The Underground Man sw-3 Read online

  “Once I woke up and they were trying to shave me. They tried when I was awake and I wouldn’t let ‘em do it, so they tried when I was asleep.”

  Judge Washburn looked at him. “They don’t seem to have succeeded.”

  “No, they didn’t. I woke up, screamed, flailed my arm, broke the damn electric razor. After that they gave up trying.”

  “Why do you object to shaving?”

  “I don’t object to shaving. I object to being shaved. Big difference. I object on principle to anything being done to me against my will. If you can’t understand that, there’s no point in this hearing.”

  “I didn’t say I can’t understand that, Mr. Walsh. I just want to get your point of view.”

  “You got it. What else you want to know?”

  Jack Walsh was so swift on the returns Judge Washburn was momentarily taken aback. He took a few seconds to gather himself. “Well now,” he said. “As you understand, this is a competency hearing. Certain allegations have been made to the effect that you’re not competent to handle your affairs. This hearing is for the purpose of determining whether these allegations are true. Now, as part of these allegations, I have heard testimony from certain witnesses regarding your behavior. Behavior which, if taken at face value, could be construed not to be the acts of a rational man. We have the testimony of two of your relatives …” Judge Washburn referred to his notes. “… Mr. Jason Tindel and Mr. Fred Grayson, to the effect that recently you sold your house out from under you, that you have no fixed address, and that you have taken to living on the subway in the manner of an indigent, when in fact you actually have ample funds to live anywhere you wish.

  “Now, I’d like to give you an opportunity to reply to these allegations. So I ask you, are the allegations of your relatives true?”

  Jack Walsh scowled. He squinted up at the judge. “You keep calling them my relatives. Jason Tindel and Fred Grayson happened to marry into the family. I don’t see that that makes them kinfolk, somehow.”

  “Very well,” Judge Washburn said. “Your in-laws, then. How’s that?”

  “Fine. In-law is where we are, and what this is all about. I quite approve.” Jack Walsh punctuated this by nodding in agreement with himself.

  Judge Washburn frowned and took a breath.

  Steve Winslow stirred restlessly. Jack Walsh was making no effort to answer the question. Instead he was engaging in various evasions and deflections. In short, acting like a man with something to hide.

  Judge Washburn cleared his throat. His voice took on a slightly insistent tone. “Mr. Walsh, what reason would your in-laws have for making these statements?”

  “Because they’re stupid.”

  Judge Washburn frowned. “That’s hardly a complete answer.”

  “Also because they’re greedy.” Walsh nodded judiciously. “Yeah. Greedy and stupid. That about covers it.”

  Judge Washburn exhaled. “Mr. Walsh-”

  “Yeah, I know, I know,” Walsh said. “I have to prove I’m sane. Funny, isn’t it? If I were charged with a crime I’d be presumed innocent until proven guilty. Here it’s the other way around. Some guy says I’m crazy, and the burden of proof is on me to prove I’m sane.” Walsh squinted up at the judge. “Something a little wrong with that, isn’t there?”

  “Mr. Walsh, that is not exactly the case-”

  “It’s close enough. You’ll pardon me if I don’t take kindly to it. Understand, I have no contempt of court. I do have a certain amount of contempt for my in-laws.”

  “I understand, Mr. Walsh. Still, I am the judge, and I have to make my ruling. Now that may be unfair, but it happens to be the law. So any way you can assist me in doing it, I would appreciate. Now, with regard to the specific allegations: it has been stated that recently you sold the house in which you were living out from under yourself. Is that true?”

  Walsh nodded. “Yes. And out from under my relatives. That’s what really set them off.” Walsh looked up at the judge. “I suppose you’d like me to tell you why?”

  “That would help.”

  “Right. I have to justify my actions. They don’t have to justify theirs.”

  Steve Winslow shifted in his seat, started to get up. He thought better of it. Nothing he could do at this point was going to help. Jack Walsh was going to have to sink or swim by himself.

  Judge Washburn took a breath. “I think I stated my position, Mr. Walsh. At any rate, this is your opportunity to explain. If you care to do so.”

