The Underground Man sw-3 Read online

  Steve smiled. “Yeah. About the homeless man and the businessman. Seeing the rich man first.” Steve shrugged. “The way things turned out, I actually saw the rich man last.”

  5

  Mark Taylor took a sip of coffee from the paper cup on his desk, ran his hand through his curly red hair, and flipped open his notebook. “All right, Steve, here’s the rundown. If yesterday is any indication, Carl Jenson is a lily of the field-he toils not, neither does he spin. After leaving your office, he walked down Broadway to the local OTB and hung out all afternoon placing bets.”

  Mark grinned. “Now, in a case like that, my operatives have a certain amount of leeway. If he feels he must in order to maintain his cover, a man may place a reasonable amount of small bets and write ‘em off on his expense account. On the other hand, if the guy should happen to win, it’s another story entirely-the guy was playing with his own money all along, and he pockets the winnings. In this case, my man happened to hit the daily double at forty-eight to one, and even on a two-dollar bet that’s a pretty nice bonus.”

  Taylor took another sip of coffee. “Your buddy Jenson is another story. He bet every race, never got a nibble. Not that it would have done him much good. He was betting two bucks a pop, usually at very short odds. Once he bought a dollar box on the trifecta-that ran him six bucks. And once he put ten bucks on the nose of a heavy favorite that went off at even odds. The nag finished fourth.”

  “How’d he take losing?”

  “About how you’d expect. It pissed him off, and he’d bitch and moan and tear up his tickets and gripe about his luck to anyone willing to listen.” Mark shrugged. “But what the hell. A guy bets like that, he’s not desperate and he’s not plunging. He’s not gambling for the money, he’s gambling for recreation.”

  “Some recreation,” Steve said.

  “Hey,” Taylor said. “He may have had a fine day. A guy like that probably enjoys pissing and moaning about his luck more than he enjoys winning.”

  Taylor referred to his notebook. “At any rate, he hung out there until seven o’clock. Then he had dinner at a Sabrett stand on the corner, and walked uptown to 57th Street. There’s a bridge club there, apparently has a penny-ante poker game in the back room for some of its more select clientele. How Carl Jenson falls into that category is beyond me, but apparently he did, ’cause he went in there and stayed until eleven o’clock. My man had to hang out in the main room and play rubber bridge for four hours. At two cents a point, that’s a heavy game, and he wound up throwing back twenty bucks of his horse race winnings.”

  Taylor grinned again. “The guy tried to tell me he was playing the ponies on his own money and playing bridge on mine, but I wouldn’t go for it. I told him give me a break, gambling’s gambling. As it is, the guy made a tidy profit.

  “Anyway, with my man in the other room, I can’t tell you how well Jenson did at the poker table, except when he came out he didn’t look happy. Of course, the way my man tells it, griping is Jenson’s middle name.

  “Anyway, Jenson left at eleven o’clock, took the subway down to 14th Street, caught a PATH train to New Jersey, and took a taxi home. At least, I’d assume it was home. It was an address in Teaneck, New Jersey, which is where the guy told you he lived.”

  Taylor took another sip of coffee. “Now, that’s the whole story, and it ain’t much. I know it’s not what you wanted, but I had a good man on him, and I’m sure he didn’t miss a thing. He phoned in from OTB and I talked to him myself, after I’d talked to you, so he knew exactly what we were after. So he was on guard, particularly when Jenson took the subway. And the one thing he’s sure of, is Jenson never made a move toward any street person. Never paid any of them the least attention. As far as he could tell, Jenson had only one interest in life, and that was Carl Jenson.”

  Taylor shrugged. “And that’s it.”

  “Well,” Steve said. “That’s about what I expected. But I had to try. At least we got the guy’s address. We can peg him if we want.”

  “Right,” Taylor said. “You asked me to tail him yesterday and I did. I got no one on him today. But a guy of his type, he’s probably still sleeping now. If you want me to slap a man on the house in Jersey, I can. But it’s gonna cost you money, and you’re probably just gonna get more of the same. But of course that’s up to you. So how do you want to play it?”

  Steve thought a moment. “Tell me, how much is yesterday’s surveillance gonna run me?”

