Clifford Irving's Legal Novels - 04 - BOY ON TRIAL - A Legal Thriller (31 page)

“I’m afraid so,” Jerry Siegel said. When he smiled, his fish eyes popped a little, like they might fall out of the sockets onto the carpet.

“To where?”

“Just to my office. Geller House. It’s what we call a facility. We’ll talk to you there, and we’ll get in touch with both sets of parents. We’ll make an assessment. Don’t worry, Billy. This will all turn out all right.”

“I have to wake Amy,” I said, “and she’ll have to get dressed, and I have to go to the bathroom, and I have to get my stuff together, and she’ll have to do that, too. Is all that okay?”

Jerry Siegel seemed happy that I was cooperating, not making a fuss. He said, “That’s fine. We can wait outside.”

“No, come in. Sit down. Make yourself at home.”

I practically dragged him into the room, and I made sure that the two cops followed. They looked around, inspecting things, sniffing, probably figuring there was dope around somewhere.

I knocked on Amy’s door, went in, and closed it part way behind me. She was stuffing things into her red sack.

I told her what to do and in what order to do it. First I had her poke her head through the door and give a quick look to the caseworker and the cops so that they knew it was a live girl in there and not just a figment of my imagination. After that I made sure that she ran the water in the bathroom sink. Then I jumped back out into the living room.

The big-bottomed woman cop was on the balcony now, enjoying the view, while the Irish-looking cop was blocking the front door. Jerry Siegel was seated on the sofa, cleaning his glasses with a pocket handkerchief.

“Two minutes,” I said.

I crossed the room and into my bedroom. I even left the door open part way. I opened Iphigenia’s cage, grabbed her, whispered a few words of caution in her ear, then stuffed her into her traveling bag. I threw my clothes and my bathroom stuff into my Macy’s sack. All that took about a minute. I flushed the bathroom toilet, turned on the taps of the sink, picked up Iphigenia and my stuff, and unlocked the hall door and opened it as quietly as I could. I stepped into the hallway, leaving the door open a bit. I didn’t want to close it and make any noise that would give us away.

Amy was out there in the corridor waiting for me. No one had bothered to warn the caseworker that we were in a suite with three doors that opened on the corridor. The elevators were close by. I grabbed Amy by the elbow, prodded her, and we broke into a run on the soft carpet.

When I jabbed the DOWN button, it glowed a pale creamy color.

I heard the cops screaming: “Hands against the wall! Spread your legs!” The shackles closed around my ankles…

That was the longest wait of my life. But the red DOWN light blinked, made that bleeping sound, and the elevator doors slid open. No one was inside the elevator. We jumped in, I punched the CLOSE button, and the door slid shut.

Amy turned to me. “Did you remember to bring the money, Billy?”

I made a noise, something like: “
Aaaaaaaooogh!
“

I couldn’t believe it. I had stuffed over $14,000 under my bedroom sofa and left it behind. It was all the cash we had. How could I do such a thing?

Asshole
. I hate that word. But it described me.

Meanwhile, the elevator whooshed us down, stopping on the fourth floor. The doors opened. Suits crowded in. I moved my foot an inch toward the open door. I moved my body the other way. I swayed this way, that way — I didn’t know what to do. You can leave that kind of money behind if your life depends on your leaving it, but…

You can’t let money run your life. On the other hand, I’d already learned what most adults seem to know, that it’s hard to run your life without it. And it was a lot of money.

I whispered in Amy’s ear: “Go on down. Cross the park. You’ll come out on Fifth Avenue. Remember the toy store? Tom Hanks in
Big
? I’ll meet you there.”

“When?”

“Soon as I can. I’m going back up for the money.”

“Good luck, Billy.”

She was like that. She didn’t ask me more questions, like: “
What if you don’t show up? Where do I go?”
She believed in me.

On the second floor, with my sack of clothes and Iphigenia in her traveling bag, I squeezed past a couple of suits and jumped out. The door shut behind me and the elevator began blinking its way down to the lobby.

