The Underground Man

“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 settle.”

“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