All Gone (7 page)

“Dwayne David had it last,” Larry says.

“Who?” I say.

“The actor-performer, star of
The Magic Feet
. Real pothead. Built his own loft out of ropes and hammocks and puffed puffed puffed with his boy and girl cuties all day except on matinees. I don't see how you never heard of him, but use him as a strong selling point. People like to live where there were stars.”

He shows me the garden which he says has 3B's garbage in it. “I'll have it cleaned out, but see the kind of slobs we get? That's what I want to change from now on. One thing I want to warn you about renting these places is if a dude pulls up in a new pimpmobile and wears a fancy pimp outfit and Superfly hat and says ‘Hey daddy, jive, give me five,' and gives you the hand-slapping number for a greeting but on the application says he's a tailor, tailor him the hell out of here or tell him he hasn't a chance to get a mouse hole in this building because your boss doesn't let pimps in, understand? Don't be afraid of offending anyone.”

“I don't see how I could say that.”

“Then tell him his application will be processed summarily, but don't take a deposit as that one we just tear up. With the last pimp in 4A it was like a screaming slave market in there. He even threw a live dog out the window.”

“We don't know if it was alive,” Joe says.

“We even sure it was a dog? God, what pigs.”

Larry and I go to Columbus Avenue for a taxi. As I'm stepping into the cab I tell him I've changed my mind and now want to walk home.

“I guess it's good for you, exercise. But one last thing. No renting to more than two black families per building, got it? No matter if they're all college presidents and the building has ten vacancies in it like number 7.”

“I don't think I can do that either.”

“All right. If it's against your principles, put an asterisk on the bottom right-hand corner of the application so I know the applicant's black. It's not against my principles. I don't like them. Neither do most of my tenants. They bring down the property value and destroy the building because they hate the landlord. Even the blacks I let in tell me to keep more out, so if you think you're doing anyone a favor, think about that.”

I think about the asterisk that night and don't know what to do. I call a friend and ask her what she'd do in the same position and circumstances—“If you hadn't a hundred dollars to your name and could possibly make a thousand or two in a month.”

Doris says “How would you explain carrying out the duties of this job to Max?” who's a mutual friend of ours and black.

“Is it necessary for me to tell him?”

“I'll tell him.”

So I write my decision in a note to Larry, saying that “even putting that asterisk on the page presents moral problems to me,” and at nine next morning show up at the meeting spot with the super to give him the note and application forms when he's supposed to give me the keys.

Joe comes at ten, says “Sorry, I got tangled up with a broad. Tenant who wanted her window puttied. Then quick, she's pulling off my pants if I can get Larry to forget her three months' back rent. Promise everything, give nothing, Larry says. I'll tell you her apartment when I'm tired of her or she finds out I can't help. What's this? Not taking the job? Go screw yourself then, for why I even bother? I had to fly down from heaven to this when I wasn't even done yet? I haven't the keys marked for you anyhow,” and he pedals off.

That night Larry calls and says “You really wasted my time yesterday, but I want to tell you something more I hope you won't forget. Don't mention to anyone what our renting policy to blacks is. If ever one comes in haughty and confident to see their denied applications, which they're entitled by law to, but says they know what that asterisk means or whatever new little mark we put on it or some dude named Mort also told them about our renting policy and they're going to court to get in our building, I'm going to send a couple men over to talk some sense into your head. I mean that. That's how outraged I'll get if I have to let in one more black than I have to because of you.”

I call Doris and say “I didn't take the job for the reasons you didn't want me to, but for my own sake keep what I told you about their not renting to blacks to yourself.”

“I already told Max, just in conversation, and he said he was contacting a local anti-racist league.”

I call Max and he says “If I'd have known your head depended on it I still would have told the league. These things have to be exposed. We all have to take chances sometimes—you as well as me. You call Larry back and tell him I told the league and if he's got any men to send over to send them to me and give him my address. And feel privileged you were put in the position to get that data, because none of us could. Anyhow, don't worry. Most of these Larrys make threats all day but are just big windbags and I'd sit tight and call his bluff.”

I call Penny, tell her what's happened and ask if Larry's serious about sending men over to rough me up.

“Oh he's serious all right. He can be a real thug and knows who to go to to get what and now I'm afraid for your life. I never should have got you involved but didn't think you were bent that way.”

“How can you work for him if he's like that?”

“It's a job when they're not too easy to find and you think mine's the only one where someone has to compromise? You should have made a couple compromises also if you wanted to work that bad and you now wouldn't be in such a spot. Besides, Larry's a damn nice guy outside of those things, pays a great wage, doesn't breathe down my neck about the pettiest things like my previous bosses did, gives me plenty of room and control and what he does that I have no part of or care for is his business and it also goes to keeping a dozen honest workers on the books and their families fed. Like our own government might kill or detain perfectly innocent people but we still pay our taxes and don't complain about these illegalities too much, true? But I think I have the solution for you. I'll tell Larry you blurted out something before you knew you shouldn't have and that to make amends you told your black friend and his league that you were lying about our renting practices, more to momentarily break up the seriousness of their cause a little and have a good laugh with him, but it backfired.”

“He wouldn't believe me.”

“Say you were lying anyway. Your friend will at least know you won't go into court on their behalf, and if he still won't listen to you, phone the league and tell them yourself.”

“Why don't I just phone the police and tell them Larry's threatened me?”

“You have it on paper? Your sister's my best friend besides? And excuse me, but I tried to do you a favor and you now want to lose me my job that took a half-year to get? And what'll you do when the cops stop protecting you if they ever start? Don't come to me. Be smart. Drop the matter entirely and look elsewhere for your crusade.”

I call Max and tell him I was told by Larry's office to say I was lying about its rental policies. “But what it really means is that I'm afraid of him and that whatever you told the league I said I'm going to say isn't so or was just drunk talk or something when I told you it.”