There had to be a staircase. But maybe Mr. Siegel and the cops were on it now, headed down. The door of another elevator slid open. Its green UP light blinked. I jumped in. All this probably took a lot less time to happen than it took to tell about it. If I get off at the fifth floor, I figured, where we started out from, I’m liable to bump into Mr. Siegel and the cops. Or they might still be in the living room, twiddling their thumbs, listening to the water run in the showers, believing they were still dealing with a caught and cooperative kid. I had left my hall bedroom door open a crack. I could slide back in, but if from one minute to the next they woke up to what had happened, or even wondered why I was taking such a long time, and barged in while I was digging under the sofa, there would be no more politeness and they wouldn’t let go of me until they had Amy in tow as well. Maybe no cuffs and shackles, but certainly a firm grip on the arm of this conniving kid. And the money?
Kid must have stolen it.
They were cops. They would confiscate it. Eventually, it would be given to my parents and vanish into the trust, and I wouldn’t see it again until I was twenty-one.

I got off at the sixth floor and quickly found the emergency exit. Nice and quiet in there on the concrete staircase. No sound of cops. I crept down the stairs to the fifth floor, pushed, shoved, got the heavy door open halfway and peered down the long wing of the H-shaped corridor. Coast was clear. I stepped out. As soon as I turned the corner to the elevators, I heard a distant yelp of surprise. Then another pair of yells — dismay and frustration, this time — then the bang of a door—then another door —
smack!
— as if it might come off its hinges. Then the sound of outraged feet pounding on carpet.

The maids were just beginning to clean on this side of the hotel. I had a fast glimpse of a uniformed maid, small and brown; she was there for a moment, then she vanished into a room. A few doors stood wide open. Two cleaning carts blocked the corridor. All this reminded me of Charlie on the run. Always on the move. You have to
move
.

I scuttled into one of the empty rooms. The big bed had been slept in, blanket, pillows and sheets tossed about, clothing and sections of the
Times
strewn about the room. The angry footsteps drew nearer. I flung open the bathroom door and jumped inside. It smelled of shaving lotion.

The footsteps slowed, drew closer. From the corridor I heard the commanding voice of the law:

“Couple of kids run by here?”

“No, suh. No one come by.”

Footsteps pounded off.

I popped out like a weasel from a hole. No one out there except a maid just vanishing into a doorway. I worked my way back past the elevators to our suite, where the bedroom doors were still open, just the way we’d left them.

I slipped inside the room, and got down on the carpet, grappling for the packet of money.

Not there.

“
Aaaaaaaooogh!
“

Has to be here. Has to be.
Has to —

My hand closed around the manila envelope. I had looked in the wrong place, and not deep enough. I breathed again.

I stuffed the envelope into my sack and zipped it shut. I stayed hidden behind the sofa. I thought of all kinds of things, but mostly about what I’d be doing if I were home. It would be quiet. My heart wouldn’t be pounding like this. The tomato plants would be soaking up the sunlight. I’d be in the kitchen, mixing up my gallons of lemonade. I could hear Inez humming. I could hear the silent sounds of a big house. I began talking to myself in Spanish, pretending that Inez was there. I missed Oak Lane. I missed my bed, my old blue cotton blanket, my Dell computer — my
stuff
. I missed Inez. I missed knowing that horrible Simon was playing heavy metal on his Walkman in the next room. I reached into the travel bag and stroked Iphigenia on the head.

Cautiously, I peered out the door into the corridor. Cleaning carts, but no maids. I made my move. I hurried down the corridor. I took the stairs down.

I reached the lobby and peered out from behind the door to the staircase. No sign of the cops or of Mr. Siegel.

Running past Señor Garcia at Reception, I yelled, “Take it out of the debit card, please!”

Morning traffic on Central Park West was heavy: tour buses, taxis, delivery vans, limos. The heat walloped me on the head. The sun shone on the green grass of the park where dogs tugged at leashes. I was sweating. I looked for blue uniforms and didn’t see any. Iphigenia said, “
Chit-chit-chit.
“

“Don’t worry, I’ll feed you…”

I trotted across the park, carrying Iphigenia and my stuff. This was a hard life. Not one I had foreseen — running from the law every other day. I saw a hot dog vendor. Steam rose from the steel surface of his cart. I went up to him.