  Walsh nodded. “Yeah, I care to do so. O.K. Here’s the story. My relatives, I’m sorry to say, are a rather shiftless lot. Particularly my in-laws. I don’t want to bore you with specifics, but the fact is, there isn’t a wage-earner among ‘em. In a way it’s my fault-they’ve always had me to lean on. They lived in my house, ate my food. Why the hell should they work?

  “Only lately it got worse. In the last year. Suggestions started cropping up. I was getting old. I wasn’t going to live forever. Inheritance taxes were astronomical. Wouldn’t it be nice to get around some of them? How? By making certain gifts during my lifetime. Suggestions of that kind.

  “Well, needless to say, I didn’t take kindly to such suggestions. I didn’t make any big deal about it, I just ignored ‘em. But they got more and more persistent.

  “Then they stopped talking altogether. That was somewhat strange. I wondered why.

  “Then one day I overheard Jason and Fred talking. You know what they were talking about?” Walsh spread his arms wide. “Just what we’re doin’ here. Declaring me incompetent and grabbin’ the cash.

  “Well, pardon me, Your Honor, but that was the last straw. I did not need people living in my own house who were plotting against me to get my money. As far as I was concerned, that was beyond all bounds. I confronted them, and told them they could get out.”

  “What happened?”

  “They laughed at me. Said I didn’t mean it. I was an old man, I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  Walsh shrugged. “Well, I was stuck. I didn’t know what to do. If they wouldn’t leave, I couldn’t make ‘em. I mean, I could have started legal proceedings to have ‘em evicted, but I figured that would be playing right into their hands. Only a crazy man would try to get the law to throw his relatives out of his own house. If I instituted proceedings, they’d use the fact that I’d done so to try to get me certified insane.

  “So I couldn’t do that. But I couldn’t live in the same house with them, not under those circumstances. So I thought it over and decided if they weren’t going to leave, I would.”

  Walsh stopped and shook his head. “That was an awfully galling situation. I mean, it was my house, damn it. Why should I go and let them stay?

  “So I figured there was only one thing to do. I’d sell the house out from under them. I hated to do it, but I couldn’t live with them, and I was damned if I was going to let them run me out and leave them in charge.”

  Walsh shrugged. “So I sold the house.”

  Judge Washburn nodded. “And went to live on the subway?”

  Walsh made a face. “What, are you nuts? Why should I live on the subway?”

  Judge Washburn frowned. “Mr. Walsh, we have the testimony of Jason Tindel and Fred Grayson that you told them you were going to live on the subway. Is that true?”

  “Yes, I did. And if you wanna declare me insane for making a facetious remark, I suppose you have the right to do so.”

  “Are you saying-”

  “Yes I am. I made a wisecrack. A stupid remark. If they took it seriously, it shows how bright they are.

  “When I sold the house they were hysterical. They were all over me. ‘You can’t do that. Are you crazy? Where are you going to live?’ I said, I don’t know, I don’t care, I’d rather live on the subway with the bums than in this house with you.’ It was a flippant remark and they took it for gospel. What can I tell you?”

  “You’re saying you don’t live on the subway?”

  “Of course no
t.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “I got a room at the Holiday Inn on 57th Street. I had it ever since I sold the house. I didn’t know how long I’d need it for, so I booked it for a year.” Walsh shrugged. “Little expensive, but I got the money.”

  Franklyn struggled to his feet. “Your Honor, this comes as a bit of a surprise. There is no evidence in this case that this man has ever had a room anywhere, and-”

  Judge Washburn held up his hand. “Sit down, Mr. Franklyn. Your surprise is noted. This will of course be checked out.”

  Judge Washburn turned back to the witness. “Mr. Walsh, you say you’ve been staying at the Holiday Inn on 57th Street?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You have a key for the room?”

  “Not on me. I leave it with the desk.”

  “Your possessions are in that room?”

  “My immediate possessions. Most of my stuff is stored in a warehouse in Brooklyn. My necessities are at the Holiday Inn.”

  “Yet, Mr. Walsh, we have the testimony of Jason Tindel to the fact that he ran into you in the street, and without your knowledge, he followed you to see where you would go. And on that occasion you went down in the subway and took up residence with the homeless there. What do you say to that?”