  Taylor smiled. “Is two hundred bucks the figure you were looking for?”

  Steve grinned. “Damned if it isn’t. All right, Mark. You called the turn. We’ve given our men a run for his money. I don’t see there’s much else we can do. Wrap it up and send me the bill.” Steve shook his head. “Unless he turns up dead in some alley, clutching a particularly strangely worded handwritten will, I would say we can close the books on our homeless millionaire.”

  6.

  IT WAS NEARLY TWO WEEKS LATER. Steve Winslow was seated at his desk reading the morning paper. Since the homeless millionaire incident, Steve had varied his reading routine. Now he scanned the obituaries before turning to the drama section. So far, the name Jack Walsh had not appeared. Steve didn’t really expect that it would. On the other hand, he wasn’t that sure that it wouldn’t.

  He’d already done the obituaries and the drama and moved on to the sports, when Tracy Garvin came in closing the door behind her.

  “Someone here to see you,” she said.

  “Oh? A man or a woman?”

  Tracy hesitated.

  Steve grinned. “Don’t tell me our visitor is of indeterminate sex.”

  “No. He’s male.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “Well, you said a man or a woman. I was afraid the answer to that would be misleading.”

  “Oh really? This is almost fun. Don’t spoil it by explaining. Just show the visitor in.”

  Tracy nodded, went out and came back moments later ushering in a young man.

  At first glance the mystery was solved. Steve had to suppress a grin. Tracy was absolutely right. “There’s a gentleman here to see you,” would have been slightly misleading.

  The visitor was a teenager-of that much Steve was certain. Beyond that he couldn’t really tell. Steve was far enough removed from his own teens not to be able to judge the age that accurately. He put his visitor’s age somewhere between twelve and twenty.

  Of course, the young man’s appearance didn’t help him any. His head had been shaved into a bristly mohawk that had been dyed a shocking green, and he had a gold earring in one ear. The effect, Steve supposed, was to make him look tough, or bad, or cool, whatever it was teenagers aspired to these days. In Steve’s mind it merely made him look young.

  Tracy Garvin couldn’t help giving Steve an I-told-you-so look as she said, “Mr. Winslow, Jeremy Dawson.”

  Steve Winslow stood up. “How do you do, Mr. Dawson?”

  Jeremy Dawson looked at him. Then at Tracy Garvin. Then back at Steve. He snuffled his nose and wrinkled up his brow. He squinted at Steve. “You the lawyer?”

  “That’s right. I’m Steve Winslow. Why?”

  Jeremy didn’t look convinced. He smiled, but the smile was somewhat forced. “I dunno.” He shook his head. Shrugged. “You just don’t look like a lawyer.”

  Steve shot Tracy a look. “Well,” Steve said, “appearances can be misleading.”

  If Jeremy caught the irony, he didn’t show it. He nodded. “Yeah. That’s true. So you’re the lawyer?”

  “Yes.”

  “The one Uncle Jack came to see.”

  “Uncle Jack?”

  “Yeah. Jack Walsh.”

  Steve took a breath. “Oh dear.”

  Jeremy looked at him. “What?”

  “I’m sorry,” Steve said, “but we may have a little trouble here. Sit down, Mr. Dawson, I’ll try to explain it to you.”

  Jeremy looked at Steve for a minute. He appeared to be unwilling to sit because h
e’d been asked to do so, as if part of his attitude was to defy any suggestion on principle. After a moment, however, he turned and seated himself in the chair.

  Steve sat at his desk. Tracy, looking terribly amused, pulled up a chair and flipped open her shorthand notebook.

  “All right,” Steve said. “Look. If you want to come in here and ask me questions about a client, I can’t answer them. The relationship between an attorney and client is privileged. I can’t violate that confidence. So before you say anything, you should know I have no intention of answering any questions-”

  Jeremy held up his hands. “Hey, man. No problem. You can skip the sermon. I heard it already from Uncle Carl. That’s Carl Jenson. The guy who was in here a couple of weeks ago trying to pump you for information. He didn’t get it. I know all about it. I overheard him talking to Fred and Jason. So you can skip the spiel. I’m not here for information. I’m here ’cause I need help.”

