The MacGuffin (26 page)

“Shabbes,”
said the black man, greeting them, talking through his hat for Christmas gifts a mile off, and in a different theological venue.

“Shabbes
your own self, Richard,” Jerry Rector said.

Druff, edgy, punchy still with his glibness, his touch of fear, having to admire him for that, admitting as much. “That’s right,” he told Jerry Rector when the man had passed them, “I
see you’re
no pushover. I’ll tell you the truth. Any workman can strike fear into my heart. Whenever one comes to the house it throws me off. I feel I have to justify myself or something. Whatever it is, I don’t care what it is. It could be anyone. Anything. Telephone repairmen, the guy who reads the meter, the gas, the electric, the man who works in the garden or puts in special trees. It’s emasculating, it pulls on a fellow’s balls. ‘
I
work,’ I want to tell them. ‘
I
work.
I
have a job.’ ”

“You
do,”
the Commissioner of Streets heard Dan humor him. “Doesn’t he, Hamilton?”

“I’ll say.”

“Are we there yet?”

“We’re just now pulling into the station,” Jerry Rector said, and with a key he took from the breast pocket in his suit coat, he opened the door to what Druff supposed was the rabbi’s study.

Which was, well, really something. Better, oh far better, he could see, than his own dusty accommodations—the little theatrical agent’s office beyond the low wooden fence around his own poor municipal digs. Druff, catching Hamilton Edgar’s grin, just perceptibly lowered his head, a submission signal, a vague acknowledgment to a man who’d seen the commissioner’s offices firsthand, that, nerve center for nerve center, the rabbi outclassed him—Druff’s empty good sportsmanship.

“The private sector,” said City Commissioner of Streets Druff, nodding and swallowing (who might have anticipated the trim modern furniture and spiffy light fixtures but never the crisp, rich Oriental rugs), a little miffed that a man of God, under, presumably, all the renunciative vows and dictates of the spiritual, could lord it over a man of Caesar like himself. Someone, Druff figured, was not living up to his end of the bargain. Not bothering to wait until the others arranged themselves—Druff, awarded pride of place, shown to the rabbi’s chrome and leather chair behind his big glass and wood desk, still in a mood and not, removed as he was from the streets he commissioned, yet rid of his nervousness, anxious to make a good impression before men who hadn’t known him when and despising himself for it, despising
them,
not just for their vigorous primes but for their blatant mockery, Ham ‘n’ Eggs’ languid Jazz Age impressions, Rector’s odd profanity—the commissioner began to speculate, idly to make more mouth news.

“Impressive,” he said. “He’s political, your rabbi? A captain of industry? He knows about downtown, I betcha, the colorful tantrums of Mafia and all the haunted houses where the bodies are buried? He knows who is in whom’s pocket? What the grand jury said?

“Is he up on all he needs regarding the other guy’s gridlock and monkeyshines, the kickbacks and setups and inside jobs, who was it hijacked the salt truck?

“Well, it’s common knowledge. Everything’s common knowledge these days. Hey, no offense. I mean to take nothing away from anyone, but there’s child porn stars on Phil, cousins of drunks on Geraldo. It’s as if everyone feels he has a duty to open up everyone else’s eyes—girls who make it with ponies, with ectoplasm in the fruit cellar.

“I think, you want to know, that everywhere there’s less than meets the eye. All that fooling around, all that graft, it’s only business. Making a living, enterprise. Somehow, well, frankly, there ought to be something personal, something malevolent.”

“Well, Commissioner,” Rector said, smiling widely, “sometimes there is.”

“You’re really something, Jerry. You know that? Wouldn’t you say so, Ham?”

“An absolute ‘must,’ a definite ‘positively,’ ” Hamilton Edgar said. Then turned to the commissioner. “It’s wonderful you came along today,” he said. “That you happen to have happened by.”

“It is. I did,” Druff said. “That’s how it happened.”

“Sure,” Jerry Rector said, “pure serendipity. This could be a breakthrough here. We could almost be discovering penicillin, finding AIDS serum.”

“We’d like to clear up this Su’ad business,” Dan said suddenly, startling the commissioner. “There might be some new terms for you to consider.”

“Oh, Dan,” Ham ‘n’ Eggs said, “shame on you. You’d trouble the man with business on the Shabbat?”

“Bunk and hooey,” Jerry Rector said. “Bunk, bunk, bunk. He’s the one talking malevolent. Dan was just reminded, is what.”

“Gentlemen,
please,”
said Ham ‘n’ Eggs.

