I buy and sell information. Buy from people who know and sell to people who want to know.'
'So? What's that got to do with me?'
'Does McWhortle ever talk to you about his business?
'Sure he does.'
'About new products his lab is working on?'
'Yeah, sometimes he talks about those.'
Brevoort stared at me. 'Well?' he said.
'What would you like to drink?' I asked him.
And that's how it started. Whenever McWhortle told me about a new project at the lab, or brought me a sample of a new perfume or maybe a new headache pill, laxative, or whatever, I'd give Willie the Weasel a call, and he'd come over to get it. He always paid in cash and he wasn't a tightwad, I'll say that for him.
I never did learn where his office was, if he had one, and I never asked who his customers were. I figured the less I knew, the better-in case he ever got busted for stealing business secrets, you know. I don't think he was spying for Russia or anything like that. His clients were probably competitors of the companies that paid McWhortle Laboratory to develop new products, and I imagined they paid Willie mucho dinero for the information and samples I passed along to him. I got a thousand dollars a pop.
So now I had the house, I was a salaried employee with a Social Security number and paying withholding taxes and all, and in addition I had a safe deposit box that was filling up with the cash Brevoort paid me.
After McWhortle left me on that Monday after noon, I waited a half-hour to make sure he wasn't coming back because he forgot something or wanted an instant replay of our roll in the hay. Then I called Willie.
Most of the times I phoned I'd get his answering machine, but this time he was in. I said I had something for him, and he said he'd be right over. He was there in fifteen minutes-which meant his office or home was nearby, right?
As usual, he looked spiffy. I'll say this for him, He never made a move on me. Of course, he could have been gay, but I don't think so.
I figured he didn't want to start anything because that would give me an edge on him, and he wanted to keep it strictly a business deal. As long as those hundred-dollar bills he handed out were good, I was satisfied.
I had a vodka martini and he had a club soda, while I told him about the big research contract the government had given McWhortle Laboratory to develop a pill that was supposed to make soldiers more aggressive.
'Nice,' Brevoort said-his favorite word. 'Did he happen to mention any of the ingredients?'
'Testo something.'
'Testosterone?
'Yeah, that's it. They call it the ZAP pill.'
'Uh-huh,' he said. 'Keep asking him about it, Jess. Here's a grand.
If they actually produce ZAP and you can get a sample, there'll be another two big ones for you.
'Oh-ho,' I said. 'That important, is it?'
'You have no idea,' he said.
After he left, I had another drink and wondered if I had been wrong, maybe he really was selling my information to Russia or some other foreign place. But what the hell did I care. it's all about survival. And survival means money. I knew that at the age of four. And believe me, only people with money can afford morals-even if a lot of richniks haven't got any to speak of. But when you're poor, dirt-poor like I've been, morals are a joke. You scratch, claw, and do a lot of things you'd rather not do just to survive.
I had nothing against Marvin McWhortle personally. He was getting what he wanted, and I was getting what I wanted. It was strictly business.
Just like my deal with Willie the Weasel.
Sometimes I could kill them. Like tonight at supper, Mom is picking on Dad about buttered carrots. He don't like them, and she knows he don't like them. But she dumps a big spoonful on his plate and says,
'Eat them.'
He don't say a word but he eats the carrots. Some of them.
Sort of pushing them around. What a wimp he is. Then they didn't talk at all anymore. So I got up and left the table.
'Where do you think you're going?' my mom yelled, but I just slammed out.
I went over to Ernie's, but his house was dark. Then I remembered they were going to the movies that night. My parents never take me to the movies. I don't care.
There were a lot of stars out, and I wondered what to do. I had a book report to write ('Tom Sawyer') but I didn't want to go back to my house. Dad would be working in the den with the door closed, and Mom would be watching one of her dopey travel shows on TV. They wouldn't even know I was home. They don't care.
I went through backyards, and Tania Todd was sitting on her back steps.
She's a year younger than me but she's a good kid.
We take the school bus together almost every morning, but I'm a grade ahead of her, so we don't have the same classes. But we both belong to the Nature Club.
'Hi, Tania,' I said, and sat down next to her.
'Hi, Chet,' she said.
My name is really Chester but I like to be called Chet. It sounds better.
'Why are you sitting out here?' I asked her.
'Just because,' she said. Then she added, 'Family matters.'
'Yeah, well, I got the same thing,' I said. 'Sometimes grown-ups can act dopey.'
She didn't say anything, and when I looked sideways at her, I saw she was crying. She wasn't making any sounds, but her face was all wet.
'Hey,' I said, 'you shouldn't be doing that.'
'I can't help it,' she said. 'Why do they have to be that way-like they hate each other.'
'I know,' I said. 'Mine, too. It makes you wonder why the hell they got married.'
'You shouldn't swear,' Tania said.
' Hell' isn't swearing,' I told her. 'It's just a plain word. I know some real swear words.'
'Well, I don't want to hear them. My father says them sometimes, and I cover my ears.'
'At least he talks,' I said. 'My dad don't even do that.'
'Doesn't,' she said.
The back door opened. Mrs. Todd came out and saw us. 'What are you guys doing out here?' she asked, 'Just sitting,' Tania said, not looking at her.
'That's nice,' her mother said. 'I have chocolate chip cookies. Would you like some, Chet?'
'Okay,' I said, and she brought us a plate of them. They were still warm, so I guess she had just made them. 'Thank you, Mrs. Todd,' I said.
She went back inside and Tania and I had a cookie. They had a lot of chocolate bits in them, which I like. My mom gets the store-boughten kind that come in a plastic bag and they don't have enough chocolate in them.
'Sometimes I wish I had never been born,' Tania said.
'Yeah, well,' I said, 'I feel like that sometimes, too. But we were.
Born, I mean. So there's nothing we can do about it.'
'Then I wish I had different parents. Like Sylvia Gottbaum.
She and her brother and her mother and her father are always doing things together. Like this summer they're all going to Paris, France.
I never get to go anywhere with my parents.'
'And look at Ernie Hamilton,' I pointed out. 'He went to the movies tonight with his mom and dad. You know how many times my folks have taken me to the movies? Maybe three times, that's all.
There's one cookie left. You want it?'
'You can have it, Chet.'
'Thanks. Your mom is a good cook.'
'I wish my father thought so. Maybe he'd come home for dinner more often.'
'He doesn't come home? Where does he eat?'
'Oh, he always has business meetings and things like that.