  Steve frowned. “That might present a problem.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know till I hear the facts. It’s conceivable there could be a conflict of interest here. I might not be free to act in your behalf.”

  Jeremy shook his head. “I don’t want you to act in my behalf.”

  “No?”

  “No. I don’t want you to help me. I want you to help Uncle Jack.”

  Steve frowned again. “Perhaps you’d better explain.”

  “Yeah, right. Well, Uncle Jack’s in trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “They locked him up.”

  “Locked him up?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Whaddya mean?”

  “In Bellevue. They locked him up in Bellevue.”

  “You mean they had him committed?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Who?”

  “Jason and Fred.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Last night.”

  “You wanna tell me about it?”

  Jeremy shrugged. “Not much to tell. They’d been planning it for months. I’d overhear them sometimes. They had it all set. Had this doctor at Bellevue lined up to commit him. Doctor, hell. Damn headshrinker. These guys got some nerve callin’ themselves doctors, you know? But Jason and Fred found this guy, sold him a story. Probably promised him a wad of cash too. Had him draw up the papers.”

  “The papers?”

  “Yeah. They were all set to commit Uncle Jack. The only problem was, they couldn’t find him. Two weeks ago, when uncle Carl was up here-that’s the first time they’d seen him in months.” Jeremy shrugged. “Of course, Uncle Carl’s such a douchebag lamebrain. He couldn’t stick with him. Uncle Jack just ditched him. That’s why Carl was in here giving you such a hard time. ’Cause he knew he’d blown it and he felt like a total asshole.” Jeremy grinned and shook his head. “I tell you, Jason and Fred really gave it to him good. For losing him, I mean.”

  “Why’d he tell ‘em?”

  “What?”

  “If he knew they’d be mad, why’d he tell ‘em he saw the guy at all?”

  “He had to. He saw Uncle Jack in the street. He called Fred right away, told him he’d spotted Uncle Jack and to rush right down with the commitment papers. By the time Fred got there, Uncle Jack had given Carl the slip. That’s why Carl was so hot to get the information out of you. He knew he’d fucked up royally and was in the dog house, and he wanted to do something to get out from under.”

  “And yesterday?”

  “Same thing. Only this time it was Fred spotted Uncle Jack. He called Jason, they rushed the papers over, and this time they served him.”

  “Who did?”

  “Two hospital orderlies. Found him in a subway station. Put a straightjacket on him and carted him away.”

  “And he’s in Bellevue now?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So whaddya want me to do?”

  “Get him out.”

  “Why?”

  Jeremy scrunched up his face. “Hey, man. What kind of question is that?”

  “I want to know how you come into all this. Why do you want your uncle out?”

  “He isn’t crazy.”

  “No?”

  “No. Why should he be locked up if he isn’t crazy? If you ask me, if anybody’s crazy it’s Jason and Fred.”

  “Oh?”

  “Oh, not crazy crazy. I don’t mean like they’re nuts. I just mean like they’re weird.”

  “You still haven’t answered my question.”

  “What question?”

  “What’s your interest in this?”

  “To get Uncle Jack out. Oh, you mean why.” Jeremy shrugged. “I dunno. I like him. I guess that’s it. I like him. Like, you gotta understand. My family’s kind of weird. The whole setup, I mean. Like I never had a mother or a father. I was brought up by Aunt Rose-there’s a winner. And Jason and Fred. And Carl, for Christ’s sake.” Jeremy rolled his eyes. “You have no idea what it’s like. And all of ‘em living in the big house in Great Neck, livin’ there and sponging off Uncle Jack. If you ask me, he’s the only straight one in the bunch. Sure, he’s weird. Sure, he’s old. But crazy? No. He never treated me like-I don’t know-like some stupid kid got no business being there.

  “So it’s not right. Them locking him up, I mean. It’s not because he’s crazy. It’s just ’cause they want to get their hands on the money.

  “So you got to get him out. Can you do it?”

  Steve sighed and rubbed his head. “It’s a little complicated.”

