Compulsion. Meyer Levin

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СКАЧАТЬ spent several hours in Lincoln Park, at the lagoon, mostly sitting parked in my car, as I was watching for a species of warbler that arrives in this area late in May—”

      “Hey, give them the scientific name,” Artie said.

      “Dendroica aestiva, of the Compsothlypidae family,” said Judd, and they snorted, imagining the cops handling that one!

      Then Artie took over the story. “I went along with Judd Steiner and sat in the car while he did his bird scouting. I thought it would make a good effect on my mother to tell her I spent the afternoon with Judd and his bird science, so she would get the idea I was doing something real studious. But I’m afraid, sir, we had a pint of gin in the car and by suppertime I had too much gin on my breath, so I didn’t think that would impress my mother very well. We stayed out for supper, had supper at the—let’s see—”

      “Coconut Grove,” said Judd.

      “Then we drove around awhile, trying to pick up a couple of girls.”

      “You mean, girls you didn’t know?”

      “Yes, sir, you know, just a couple of janes.”

      “Do you frequently engage in this practice?”

      “Well, officer”—winking—“you know how it is. We coasted around on 63rd Street—”

      “How did you make out?”

      “Well, we picked up a couple, around 63rd and State. And we drove back to Jackson Park—”

      Judd interrupted. “I thought we were going to say Lincoln Park.”

      “Shit no. The first time, the birds, is Lincoln. The second time, the twats, is Jackson. Over by the lake . . . Only you see, officer, these girls wouldn’t come across, so about ten o’clock we told them to get out and walk.”

      “Can you give us their names, Mr. Straus?”

      “Well, mine said her name was Edna, but you know—we didn’t give them our right names, either. She was a blonde, well built—” He made curves with his hands, and just then spotted a girl in a Paige, passing them. “Hey! Follow her!”

      “Listen”—Judd chased the Paige—“how about if we change the story? If we say they did come across, then it’s even less likely the girls would ever come forward and identify themselves.”

      “All right. Wait a minute. If they came across, then we’d have taken them home. So where do they live?” Judd passed the Paige, but the girl ignored Artie’s waving.

      “We could say they told us to let them off at the corner where we picked them up,” Judd suggested. “That sounds genuine.”

      “Hey!” Artie eyed him cleverly. “How about giving them the story you were out with a nice girl? Let on you hosed her. Then you’ve got to be the gentleman protecting a nice girl’s rep.”

      “You mean, we had a double date with nice girls?”

      “No, just you.” After all, no glasses of Artie’s had been found.

      Judd felt a quiver of grief, more than anger. A feeling of loneliness, as if Artie had actually deserted him and left him with some jane he didn’t even want. But then he finessed the game on Artie. “I could say I was driving, and you had Myra in the back seat. She’d back it up for you. As you say, she’ll do anything for you.”

      “Damn right,” said Artie, still eying him in that cunning, disturbing way.

      Desperately, Judd tried to recapture the mood. “How about we both take her out tonight and rape her?”

      “You’d be scared to try.”

      “Yah? Anything you’ll do I’ll do.”

      “Yah?” Judd knew what it was now in Artie’s look. It was the accusation over what had happened yesterday, at the crucial moment—when they had the kid in the car, and the sudden blows and the blood, and Judd had heard himself crying out, “Oh my God, this is terrible! This is terrible!”

      “You were scared pissless,” Artie said with finality. “That’s why you dropped your goddam glasses.”

      In his tone, Judd felt everything possible. Maybe Artie would do it to him. Like things Artie must have done. Maybe Artie coming up behind him, the slug on the skull with the taped chisel, and the quick push off the end of the Jackson Park pier, his body plopping into the dark water, and his own look, upturned to Artie, accepting.

      “I’ll stick to the alibi for a week,” Artie said. “After that, it’s each man for himself.”

      “If a week goes by, we ought to be safe on the glasses,” said Judd.

      He turned on Hyde Park Boulevard. At the Kessler house, police cars lined the curb. Photographers and newspapermen were all over the lawn. Artie was about to hop out. “Stay away from there!” Judd cried.

      Artie chuckled. “It’s only natural I’d be interested. I live practically across the street. Why, poor little Paulie used to play on our tennis court all the time. Why, he’s a chum and classmate of my little brother Billy!”

      “You’ll spill the beans, the way you gab. Keep off of there!”

      “The hell! You going to tell me what to do?” But he remained in the car.

      Silent, Judd pulled up to Artie’s door. But as Artie started into the house, Judd asked, “What’re you doing later?”

      “I don’t know. I’ll give you a buzz.”

      Judd drove on.

      I must have just come back to give Tom the details of the teacher’s arrest when Artie and Judd drove by, for I remember seeing Artie go into his house. I remember thinking, So that’s the Straus mansion. Some class.

      With the rest of the press, Tom was now outside on the Kessler lawn. It was understandable: they couldn’t have all of us camping in the house, and they couldn’t play favorites.

      Everything was up a tree, Tom said. Anyway, our last replate was gone; if something happened now, we’d read about it in the morning papers. Was there any place around here a man could get a drink?

      I knew a place on 55th Street, where they had spiked beer. We took the coeds there to give them a thrill. I had meant to rush over to Ruth’s, but now I went along with Tom. The place had a cigar-maker in the window, a natural lookout. This always gave me an odd feeling, for my father was a cigar-maker, though he didn’t work in a store window—he worked in a small shop in Racine. Now Pop would have big things to tell about his son, the university reporter.

      As we stood up to the bar, Mike Prager and a couple of other afternoon-paper reporters found the place. We began to trade theories of the crime. I felt I was a full member of the profession. I was drinking with the boys.

      When Judd dropped him at the house, Artie ran in with the Globe extra, to make a sensation. His mother wasn’t there. She would be at some meeting, doing good. By the time she got home, she’d know. He СКАЧАТЬ