  Walsh grinned. “What Jason Tindel don’t know would fill a book. Without my knowledge, did you say? On that occasion, as you call it, I spotted Jason Tindel well before he spotted me. When I saw he was spying on me, I must admit I decided to yank his chain a bit. He wanted to see how I was living. Well, I told him I was living on the subway, so let him think I was. As soon as he started following me, I went down in the subway and started talking to the homeless there. I knew it would drive him nuts.”

  “And the time you were taken to Bellevue?”

  “Same thing. Fred Grayson saw me in the street. Started tagging along. So I led him down in the subway. What I didn’t know was that they’d already been in cahoots with a shrink and had commitment papers drawn. Evidently while I was down there Fred Grayson called for reinforcements, Jason Tindel rounded up the Bellevue orderlies, and you know the rest.”

  “I see,” Judge Washburn said. “There is another allegation, Mr. Walsh, that you drew out close to two hundred thousand dollars from your bank account, and that you have been wandering around with the money on you in cash.”

  “Oh yeah?” Walsh said. “Funny the shrinks at Bellevue didn’t mention it. Now I admit those guys are not very swift, but you’d think if I’d checked in there with two hundred grand on me, even they would have noticed it.”

  “You do not have two hundred thousand dollars in cash?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You withdrew it from the bank.”

  “Yes, I did. I did it so these fine gentlemen here couldn’t freeze my bank account and keep me from using my own money. But carry it on me? Don’t be silly. I merely switched banks. I have a new account with Chase Manhattan. You can check with them.

  “You also might check with my stockbroker. Two hundred grand’s chicken feed. Most of my money’s in stocks and bonds. If you check with my broker you’ll find I made almost that much this year playing the stock market.

  “But don’t tell the guy you’re thinking of declaring me incompetent. Poor guy might have a stroke. I’m his biggest source of income.”

  “I see,” Judge Washburn said. “And, uh, the manner in which you’re dressed?”

  “Is my own damn business. It happens to be a free country and I can dress as I like. I got this coat at Good Will. It’s warm and fits me fine.

  “And I like it. You know why I like it? I dress this way, and no one thinks I got any money. Nobody bothers me. If you never had money, you don’t know what that’s like. I’m tired of people hassling me about money, so I dress like I ain’t got it and they leave me alone.”

  Walsh’s eyes gleamed. He grinned and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “And, I must admit, I do it to irritate them. To stick the knife in.

  “But I’m sorry about all this. I’m particularly sorry I had to tell you about my room at the Holiday Inn. Now I’ll have to give it up. Move. Now they know where I live, I can’t live there no more.” Walsh shook his head. “Bit of a shame, that.”

  Judge Washburn took a breath, blew it out again. Thought a moment. “Can you tell me the address of your branch bank? And the name of your broker?”

  Walsh told him and the judge wrote it down.

  “Very well,” Judge Washburn said. “I’m going to take a brief recess. If the parties will please remain in court, this should only take a few minutes.”

  Judge Washburn went through the door in the back of the courtroom into his chambers. He was back ten minutes later and resumed his place on the bench.

  “Let us proceed,” Judge Washburn said. “During the recess I’ve been on the phone with the Chase Manhattan Bank, where Mr. Walsh does indeed have an account. I have also been on the phone with his broker. Also the Holiday Inn.

  “These phone conversations bear out Mr. Walsh’s testimony entirely. According to his broker, Mr. Walsh is not only competent to carry out his business, he’s most extraordinarily adept at it.

  “The court is now going to rule. The court finds no basis whatsoever for considering Mr. Walsh incompetent. The court feels that attempts to incarcerate him and have him declared incompetent have not been for his own good or to save him from himself, but were motivated purely out of personal gain.

  “Furthermore, the court finds no valid reason for said incarceration. And finds the explanation of Dr. Feldspar inadequate at best.”

  Judge Washburn fixed Dr. Feldspar with a cold glare. “And you, Doctor, will have an opportunity to appear before me to show cause why I should not consider your failure to respond to the habeas corpus and to produce the petitioner at this hearing to be contempt of court.