“Just hold on a darned minute,” Druff said. “Let’s just hold our horses. You,” he said, indicating Hamilton Edgar, “I thought you were the one authorized to speak for the university. How many of you guys are there? You’re
all
lawyers?”

“Ham’s the lawyer,” Jerry said.

“I’m a banker,” Dan said.

“Well, I am
too,”
said Jerry Rector.

“Bankers,” Druff said. “What bank are you associated with?”

“You don’t have to tell him anything,” said Hamilton Edgar.

“Hey, I’ve nothing to hide.”

“We’re with the Bank of B’nai Beth Emeth,” Dan said, giggling. “We’re bankers in the temple.”

“Money changers,” Jerry Rector said, winking.

“You guys,” said Ham ‘n’ Eggs.

“Yar,” Rector said, “I’m yar.” If this were an era other than the one in which he pretended to hang out, he could have been saying I’m cool. Beyond that, Druff had an impression that all these guys, but particularly Dan and Rector, would hate themselves in the morning.

“All right,” Ham ‘n’ Eggs said, “but you’ll see. You’re just making him nervous.”

“That’s silly,” Dan said. “You said it yourself, he’s a trained politician. You heard him carry on about the rabbi. Shock a with-it guy like the commish? There’s just no way. You think he was born yesterday?
This
old man? He’s got bodies stashed in high places. He knows where the bimbos are buried.”

“New terms?” Druff said, who, to be frank, had only an unclear memory of the old ones. Not, as you may imagine, because—this he did recall—nothing had been in it for him—he really
was
a civil servant and executed, within the decent parameters of sanity, all the functions of his office without thought to private gain or personal favor—but because he hadn’t been able to make much sense of what he remembered of Ham ‘n’ Eggs’ earlier proposition. Druff’s impression, post-M. Glorio and all the knockdown, drag-out of a MacGuffin with which he’d lived on and off (counting from lunchtime to lunchtime) going on two days now, was that the university had made rather a point of its indifference to matching the expensive, distinctive campus limestone in the covered walkway Druff’s department was to build (this rather a point, too) above Kersh Boulevard. The poor old city’s point was that while it would pay its share of the costs, it refused to pay for anything put up on university property.

“Anything we can do,” Dan said, “to give the Su’ad kid’s soul some peace, a little belated quality time.”

“Dan!” Ham ‘n’ Eggs scolded.

“Steady there, Dan,” even Jerry Rector put in, “steady as she goes.”

Now he was alert. Perhaps he’d given Dan the wrong impression, shooting off his mouth, sending his with-it type signals, merely extending a tongue, which Dan, at least, had mistaken for a hand. Showing off for him, for all of them, not out of hubris—hubris? him? what did he have to be hubrid about?—but from mood and nervousness. But how were they to know? He’d been led by his doubts to meander along the margins of entrapment. It was good strategy.

“Funny your talking new terms,” said the City Commissioner of Streets. “Mr. Edgar practically blamed us for the accident. He said the city’s pedestrian-activated signal was an attractive nuisance.”

“Darned
attractive,” said Jerry Rector, wriggling his eyebrows and pretending to tip an ash off an imaginary cigar.

“I guess I can only hope,” said Druff, “that you folks aren’t wired and that this ain’t some kind of sting operation. New terms?” he repeated.

“Well, he’s right,” Ham ‘n’ Eggs said. “We
would
like to clear things up.”

“I’m all ears,” the commissioner said. “Where’s the TV cameras? Is my hair all combed, is my tie straight? What do I look into?”

“You think we need cameras?” Dan demanded angrily. “You think we keep our goodies in a safe-deposit box? Live it up for once. Throw caution to the winds.
Political scientist! Big public man!
Go public, why don’t you?”

“Sight unseen?” Druff inquired coolly.

“What’s he mean now, I wonder,” the one playing Jerry remarked to the others.

“Quid pro quo, I guess.”

“The terms of the terms.”

“If he’d get out from behind that desk for a minute he’d practically be standing on them. Jeesh!”

“Dan?”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

“Hey,
he’s
the one suggested there should be something personal, that something’s missing from your average evil.”

“You argue like a child! I suppose if he told you to jump off the roof you’d go out and do it.”

“Of course not. I’m only pointing out.”

“Well, just be careful where you point,” Ham said.

“I am,” Dan said. “I
am
careful. Hey, if he thinks this is about devil worship or anything like that, he’s got another think coming. Profits, incentive. It’s still America, what do you think?”

“That’s what
I
say.”