  “Complicated? What’s complicated? They put him in Bellevue, he isn’t crazy, he shouldn’t be there, he should get out.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, let me ask you some questions. Where you living now?”

  “Jersey, why?”

  “When’d you move there?”

  “Six months ago.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why. Carl told you. Uncle Jack sold the house and we all had to move. Why are you asking that?”

  “I told you. I’m not really free to discuss this or give you any information. So it simplifies things if I ask you for the information we need to discuss.”

  Jeremy thought that over. “I gotcha. O.K. Shoot.”

  “You say Uncle Jack sold the house. So where’s he living?”

  “Like nowhere.”

  “Nowhere? You mean he has no home?”

  “Right.”

  “So where’s he sleep?”

  “On the subway.”

  “I take it Uncle Jack has some money?”

  “You kidding? He’s worth millions.”

  “And yet he has no home and sleeps on the subway with the bums and winos.” Steve spread his hands wide. “I rest my case, Your Honor, the man is nutty as a fruitcake.”

  Jeremy shook his head. “You can’t go by that.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, a judge can.”

  “That’s not fair. Sleeping on the subway doesn’t prove a man’s nuts.”

  “Well, it doesn’t prove he’s sane, either. I gotta convince a judge a man who sleeps on the subway’s sane, I gotta come up with a pretty good reason. So you tell me. Why’s he doing it?”

  “To spite them.”

  “To spite who?”

  “Jason, Fred, Carl. All of us, really.”

  “Again we come back to why. Just they’re after his money?”

  “Yeah, well partly. But that’s not really it.”

  “Well, what is?”

  “Well, I guess it’s about Julie.”

  “Julie?”

  “Yeah. You don’t know about Julie?”

  “Assume I don’t. Who’s Julie?”

  Jeremy snuffled. “This is stupid.”

  Steve nodded. “Yeah.”

  Jeremy looked at him. shrugged. “O.K. Have it your way. Julie’s this woman Uncle Jack met about a year ago. When the family found out they went nuts.”


  “What do you mean, when the family found out?”

  “Oh, like Uncle Jack had been acting different for a while, you know? Like not talking. Which wasn’t like him. So Jason and Fred were concerned about it. I heard ‘em talkin’. They were wondering what’s up. They asked Uncle Jack questions, trying to worm it out of him. He wasn’t talking.

  “Then one day he brings her to the house.”

  “Julie?”

  “Yeah, Julie. I tell you, Jason nearly hit the roof.”

  “How come?”

  “Well, for one thing, she’s young. Well, not young young. She’s like forty. But compared to Uncle Jack.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I told you. Jason went bananas. Fred and Carl too. I mean, this is the worst thing that could happen. Like they’re all expecting one day Uncle Jack’s gonna kick the bucket and they’re gonna come into the money. And now this. You should have heard ‘em. I mean, it’s twenty-five years since his wife died. He’s never been serious about another woman since. Suddenly, at age seventy-five he’s got a girlfriend. Well, Jason and Fred take one look and see their inheritance going out the window. What if Uncle Jack should marry?”

  Steve looked at Jeremy narrowly. “How would you feel about that?”

  Jeremy shrugged. “Hey, it’s his life and his money. At seventy-five it’s hard to figure, but if the guy wants to have fun, that’s his business.”

  “What about you? Don’t you stand to inherit?”

  “Oh, sure. A nice trust fund with Aunt Rose in charge. Whoopdedo.”

  “Still, something to lose.”

  Jeremy shrugged. “Uncle Jack wouldn’t screw me. Even if he got married, so what? There’s enough to go around. Jason and Fred, they want it all.”

  “And Carl?”

  “Carl too, but he’s a numbnuts, you know? Well, they all are, but Carl in particular, you know what I mean?”

  “Yeah. So what happened with Julie?”

  “About what you’d expect. Jason and Fred start working on Uncle Jack, trying to poison him against her. I tell you, it didn’t work. He just got pissed off. Clammed up more than ever. Told them to fuck off.

  “That’s when they got smart. Instead of working on him, they started working on her. Not directly, you know. They hired a private dick to dig into her background. The guy nosed around, and it turned out there was something to find.