  “As far as these proceedings are concerned, the habeas corpus is granted, and the petitioner is released.”

  10

  It was all Steve Winslow, Mark Taylor and Tracy Garvin could do to contain Jack Walsh during the taxi ride back to the office. It was no small feat getting him out of court, either. Fortunately, Judge Washburn had retired after announcing his decision and did not witness Jack Walsh’s post-trial performance, or he might have ordered him committed all over again. Jack Walsh had jumped in the air, cackled gleefully, run over to give Steve Winslow a hearty handshake, and then raced back to goad and torment his relatives. “Fools! Idiots! Bloodsuckers!” he trumpeted, dancing up and down in front of them. Mark Taylor and Steve Winslow literally had to drag him away.

  He was still bouncing off the walls when he reached Steve Winslow’s office. Mark Taylor sat him firmly in the clients’ chair, rolled his eyes at Steve Winslow, and then went out, closing the door behind him.

  Walsh bounced right up again. “We did it,” he cackled. “Did you see them? Did you see the look on their faces? No-account deadbeats. We nailed ‘em good.”

  “Yes, we did,” Steve said. “Now, if you’d just sit down a minute-”

  “Don’t want to sit down. Been sittin’ too much. Lyin’ down too. Don’t want to do what nobody tells me. Don’t have to, do I? That’s what bein’ free means. That’s what it’s all about.”

  “Yes, Mr. Walsh, but-”

  “Ah, the look on their faces. Jason and Fred. And that numbnuts, Carl. Sitting there in their suits and ties as if they amounted to anything. And me in my rags and dirty face. I put it to ‘em, didn’t I? I nailed ‘em good.”

  “Yes, you did, Mr. Walsh. Now-”

  “Not a penny. Not one penny, that’s what they’ll get. They’ll see. They’ll have to come to me now. I’m holdin’ the whip.”

  “Yes, you are, Mr. Walsh. Now if you’ll just sit down-”

  “Told you. Don’t wanna sit down. In fact, I don’t wanna be here at all. Got things to do.”

  “I’m sure you do, Mr. Walsh. But first we have a few matters to se
ttle.”

  “Right, right. I owe you money. You did work and you gotta be paid. Hell of a good job, too. Let’s see. A day in court, plus the preparation, filin’ the papers. What’s that all worth? Five grand? No problem. I’ll send you a check.” His eyes gleamed. “Chase Manhattan Bank. Got a bankbook back at the Holiday Inn. Stupid bastards thought I’d carry cash, never thought to check the banks.” Shook his head. “Assholes.”

  “It’s not just the money, Mr. Walsh.”

  “Not the money? Of course it’s the money. You did the work and you gotta be paid.”

  “Yes, but-”

  “But nothing. It was damn fine work. How’d you get on to me anyway?”

  “What?”

  “How’d you find me? How’d you know I was there?”

  “Oh.”

  “I was shocked as hell. The doctors wouldn’t let me talk to nobody, I figured nobody knew I was there.”

  “The family knew.”

  “Right, they put me there. But aside from them-” Walsh broke off. His eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. Are you sayin’ it was one of them?”

  Steve nodded.

  “Well, it sure wasn’t Jason, Fred or Carl. One of the women then. Don’t tell me. Aunt Claire?”

  Steve shook his head. “No.”

  “All right. Who?”

  “Jeremy.”

  Walsh’s eyes widened and his face screwed up in disbelief. “Jeremy? The punk rocker?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You’re kidding. He told you? Jeremy? That dippy little kid with green hair?”

  Steve nodded. “That’s right. He came in here and-”

  “Son of a bitch!” Walsh cackled. “Son of a bitch! Would you believe that? I got a relative after all. Jeremy. Hot damn. How the hell’d he even know?”

  “He’d overheard Carl saying you’d come here. Then when they locked you up he skipped school and came here to ask me to get you out.”

  Walsh threw back his head and laughed. “Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. Well, that changes things, don’t it? Thanks for tellin’ me. Jeremy. Son of a bitch.”