Salesman next week.'
'I've already done Biff.'
'No. An actor?'
'In college. When I wasn't tearing up my knee on the practice field, I studied drama. I was Big Jule in Guys and Dolls.'
'Yes, yes. You've got the size for that. As well as a certain pleasant vagueness of demeanor. But Biff? Biff's a serious role, a difficult role. Willy Loman has to play off his reactions.'
I thought about giving Gerald Prince some of his own medicine, hauling out Biff's big scene rejecting Willy, but I couldn't remember the lines. I wondered what it would be like to discover that your father, your hero, is a fake. 'Maybe I'll drop by your class again.'
'Yes, you simply must come back!'
I nodded and took one last stab at him. ''Catch me if you can, Mr. Lusk.''
He seemed startled. 'Mr. Lust?'
'Mr. Lusk.'
'Oh, dear me. For a moment I thought you were making a pass at me. The theater's so full of-'
'You've never heard of Mr. Lusk?'
'A character from Dickens, perhaps?'
If he was a liar, he was a good one. Still, he was the only known link between the two women. 'We'll talk again,' I said.
'Of course we shall. We'll do a reading. I'll be Willy; you'll be Biff. We'll analyze it for them. The play as social commentary, Willy as the modern tragic character. You do remember the theme of the play?'
'As I recall,' I said, 'something about illusion versus reality.'
CHAPTER 14
I heard the clackety-clack of stiletto heels on courthouse tile before I saw her face. Or legs.
She wore a red leather mini with silver tights underneath. The legs were long and sleek and flashed like blades of giant scissors. The suntanned face was set in a screw-you mode. As she clacked closer along the corridor the waves of attorneys, clerks, and witnesses parted in front of her.
'Mr. Lassiter!'
It sounded like an indictment.
I turned to face her. 'Mrs. Blinderman.'
She stood close enough to give me a cold, but this time there was no friction of body parts. She cocked a hip and jabbed a finger at me. 'How would you like to be sued for slander? Or would you prefer I just report you to the bar association?'
'Is there a third choice?' I asked. 'Maybe a week in Philadelphia?'
She jammed the local section of the morning paper under my nose. 'You read this bullshit?'
I allowed as how the Journal was part of my morning ritual, right along with fresh mangoes and one-arm push-ups. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Doc Riggs emerge from a courtroom. I had been waiting for him. Charlie was wearing his expert-witness suit and stopped a discreet distance away, tamping cherry-flavored tobacco into his briarwood pipe. The old geezer could barely suppress a grin as he studied the tall couple standing toe to toe.
Her voice was low and icy. 'And I suppose you deny being the 'source close to the investigation'?'
'That's right. Wasn't me.'
'Really. Well, isn't it a coincidence that when my lawyer called the paper to raise holy hell, they said to contact their lawyer. And who do you suppose that is?'
'A fellow of great charm and wit.'
She didn't agree. 'You think I'm just a dumb broad, don't you? Well, appearances are deceiving. I vamp because it's fun. I'm playing a game, but I'm not stupid. I've been to college, wise guy.'
'Okay, okay, you're the homecoming queen.'
'You wouldn't banter with me if I was a man, you macho pig.'
'If you were a man, you wouldn't grind your thigh into my crotch, which, as I recall, was your greeting last time, Mrs. Blinderman. Now, make up your mind. Do you want to be treated like a piece of meat or the sweetheart of Sigma Chi?'
'You don't know me at all. I've walked up dark staircases in parts of town you wouldn't show your face. I know the streets, and I know a conspiracy when I see one. Compu-Mate has crippled the Journal's personal classifieds. We're doing a free bulletin board of dating personals, and your friends at the paper are pissed. You're their lawyer, and you get brownie points for leaking the story. This is a plot to put us out of business.'
It's always that way. People on the wrong side of hard-edged news stories think the editors sit around all day devising ways to bust their balls. Maybe some do, but in my experience editors are so burdened by budgets and deadlines and cantankerous reporters that they conspire only against their own publishers. The pressure of putting out a new product three hundred sixty-five days a year leads to lots of mistakes, but few with malice aforethought. Shoddy reporting and haphazard editing, not willful character assassination, do most of the damage. And then, of course, there are the occasions- the majority, in fact-when the journalistic mugging is well deserved.
'That's crazy,' I said. 'The Journal couldn't care less about your business. No offense, but frankly, Compu- Mate is strictly penny-ante.'
'That's your opinion. My lawyer's talking business defamation, injury to reputation, punitive damages.'
'Yeah. Well, my lawyer can beat your lawyer. Wait a second, I'm my lawyer.'
'You're not funny, Lassiter. And another thing. We're not a 'sex club.' Why the hell did it say that in the headline?'
People were starting to stare. 'The same reason most headlines miss the point. Not enough time or room or ingenuity to get it right. Look, I'm as unhappy about the story as-'
She stomped her feet, clip-clop, like a flamenco dancer and tossed the newspaper at me. 'You'll be even unhappier when I nail your pecker to the courthouse door.'
It was hard to argue with that, so I didn't, and she stormed down the corridor, high heels echoing like rifle shots.
'Such language.' Charlie Riggs sighed, lighting up in violation of county ordinance 87-1643A and moving next to me. 'What was that all about?'
I picked up the crumpled paper and showed it to him:
SLAYING VICTIMS LINKED TO SEX CLUB
Two young women slain in their apartments within the last month both belonged to a computer dating club, a source close to the investigation revealed yesterday.
Marsha Diamond, 29, a local television personality, and Mary Rosedahl, 27, a Pan Am flight attendant, were killed in separate incidents. Both belonged to Compu-Mate, a Hialeah sex-talk club where members are linked by computer modems. Police are investigating the possibility that the killer is a club member who wooed victims by computer chitchat, then obtained home addresses on the pretense of setting up dates.
'Divulging personal information by computer to a stranger is just as dangerous as picking up a hitchhiker,' a source close to the investigation told the Journal. 'Any odd behavior by club members should be reported to Metro Homicide at once.'
Max Blinderman, president of Compu-Mate, declined comment. His wife, Roberta Blinderman, told the Journal that the club is a 'respectable business.'
Charlie took off his patched eyeglasses and gave a little harrumph. 'Frankly, I think all behavior of Compu- Mate members is 'odd.' Now, in my day, you might ask a young woman to take a ride in your flivver, and if there was a full moon-'
'There's something about her, Charlie, I can't quite get a handle on.'
