaller one.

“I don’t know. If you can just give me a little time to think about it.”

“Think about what? When’s a good time? Or if you’re gonna cooperate?”

“It’s not a question of that. I’m—well, I’m worried about the procedure.”

“The procedure?”

“Just how this should be handled. Correctly.”

“Is the procedure the same as the routine?” The detective peered down at him with an insulting little smile.

“Procedure…routine…I’m not familiar with the terminology. I suppose it does come out the same.”

“I’m not familiar with it, either, Mr. McCoy, because there ain’t no such terminology, ain’t no such procedure, ain’t no such routine. You either cooperate in an investigation or you don’t. I thought you wanted to cooperate?”

“I do, but you’ve narrowed the choices.”

“What choices?”

“Well—look. I guess what I should do is, I should…I should talk this over with an attorney.”

As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he felt he had made a terrible admission.

“As I told you,” said the little detective, “that’s your right. But why would you wanna talk to an attorney? Why would you wanna go to that trouble and expense?”

“I just want to make sure I proceed”—immediately he was afraid he would be in trouble for uttering the verb form of
procedure—
“correctly.”

The fat one, sitting in the wing chair, spoke up. “Let me ask you something, Mr. McCoy. Is there anything you’d like to get off your chest?”

Sherman grew cold. “Get off my chest?”

“Because if there is”—a fatherly smile
—insolence!—
“now is the time to do it, before things go any further and get complicated.”

“What would I have to get off my chest?” He meant to sound firm, but it came out…bewildered.

“That’s what I’m asking you.”

Sherman stood up and shook his head. “I don’t think there’s any use continuing this right now. I’m gonna have to talk—”

The little one, still sitting on the desk, finished the sentence for him: “—to a lawyer?”

“Yes.”

The small one shook his head the way you do when somebody you’re advising seems determined to stick to a foolish course. “That’s your privilege. But if you got anything substantial here to talk to a lawyer about, you’re gonna be better off coming out with it right now. And you’re gonna
feel
better. Whatever it is, it probably ain’t as bad as you think. Everybody makes mistakes.”

“I didn’t say there was anything substantial. There isn’t.” He felt trapped.
I’m trying to play their game—when I should be rejecting the game itself
!

“You sure?” asked the fat one with what he obviously thought was a paternal smile on his face. In fact, it was…horrible…obscene…The
impudence
!

Sherman edged past the smaller one, who remained seated on the desk and followed him with his menacing little eyes. Near the door Sherman turned around and looked at them both.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I don’t see any point in going into this—I don’t think I should discuss it any further.”

Finally the smaller one stood up
—finally removes himself from his insolent perch on my desk!
He shrugged and looked at the fat one, who also stood up.

“Okay, Mr. McCoy,” said the smaller one, “we’ll see you…with your lawyer.” The way he said it, it seemed to mean “We’ll see you
…in court
.”

Sherman opened the door of the library and motioned for them to head out into the entry gallery. It seemed terribly important for him to usher them out and leave the room last—to prove that this was, after all, his household and that he was master of it.

When they reached the door to the elevator vestibule, the smaller one said to the fat one, “Davey, you got a card? Give Mr. McCoy a card.”

The fat one took a card from the side pocket of his jacket and handed it to Sherman. The card was wrinkled.

“You change your mind,” said the smaller one, “you give us a call.”

“Yeah, think it over,” said the fat one, with his hideous smile. “Whatever’s on your mind, the sooner you tell us, the better it’s gonna be for you. That’s the way it is. Right now you’re still in a position to cooperate. You wait…the machinery starts…” He turned his palms up, as if to say, “And then you’re in a hell of a mess.”

Sherman opened the door. The smaller one said, “Think it over.”

As they walked out, the fat one gave him a horrible wink.

Sherman closed the door. They were gone. Far from being relieved, he was swept by an overpowering dismay. His entire central nervous system told him he had just suffered a catastrophic defeat—and yet he didn’t know what had happened. He couldn’t analyze his wounds. He had been outrageously violated—but how had it happened? How had these two…insolent…Low Rent
…animals…
invaded his life?

When he turned around, Bonita had emerged from the kitchen and was standing on the edge of the marble floor. He had to say something to her. She knew they were the police.

“They’re investigating an automobile accident, Bonita.” Too flustered.

“Oh, an
ac
cident.” Her wide eyes said, “Tell me more.”

“Yes…I don’t know. One of the cars involved had a license plate close to one of ours. Or something.” He sighed and made a helpless gesture. “I couldn’t figure it all out.”

“You don’t worry, Mr. McCoy. They know it’s not you.” The way she said it, he could tell he looked very worried indeed.

Sherman went into the library and closed the door and waited three or four minutes. He knew it was irrational, but he had the feeling that if he didn’t wait until the two policemen were out of the building, they would somehow reappear, pop back in, just like that, smirking and winking in the horrible way they had. Then he called Freddy Button’s home and left word that he should call whenever he got in.

Maria
. Had to talk to her. Did he dare call her? Didn’t even know where she would be…the hideaway, the apartment on Fifth
…Telephone tap!…
Could they somehow tap his telephone immediately? Had they left a listening device in the room?…Calm down…That’s crazy…But suppose Judy has already come back, and I didn’t hear her!

