The Straight Man - Roger L Simon (26 page)

King stopped and looked over at his men. The money on
the carrier was stacking up. "But that's over now. This is going
to be it: redemption! I have to make restitution for my life. To my
brothers everywhere. And to my own brother. First of all, this is a
signed statement of my guilt with everything spelled out in enough
detail so there won't be any question. I want you to give this to the
police." He handed me a sealed envelope. "Congratulations,
Mr. Wine. You just made yourself fifty grand. I understand it's not
the first time you've profited well from a corporati0on." He
half smiled before continuing.

"You know, that asshole Sandollar was right.
Charity's not the answer. Not for anybody. But especially not for
black people. It's self-determination. All those starving
sonsofbitches in Africa are only gonna get better when they take
control for themselves. They don't need a Botha or some other white
asshole, Christian, U.N., or otherwise, power-tripping them with
their armies and their so-called laws. Even their so-called good
deeds. They got their own motherfuckers for that, and when the time
comes, they're gonna deal with them, too. But right now they got a
war on their hands, a race war, and I want to help them win it.
That's why I contacted that dude over there." He gestured toward
Drill. "His real name isn't Drill. You'll never know what his
real name is. Never! But he works with an organization in Soweto,
South Africa, that's going to make good use of this money, every
penny of it, in that war. And I'm not talking about charity,
motherfucker. I'm talking about freedom! .. . Uhuru!" he
shouted. For all I knew, it was the only African word he understood.
And with that, he shoved the barrel of his gun in his mouth and blew
his brains out.

22

"A famous comic murdered. Another held and
released. His notorious brother a suicide. The dead comic's wife now
indicted. And a young so-called philanthropist behind it all. Mr.
Wine and Dr. Nathanson, how would you—"

"I've had it!" said Sonya. I was sitting in
my living room with her, Chantal, Jacob, and Simon, watching the
telecast. "What is this? A road show'? We've sat through three
of these this week. This is the last time I'm going to listen to that
shrink reduce all criminal behavior to some mother forgetting to
breast-feed her baby at three months! Besides, I thought you said
you'd given up psychotherapy?

"Come on, Sonya," said Jacob. "They're
not discussing 'nature versus nurture.' This is an analysis of the
psychological ramifications of one particular crime."

"Psychological ramifications," she snorted.
"Proudhon should turn over in his grave. The root of all crime
is economic. How many times have I had to tell you?"

" 'Property is theft.' " Jacob rolled his
eyes. "But there's still something I don't get." He turned
toward Chantal and me. "How come Emily Ptak hired you in the
first place?"

"Because," said Chantal, "like most
Californians, she had been seeing a shrink for years. And when all
the trouble started to happen, she was afraid Nathanson knew too
much. So, in order not to create waves, she had no choice but to go
along with his suggestion of hiring a detective."

"But then she fired my dad when Bannister got
it."

"
Panic," said Chantal. "Emily stood to
make a fortune from her boyfriend Sandollar and she didn't know what
to think. And, of course, at that point Nathanson began to suspect
her too."

"Is that right, Dad?" said Simon. "Did
Nathanson suspect her?"

But I didn't answer right away. My mind was
elsewhere, back a couple of weeks earlier at my last session with
Nathanson. I was sitting in his office, the ochre light of his
Tiffany lamp reflecting off his face.

"Well," I had said. "Now at least you
won't have to worry about getting Bannister's license revoked."A
large grin spread across the psychiatrist's face. "You
understood that, did you?"

"
It took a while, I must admit. I played with
every possible theory to explain your behavior. And then when you ran
off to Koreatown to talk with Reverend Wu"—I shook my head—"I
didn't realize you were looking into Bannister's real estate
holdings."

"How'd you solve it'?"

"Figure and ground." I smiled. "In
this case, the figure being the matches from the Bonaventure."

"And the ground?"

"
The book it was sitting on." I pointed to
the volume of licensing requirements from the Board of Medical
Examiners that still sat at the edge of Nathanson's desk. "As
you said, it was always in front of my eyes. And considering that
Bannister had been one of your pupils, it's not surprising you would
go to such effort to see him disenfranchised."

"
My prize pupil," said Nathanson, for the
last time pressing the servo-control that brought him erect in his
chair.

"Moses, I think you're getting better."

"I'm feeling better. Action is therapy."

"Yes, that's all there is in the long
run—action." He looked off thoughtfully. "Inside these
walls, all I see of the real world is only a guess."

"I'll miss you, too. But who knows? Perhaps
circumstances will bring us together."

"Dad, where are you?" Simon was shaking my
arm.

"Don't you want to see the wrap-up?"

I snapped out of my reverie and looked at the TV. I
was on split screen with the moderator, the words "Los Angeles"
supered under my face and "Washington, D.C." supered under
his.

"One last question on this case, Mr. Wine. As
far as you know, is there any truth to the rumor that a large sum of
money—millions, in fact—was sequestered somewhere in the bowels
of Cosmic Aid in Ojai?"

The camera zoomed in straight for me.

"Not as far as I know," I said.

"Well, there you have it. This is Larry King
Live for Cable News Network. Good night."

"Thank God you didn't blow that one," said
Sonya.

I looked over at Chantal and smiled.