“Excuse me, but do you have any fruit, sir?”

“Only bananas.”

“One, please.” I wiped the sweat from my forehead with a paper napkin. “And a hot dog with mustard, relish, and lots of onion.” I was hungry and that’s all the guy had, except bananas.

I peeled the banana and shoved it into the bag. Grabbing it, Iphigenia hauled it down. Before I could bite into my hot dog, someone tapped me on the shoulder.

I didn’t want to turn to face them. I saw myself handcuffed, led away to prison.

“Billy.”

I spun around and Amy was grinning at me. She was already taking the last bite of her own hot dog. Her fingers and one side of her mouth were smeared with mustard.

“You scared me half to death,” I croaked. “Didn’t you go to the toy store?”

“I was on the way. The park’s so nice. And then I got hungry. I had some mad money left. That was a great idea, Billy. Did you get all the money from the room?”

“I got it.”

“Are you really gonna eat that thing?” She was pointing at my hot dog. “You said they were really bad for you.”

“Do you want it?”

I pulled Amy toward the carousel and the playground—I could see that there were plenty of other kids there now. Some of them were roller-skating, some were flying kites. We headed across the grass, our sacks swinging and bouncing. Amy trotted at my side, carroty hair flying in the breeze. She was laughing and having a great time. She ate my hot dog in three bites.

Chapter 29

Wearing a stained smock over a T-shirt and skivvies, Uncle Bernie was in his studio, grinding paints, then filling and labeling tubes. He stopped work when we jumped out of the taxi and rang the bell and took the old freight elevator up to the fourth floor. It was barely nine o’clock in the morning, and the loft smelled of turpentine and linseed oil and sweat. Uncle Bernie was a hard worker.

“Billy, get my sister off my back. She’s called three times.”

The operator in my mom’s office at Sag Harbor put me through right away. Dr. Adler probably put Warren Buffett on hold.

“Oh! Darling! Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“Where are you?”

“Uncle Bernie’s.”

“Well, that’s a relief… I suppose. Are you ready to stop this nonsense and come home?”

“Not yet, Mom.”

“Oh, Billy! What’s wrong with you?”

“Mom, you called the cops on me.”

“I had to.”

“That’s wasn’t fair.”

“It’s you who’s not being fair. Not fair to
us
.”

“Mom—”

“Don’t you see it?”

This wasn’t getting anywhere. It never does. We lived in different skins. So I did what I usually do to avoid an argument: I shut up.

She sighed. Those sighs gave up as much emotion as operatic arias. I could picture her at her desk. Or maybe she was on a cordless, pacing the carpet. Her phones were blinking red; people were lined up begging her to buy Waste Management and Cisco Systems, sell McDonalds and Exxon. She asked if I was eating fruit, drinking milk, brushing my teeth properly, getting enough sleep. I wondered what she thought I was doing at night.

“Yes, Mom. Yes. Yes. Could you and Dad come into the city, so we can talk? Well, Dad’s here already, right? He doesn’t even have to travel. Is Saturday good for you?”

“Billy, this is crazy!”

Was it? I didn’t think so. I was just expecting the same consideration, and demanding the same rights, that any free adult would expect and demand. I was a person, not a subperson, not a pet. I held my ground.

“No, it’s not. Can you make it, Mom?”

“I suppose so, yes, I can, but…”

“Will you ask Dad?”

“Is that the only way we get to see you?”

“Amy and I can’t show up in the Hamptons yet, Mom. Anything might happen.”

“Yes, you might come to your senses.”

“Will you come in on Saturday?”

“All right, all right. I’ll call your father.” But she didn’t sound happy with the idea.

“I love you, Mom. Don’t forget that.”

“Oh, Billy. Oh, Billy.” That was all she could manage. Then she said, “Me, too. Don’t
you
forget it.”