He got up from the chair and walked out into his grand entry gallery…No one around…He heard a little
clink clink…
Marshall’s license tags…The doleful dachshund came waddling out of the living room…The beast’s toenails clattered on the marble…The little piece of salami that walks…the cause of half my problems…And what do you care about the police?…Food and a walk, food and a walk…Then Bonita poked her head in the doorway…Don’t want to miss anything, hunh? Want to gobble up all the cop stuff, right?…Sherman stared at her accusingly.

“Oh, I think Mrs. McCoy come home,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “when Mrs. McCoy and Campbell come in, you’ll hear them.” And until then keep your nose out of my affairs.

Picking up the tone of his voice clearly enough, Bonita retreated into the kitchen. Sherman headed back toward the library. I’ll risk a call. Just then the door from the elevator vestibule opened.

Judy and Campbell.

Now what? How could he call Maria? Would he have to tell Judy about the police first? If he didn’t, Bonita would.

Judy looked at him quizzically. What the hell was she wearing? White flannel pants, a white cashmere sweater, and some sort of black punk jacket with shoulder pads…out to…here…sleeves pushed up almost to her elbow, a collar with a ridiculously wide notch way down…here…All the while Campbell looked supremely ladylike in her burgundy Taliaferro jumper and blazer and white blouse with a buttercup collar…Why was it that these days all the little girls were dressed like ladies and their mothers were dressed like teenage brats?

“Sherman,” said Judy, looking concerned, “is something wrong?”

Should he tell her about the police immediately? No! Get out and call Maria!

“Uh, no,” he said, “I was just—”

“Daddy!” said Campbell, walking toward him. “See these cards?”

See these cards?

She held up three miniature playing cards toward him, the ace of hearts, the ace of spades, and the ace of diamonds.

“What are they?” she said.

What are they?

“I don’t know, sweetheart. Playing cards.”

“But what
are
they?”

“Just a minute, sweetie. Judy, I’ve got to go out for a minute.”

“
Daddy
! What
are
they!”

“The magician gave them to her,” said Judy. “Tell her what they are.” A little nod of the head that said, “Humor her. She wants to show you a trick.”

“When I come back,” he said to Campbell. “I have to go out for just a second.”

“
Dad
dy!” She hopped up and down, trying to put the cards right in his face.

“One
sec
ond, sweetheart!”

“You’re going out?” said Judy. “Where are you going?”

“I have to go over to—”

“
DADDY! TELL—ME—WHAT—THEY
—ARE!”

“—Freddy Button’s.”

“DADDY!”

“Shhhhhhhhhh,” said Judy. “Hush up.”

“
Daddy…look!
” The three cards were dancing in the air in front of his face.

“Freddy
But
ton’s? Do you know what time it is? We have to get ready to go out!”

“Tell me what they
are
, Daddy!”

Christ! He’d totally forgotten! They were supposed to go to dinner at these dreadful people’s, the Bavardages’! Judy’s bunch…the social X-rays…Tonight? Impossible!

“I don’t know, Judy. I…don’t know how long I’ll have to be at Freddy’s. I’m sorry, I—”

“What do you mean,
you don’t know?
”

“
DADDY
!” Close to tears, in her frustration.

“For God’s sake, Sherman, look at the cards.”

“Don’t say ‘God,’ Mommy.”

“You’re absolutely right, Campbell. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He leaned over and peered at the cards. “Well…the ace of hearts…the ace of spades…and the ace of diamonds.”

“You’re
sure
?”

“Yes.”

Big smile. Triumphant. “I just
wave
them like this.” She began fanning the cards about at a furious rate, until they were a blur in the air.

“Sherman, you don’t have
time
to go to Freddy Button’s.” A stern
and-that’s-that
look.

“Judy, I have to.” Rolling his eyes toward the library, as if to say, “I’ll explain it to you in there.”

“Bibbidy, bobbidy, boo!” said Campbell. “Now look, Daddy!”

Judy, in a voice under tight rein: “We’re going…to—that—dinner.”

He leaned over again. “The ace of diamonds…the ace of hearts…the ace of
…clubs
! Whuh—Campbell! How did the ace of
clubs
get there?”

Delighted. “It just
—did
!”

“Why—it’s
magic!
”

“Sherman—”

“How did you
do
that? I can’t believe it!”

“Sherman, did you hear me?”

Campbell, with great modesty: “The magician showed me.”

“Ah! The magician. What magician?”

“At MacKenzie’s birthday party.”

“That’s amazing!”

“Sherman, look at me.”

He looked at her.

“Daddy! You want to see how I did it?”

“Sherman.” More
and-that’s-that
.

“Look, Daddy, I’ll show you.”

Judy, with frantic sweetness: “Campbell, you know who just
loves
magic tricks?”

“Who?”

“Bonita. She’s crazy about them. Why don’t you go show her before she’s busy fixing your dinner. Then you can come back and show Daddy how you did it.”

“Oh, all right.” She trudged off to the kitchen disconsolately. Sherman felt guilty.

“Come on in the library,” he said to Judy in a portentous voice.

They went into the library, and he shut the door and told Judy to sit down.
This will be too much for you to take standing up
. She sat down in the wing chair, and he sat in the armchair.

“Judy, you remember that thing on television last night, about the hit-and-run accident in the Bronx, and they’re looking for a Mercedes with a license plate that begins with R?”

“Yes.”

“Well, two policemen came by here, just before you and Campbell came home. Two detectives, and they asked me a lot of questions.”