“Then I'll call the league and tell them my friend was mistaken and they have no case. But about you and me, Mort, I don't see how I'll ever be able to see you again,” and hangs up.

Doris calls later and says “For the first time since I've known you you can do something for people actively, not just verbally, and you give that up and Max's friendship just to protect yourself over some punk's probably baseless threat?”

“It wasn't baseless.”

“They actually threatened your life?”

“They intimated.”

“That isn't the same thing.”

“Trying to find out if they'll go through with it could be. But I didn't want you to know and still don't because that could put you in danger too.”

“I'm not worried about myself when it comes to this matter and certainly Max isn't worried about him, so why should you be about you?”

“I'm worried about Max and you.”

“Just answer me.”

“I'm worried about me, Max and you.”

“That still doesn't answer it.”

“I'm more involved with it than either of you, can't you see?”

“No, you've no guts. Nothing to back up your big principles. Hell with it. I've lost all my respect for you just as Max has,” and hangs up.

I call back and say “Please understand what I'm up against, Doris,” and she says “And you try and understand me. If I can't respect you, how can I still see you? Bye.”

Next day Penny calls and says “How'd it work out?” and I tell her and she says she's sorry and tells me to hold on and she comes back to the phone and says “I just spoke to Larry and it's all right with him, if it is with you, since he feels you've nothing to lose now and he's already put the time in to show you how, to work for us at the same job if you adapt to our policy about those asterisks and things.”

“I don't think I can.”

“He has no hard feelings for you anymore.”

“Neither do I much for him, I think, but I still can't go along with it.”

“Good enough, but the word from here is to still keep your trap shut.”

“And if I don't?”

“You acting stupid again?”

“Don't you even have the slightest regret about what you do?”

“Right now no, goddamnit, no. Now what do you have to say to me but your acting stupid again?”

“I understand. I'll keep my mouth shut. And as for all the problems you caused me and your own ethics: fuck you,” and I hang up.

Larry calls me a minute later and yells into the phone “Don't you ever speak to Penny like that again, don't ever, I'm warning you, don't.”

“All right, take it easy, I won't,” and he hangs up.

 

The badly decomposed body of an unidentified man was found floating in Billowy Bay off Motorboro Airport at 4:15 P.M. by a Port Authority police officer.

So?

Know who it is? No.

Jackie. Jackie?

Jackie, Jackie. Jackie Schmidt.

I see. Jackie Schmidt. Floating in Billowy Bay. What's that, a little article?

Under Area News.

And you can tell who it is just by reading this little thing in the paper?

I'd known he was thrown in there. First shot, then thrown.

Does it say anything about the man being shot?

Doesn't have to. I know.

But if he was shot, wouldn't they also say it?

They haven't found where yet, but they will.

And there can't be another unidentified man thrown in the same day? Of course not.

It doesn't have to be the same day. It takes time to get decomposed. In fact, it couldn't've been the same day.

How long you think it takes?

Days. Maybe two weeks. Badly decomposed, three. That's when they threw Jackie in. Shot, took his clothes off, boom, in the water. Today's Thursday? Then three weeks today. It's him. So what are we going to do about it?

What do you mean? Nothing. It's done. Jackie's dead. I knew about it. Now I read about it. I was only telling you, thinking maybe you knew and if you did, then who from? And if you didn't, that you'd probably be interested.

You mind my making an anonymous call to this paper so his wife could know?

Jackie not coming home for three weeks, she knows. So will everyone else in time.

How? He's unidentified and decomposed. And no clothes you say. Nothing at all?

Stripped clean. Wrist watch. Socks. Even his gold star.

I don't know why they didn't say nude in the newspaper, but all right. Did he also have no fingerprints on when you people threw him in?

I didn't throw anybody in. Neither do I know who did. I just know some people who know who did and why and how it went. Gambling debts. But in bad, and loans. Things like that. Worse. Taking on additional big debts with another group and not paying off the first one a dime before he did and then telling both groups to go eat it. Now if he'd just been in deep with the first people and told them to eat it, they would've only broken his arm. But taking on two big debts way way over his head and telling them both to eat it and then going to another city to take on a third, well that was too much. The first two met and, with the third's approval, decided to dump him. As for your fingerprints, I guess not. Why bother, for they'd also have to kick out all his teeth and fill in his chin cleft and scars. Besides, they didn't want to make it impossible for him to be identified.

Then you'll have to explain to me. Why only take off his clothes and in other words only go halfway with his unidentification when they know Jackie has a record and will eventually be identified? Time to give them a cover or get the people who did it away?

No. They thought it'd be a good lesson to whoever might think he can beat out on two big debts to two vaguely related groups and to tell them both to go eat it besides.

But how these people who are supposed to get the lesson supposed to find out it's a lesson and then one meant for them? By reading of an unidentified decomposed man found floating in the bay who could've gotten there through some long sleepwalk? How did the groups even know it was going to make the paper, nothing as the article was. And if they did, that it'd even be read?

Whisper and word got passed around starting a month ago. Jackie's betting. Jackie's welshing. Jackie's in very steep. Jackie won't cough up a note for them and told both of them to eat it raw. Jackie could get a leg broke talking and acting that way. If anyone's a pal of Jackie's, give him the word? Jackie's missing. Hey, anybody see Jackie or hear from him the last few days? Then, body found. Man. Hmm, bay you say? Tomorrow or the next day we'll read he'd been shot with a small-caliber bullet so close and clean that it almost got lost behind the back hairs of his head. Everybody will know who it is and what for. As for the newspaper, that's not the important thing. If it didn't get in, someone would phone them. What's more important is that the people this lesson's directed to get to know it slow.