Mr. Hiller was in the automobile business, he had a Cadillac dealership. I made his son fill out the usual questionnaire and we chatted.
The kid didn’t say anything, he looked embarrassed. Mr. Hiller said, “How long does he have to wait on this list?”
I leaned back in my chair and gave him the usual answer. “Six months,” I said.
“He’ll be drafted before then,” Mr. Hiller said. “I’d appreciate it if you could do something to help him.”
I gave him my usual answer. “I’m just a clerk,” I said. “The only people that can help you are the officers you talked to already. Or you could try your congressman.”
He gave me a long, shrewd look, and then he took out his business card. “If you ever buy a car, come to see me, I’ll get it for you at cost.”
I looked at his card and laughed. “The day I can buy a Cadillac,” I said, “I won’t have to work here anymore.”
Mr. Hiller gave me a nice friendly smile. “I guess that’s right,” he said. “But if you can help me, I’d really appreciate it”
The next day I had a call from Mr. Hiller. He had the ersatz friendliness of the salesman con artist. He asked after my health, how I was doing and remarked on what a fine day it was. And then he said how impressed he was with my courtesy, so unusual in a government employee dealing with the public. So impressed and overcome with gratitude that when he heard about a year-old Dodge being offered for sale, he had bought it and would be willing to sell it to me at cost Would I meet him for lunch to discuss it?
I told Mr. Huller I couldn’t meet him for lunch but I would drop over to his automobile lot on my way home from work. He was located out in Roslyn, Long Island, which wasn’t more than a half hour away from my housing project in the Bronx. And it was still light when I got there. I parked my car and wandered around the grounds looking at the Cadillacs, and I was smitten by middle-class greed. The Cadillacs were beautiful, long, sleek and heavy; some burnished gold, others creamy white, dark blue, fire engine red. I peeked into the interiors and saw the lush carpeting, the rich-looking seats. I had never cared much about cars, but at that moment I hungered for a Cadillac.
I walked toward the long brick building and passed a robin’s-egg blue Dodge. It was a very nice car that I would have loved before I walked through those miles of fucking Cadillacs. I looked inside. The upholstery was comfortable looking but not rich. Shit.
In short, I was reacting in the style of the classically nouveau riche thief. Something very funny had happened to me the past months. I was very unhappy taking my first bribe. I had thought I would think less of myself, I had always so prided myself on never being a liar. Then why was I so enjoying my role as a sleazy small- time bribe taker and hustler?
The truth was that I had become a happy man because I had become a traitor to society. I loved taking money for betraying my trust as a government employee. I loved hustling the kids who came in to see me. I deceived and dissembled with the lip smacking relish of a peasant penny ante lago. Some nights, lying awake, thinking up new schemes, I also wondered at this change in myself. And I figured out that I was getting my revenge for having been rejected as an artist, that I was compensating for my worthless heritage as an orphan. For my complete lack of worldly success. And my general uselessness in the whole scheme of things. Finally I had found something I could do well; finally I was a success as a provider for my wife and children. And oddly enough I became a better husband and father. I helped the kids with their homework. Now that I had stopped writing I had more time for Vallie. We went out to the movies, I could afford a baby-sitter and the price of admission. I bought her presents. I even got a couple of magazine assignments and dashed off the pieces with ease. I told Vallie that I got all this fresh money from doing the magazine work.
I was a happy, happy thief, but in the back of my mind I knew there would come a day of reckoning. So I gave up all thoughts of buying a Cadillac and settled for the robin’s-egg blue Dodge.
Mr. Hiller had a large office with pictures of his wife and children on his desk. There was no secretary and I hoped it was because he was smart enough to get rid of her so that she wouldn’t see me. I liked dealing with smart people. I was afraid of stupid people.
Mr. Hiller made me sit down and take a cigar. Again he inquired after my health. Then he got down to brass tacks. “Did you see that blue Dodge? Nice car. Perfect shape. I can give you a real buy on it. What do you drive now?”
“A 1950 Ford,” I said.
“I’ll Jet you use that as a trade-in,” Mr. Hiller said. “You can have the Dodge for five hundred dollars cash and your car.”
I kept a straight face. Taking the five hundred bucks out of my wallet, I said, “You got a deal.”
Mr. Huller looked just a little surprised. “You’ll be able to help my son, you understand.” He really was a little worried that I hadn’t caught on.
Again I was astonished at how much I enjoyed these little transactions. I knew I could stick him up. That I could get the Dodge just by giving him my Ford. I was really making about a thousand dollars on this deal even by paying him the five hundred. But I didn’t believe in a crook driving hard bargains. I still had a little bit of Robin Hood in me. I still thought of myself as a guy who took money from the rich only by giving them their money’s worth. But what delighted me most was the worry on his face that I hadn’t caught on that this was a bribe. So I said very calmly, without a smile, very matter-of-fact, “Your son will be enlisted in the six months’ program within a week.”
Relief and a new respect showed on Mr. Hiller’s face. He said, “We’ll do all the papers tonight, and I'll take care of the license plates. It’s all set to go.” He leaned over to shake my hand. “I’ve heard stories about you,” he said. “Everybody speaks highly about you.”
I was pleased. Of course, I knew what he meant. That I had a good reputation as an honest crook. After all, that was something. It was an achievement.
While the papers were being drawn up by the clerical staff, Mr. Hiller chatted to some purpose. He was trying to find out if I acted alone or whether the major and colonel were in on it. He was clever, his business training, I guess. First he complimented me on how smart I was, how I caught on quickly to everything. Then he started to ask me questions. He was worried that the two officers would remember his son. Didn’t they have to swear his son into the Reserve six months’ program? Yes, that was true, I said.
“Won’t they remember him?” Mr. Hiller said. ‘Won’t they ask about how he jumped so quickly on the list?”
He had a point but not much of one. “Did I ask you any questions about the Dodge?” I said.
Mr. Huller smiled at me warmly. “Of course,” he said. “You know your business. But it’s my son. I don’t want to see him get in trouble for something I did.”
My mind began to wander. I was thinking how pleased Vallie would be when she saw the blue Dodge: Blue was her favorite color and she hated the beat-up old Ford.
I forced myself to think about Mr. Hiller’s question. I remembered his Jeremy had long hair and wore a well-tailored suit with vest and shirt and tie.
“Tell Jeremy to get a short haircut and wear sports clothes when I call him into the office,” I said. “They won’t remember him.”
Mr. Hiller looked doubtful. “Jeremy will hate that,” he said.
“Then he doesn’t have to,” I said. “I don’t believe in telling people to do what they don’t feel like doing. I’ll take care of it.” I was just a little impatient.
“All right,” Mr. Hiller said. “I’ll leave it in your hands.”
When I drove home with the new car, Vallie was delighted and I took her and the kids for a drive. The Dodge rode like a dream and we played the radio. My old Ford didn’t have a radio. We stopped off and had pizza and soda, routine now but something we had rarely done before in our married life because we had had to watch every penny. Then we stopped off in a candy store and had ice-cream sodas and I bought a doll for my daughter and war games for the two boys. And I bought Vallie a box of Schrafft chocolates. I was a real sport, spending money like a prince. I sang songs in the car as we were driving home, and after the kids were in bed, Vallie made love to me as if I were the Aga Khan and I had just given her a diamond as big as the Ritz.
I remembered the days when I had hocked my typewriter to get us through the week. But that had been before I ran away to Vegas. Since then my luck had changed. No more two jobs; twenty grand stashed away in my
