'You're the psychiatrist, not me, Dr. Noble. You tell me why.'
'I don't know enough about Herman. All I can do is generalize. But you're his sibling, you grew up with him. You must have a clue.'
'It's a crazy notion,' he said, 'but what it might be is that Herm was an absolute klutz when it came to sports and games. His eye-hand coordination is lousy. My God, the guy can't even catch a ball. I was the jock of the family, and all my energy went into physical activity, especially running. I ran around a track, my brother ran after girls.
Does that make any sense at all?'
'Mmm,' I said. 'Do you think Herman was jealous of you? jealous of your prowess as an athlete?'
Chas frowned. 'That never occurred to me,' he said, 'but it's possible.
I won some medals and cups. An article about me was in the sports pages of our local newspaper. Sure, it would be normal for Herm to be jealous, wouldn't it? Or envious?'
'Or both,' I said. 'And unconsciously decided to excel at another activity-seducing women. He wouldn't win any medals or cups, but he'd have the satisfaction of succeeding and earning a reputation as Hotrocks.'
'It makes a nutty kind of sense,' Chas said.
'It's a very neat explanation of why he does what he does,' I said, 'but I don't think it's the whole story. Ready for a refill?'
'Always,' he said.
We spoke no more about the behavior of Herman Todd. I had some additional thoughts on the subject, but I was afraid they might offend Chas and felt it best to talk of other things.
But when I returned home later that night, I sat at, my desk and scribbled notes on what might evolve into a case history.
What Chas had told me about his brother was not conclusive, of course, but it did suggest several approaches to Herman's problems.
I thought it justifiable to reckon that the subject had been jealous of his brother's athletic success and had determined to prove his own prowess in a quite different arena. He could have selected chess, for example, or music or any of the other arts to test his talent and skill.
But Herman chose seduction. I thought more than sibling rivalry was involved.
If not wholly sibling rivalry, then what? I saw Herman's behavior as possibly an attempt to establish his bona fides as a 'real' man. Inept at sports and games, he had to assert his masculinity by aggressive conduct toward women. He became an obsessive lothario, and each conquest added to his self-esteem.
All this could be bullshit, of course. The subject wasn't in therapy yet, I had hardly spoken to him. But I had learned to trust my instincts, and in this case I was convinced I was on the right track, Herman was continually seeking to conquer because his mistrust of his own masculinity needed constant assuaging.
This preliminary analysis troubled me because it was one short step from determined seduction to a more overt and brutal form of physical aggression toward women, culminating in rape. I wondered if Herman had ever struck his wife or any other woman.
Complicating Herman's dysfunction might well be his brother's war record. Chas had volunteered, fought bravely, and had been grievously wounded. Herman might express scorn for his brother's decision to go to war, but I was certain his admiration and envy of Chas existed, no matter how deeply they were bidden. Chas had proved himself a man.
Herman constantly doubted his own maleness, and those doubts were driving him to a form of aggression that was threatening his marriage and might ultimately destroy his life.
All this was speculation on my part. But I had learned that no one who works in the field of human behavior really knows. We can only make educated guesses-and hope we are right. So when Herman Todd phoned early the next week, I told him I thought I might be able to help him and suggested he come to my office to begin a series of therapeutic sessions.
He thanked me for my interest but said he had been giving his situation a great deal of thought and had decided he could solve his personal problems by himself, without professional assistance.
I wished him good luck and assured him I stood ready to help if he found he needed it. I confess it was a disappointment, and I hung up with a premonition of a tragedy waiting to happen.
BOBBY GURK nobody messes with Big Bobby Gurk-nobody! I Ndidn't get where I am today by being Mr. Nice Guy. You mess with me, and I mess with you. Only I mess first! You snooze, you lose.
Laura Gunther is getting nowhere with Willie Brevoort, and I tell her I don't like it.
'What are you going to do,' she says, 'feed me to the alligators?'
'Don't talk like that,' I says. 'It ain't nice.'
' Nice-schmice, ' she says. 'I'm balling the guy, but he just won't spill. What am I supposed to do-beat his kidneys with a rubber hose?
You'll have to give me more time, Bobby.'
'Okay,' I says, staring at her. 'You keep trying.'
But I still don't like it. Listen, I know the odds. I learnt them all my life. And I know if your best friend can screw you, he will screw you.
Well, Gunther isn't my best friend, and neither is Brevoort.
But I suspicion the two of them might have got too close and are figuring on giving Big Bobby Gurk the shaft. it's possible. Look, there's a bundle involved here, and money can make people act like rat finks.
Right then, while I'm wondering if I'm being screwed, blewed, and tattooed, I get a phone call from Willie Brevoort.
'Bobby,' he says, 'I got bad news for you.'
'Yeah?' I says. 'What's that?'
'The old guy who owned Mcwhortle Laboratory dropped dead-you can look it up-and now the whole business is closed down.
Settling the estate, you know. So they're not doing any work, which means the ZAP pill is on hold. I don't know when they'll start working on it again, if ever, but right now the deal is cold. Sorry about that.'
'That's okay, Willie,' I says. 'It didn't cost me a dime, so no harm done.'
I hang up and think, In a pig's ass! So I looked up the number in the phone book and call. A chirpy bird answers, 'Mcwhortle Laboratory.'
'Hey,' I says, you still in business?'
'Of course we're still in business,' she says.
'I thought with your boss croaking and all, maybe you closed down.'
'Mrs. Gertrude Mcwhortle is now our chief executive officer,' she says.
'The laboratory is functioning normally, and all contracts will be fulfilled.'
'Thanks, babe,' I says.
Oh Willie, Willie, Willie, I think. And you're the guy who kissed my ass for starting you on a new career. I owe you one, you said. Rat fink!
So I call Tomasino down in Miami and ask if I can borrow Teddy O. for a special job. I will pay Teddy a, sweet per them and also pay Tomasino a grand for the borrow. He says sure, he'll send Teddy up as soon as he gets back from Tampa where he's gone to persuade a deadbeat he should do the honorable thing and pay Tomasino what he owes him so the deadbeat's wife won't get an acid facial.
This Teddy is an enforcer and one of the best in the business. Look at him and you'd think he sells shoes for a living. But how many guys who sell shoes carry a sharpened ice pick in a leather sheath strapped to their shin? He is a little bitty guy and talks polite. And he is true-blue, absolutely dependable. He just likes to hurt people, that's all-but what the hey, no one's perfect-right?
He shows up, and I tell him all about Willie Brevoort and the ZAP stuff that's supposed to put lead in a guy's pencil. I also tell him what I want, the name of the chemist at Mcwhortle Laboratory who is leaking information to Brevoort.
'I get it, Mr. Gurk,' Teddy O. says. 'You want I should lean on this guy.'
'No, no,' I says. (Usually Teddy leans a little too hard.) 'I figured first you could tail Willie awhile and see where he goes and who he meets. If we can't do it that way, then we'll do it your way.'
'Okay,' he says. 'Is there a good barber in town? I need a trim and a manicure.'