“Right on.”

“Don’t he know that blood’s been spilled, don’t he understand there’s a girl dead out of this? Ain’t that good enough for him?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s what
I
say.”

“Gents,” offered Druff, who knew when he was being triple-teamed, “I’m elsewhere expected.” And, rising, came out from behind the desk.

“He’s warm.

“He’s
very
warm.”

“Very
warm?
He’s very hot!”

“You’ve got to give him credit,” said Ham ‘n’ Eggs.

“Credit, hell,” Jerry Rector said, “you’ve got to bribe him outright.”

“See,” said Dan, “what did he tell you? Downtown isn’t just fixing tickets, moving the dates around on your court calendar like three-card monte, or getting the man from the Health Department to look in the sink but not under the stove. It ain’t only always money changing hands.”

“Of course not.”

“No way,” said Rector.

Druff walked over the Oriental rugs scattered through the rabbi’s study, moving across one and onto the next as though they were beautiful stepping stones in a gorgeous river.

“The U pays the costs on its own property. What the hell, it picks up the tab at the city’s end, too.”

“To get the unpleasantness over with.”

“To put the nastiness behind.”

“To sweep,”
said Dan in a low, meaningful, carefully inflected voice which stopped Druff cold,
“it under the rug.”

“Come on, boys,” Jerry Rector said, “let’s leave the commissioner alone a few minutes. Let’s give him a little time to consider the bank’s latest proposition.”

They filed past him and were heading out the door before Druff knew what was happening. Hamilton Edgar paused and turned in the doorway. “I’ll shut this for you,” he said. “Don’t worry. I won’t lock it. We’ll be just down the hall if you need us.”

“Ham?” Druff said.

“Yes, Commissioner?”

“Is there a washroom? I have to pee.”

“Just in there,” Ham ‘n’ Eggs said. “Behind that door. It’s the rabbi’s. Help yourself,” he said, and walked out with the others.

Druff sat on the toilet (because peeing was the least of it) and thought: Now isn’t this just what I’ve been telling myself? And wondered he hadn’t, at the time hadn’t, understood the implications of what was now so apparent. All this pursuant (grunt, squeeze, release) to his observation the evening previous that life goes on even in the chase scenes. Even character did,
its
old autonomics. Wasn’t his lie to Hamilton Edgar about needing to pee a testament to his system’s urgent modesty? The body had its own agenda and would not be caught up in the desiderata of even an engaged will. Hell, it couldn’t even be bothered. Brushing and flossing and following—he recalled, among his other meds, the stool softener he’d taken between the time he’d committed adultery and the time he’d gone to bed—doctor’s orders. Even as you, even as me. Your Juicy Fruit in one pocket, your stamps for your letters in the other. He recalled thinking that no matter how hot the pursuit, people with MacGuffins would still need batteries for their transistor radios, and suddenly remembered the zinc batteries for Rose Helen’s hearing aid, making a mental note to pop into a store, if he got the chance, to see if he could pick some up. Life goes on. Speaking of which, hadn’t he told Margaret he’d call? He’d do so now, as soon as he finished his business. While he still had the chance.
Amazing,
thought Druff, his notions borne out. And the upshot (what he
hadn’t
realized) was
this:
that if something as fragile as one’s life could go on, if one, even under duress, could continue to count calories, why then how much
more
procedural were the general comings-and-goings and business-as- usuals of the universe, all its tidals and opportunities, all its knockabout upheavals and the explosive, piecemeal degradation of the earth and subordinate stars?

Thinking, as he washed up and examined himself in the mirror: This rabbi has some terrific deal going. Not only a swell study in which to do the holy contemplatives of his trade, but a private, humdinger john any fellow could really be proud of. The latest fixtures and even a nifty, beautiful Oriental rug.

Now why, wondered the City Commissioner of Streets, would
that
be?

This particular question catching him off guard. Quite rocking him. So much so, in fact, that although he’d heard no one reenter the rabbi’s study he was a bit chary about going back in there quite yet, lest they return before he was ready for them. He pulled the lid down over the toilet seat and sat. Dizzily, he contemplated the figure in the carpet. Contemplated having (and in something under thirty-some-odd hours) rediscovered his old, idling intelligence. (Idling no longer. His bright ideas sudden and received, as ready-to-wear and off-the-rack as Commandments. “Call Margaret,” he’s commanding himself.) In the rabbi’s toilet of the rabbi’s study contemplated, fearfully, his brand-spanking- new braveries. Not least, he contemplated Coincidence.