The Wally Lamb Fiction Collection: The Hour I First Believed, I Know This Much is True, We Are Water, and Wishin' and Hopin'

by Lamb, Wally

  “But like I was saying, Dom, you guys are small potatoes,” Balchunas said. “You and . . . what’s his name, again? Your fishing buddy? Motormouth, there?”

  “Leo,” I said.

  “That’s right. Leo. We might be able to clean this up pretty quick is what I’m saying. Your parents nice people, Dom?”

  Oh, fuck. “Yes.”

  “That’s what I figured. Bet they’d be a little upset if they knew about what was going on down here. Right? Here. Last chance.” He was holding out the goddamned Life Savers again. “Humor an old geezer, will you? Take one.”

  I reached across and took one of his fucking mints. Put it in my mouth. Chewed it.

  “How ’bout you, fellas?” he asked the other officers. “Cryst-o-mint?”

  “No thanks, Captain.”

  “I’m good, Captain.”

  “Okeydoke.” He turned to Overcash. “Where was I, Clayton?”

  Overcash consulted his pad: cross-hatchings in the margins, a single word or two. “Small potatoes,” he said.

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right. You see, Dom, with all the stuff going on in this town, you and Leon are what we classify as ‘nuisance cases.’ Frankly, prosecuting you guys is a waste of police time and resources. You see what I’m saying? Not that we couldn’t make the charges stick if we had to. I mean, come on, Dom. These officers here caught you two dead to rights.” He stopped, sniffed the air. “I can still smell the sweet stuff on you, for Christ’s sake. You reek of it. So what we look for in ‘sitchy-ations’ like this is some kind of trade-off. Something that makes hauling you two guys in worth our while. See, what we’re interested in is where you got the stuff. We want to know who’s selling to guys like you and Leon, and who’s selling to them, and so on and so forth all the way up the food chain. Capisce?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. That’s good. So tell us about this Ralph Drinkwater character.”

  “Ralph?” I said. “Uh . . . what do you want to know?”

  “Whatever you want to tell us.”

  For some reason, I started talking about Penny Ann Drinkwater’s long-ago murder out at the Falls. About the tree-planting in her honor. About Ralph’s showing up in my history class years later and then, again, on the work crew. I told them about graveball—how far Ralph could clobber a Wiffle ball. I was in the middle of explaining our rules on ghost runners when Balchunas interrupted me. “What’s the most grass you ever saw in Ralph’s possession at any one given time? What’s the max?”

  “Uh . . . let me think. Couple of joints, maybe? Three joints?”

  “You sure? Because Leon says he’s seen him with a hell of a lot more than that. Tonight, in fact. You two were over Ralph’s house tonight, right? You and Leon? You’re sure all you’ve ever seen on him was a couple of joints?”

  Agree with whatever I tell them, Leo had said. But this? Frame the guy. “I’m . . . I’m not sure what Leo saw. All I ever saw was a couple of joints.”

  “How ’bout hash? Ralph ever try and sell you any hash?”

  “No.”

  “Uppers? ‘Ludes? Acid?”

  “No. He never—”

  “Okay. Let’s change the subject. What do you recall hearing about the guy Ralph works for?”

  “You mean Dell? Our foreman?”

  “I mean the guy he sells for.”

  “He doesn’t sell for anybody,” I said. “Not that I know of, anyway.”

  Balchunas chuckled. “Oh, come on, now, Dom. Where you been all this time—never-never land? If Ralph’s dealing, then he’s getting it from someplace. Right? I thought we were going to talk straight with each other. Let’s cut the bullshit. Shall we?”

  How was I supposed to walk this particular tightrope—not bag Ralph and not bag Leo, either? Not end up bagging myself?

  “We . . . we were over there looking at a car, okay? Ralph lives at our foreman’s house, and our foreman has this car that he might sell. And . . . and I was out there looking at the car. And for a little while, a few minutes, Ralph and Leo were in the house, so maybe Leo saw something then. But I didn’t. . . . He never sold us anything. Ralph. All’s we did was get high a couple of times at work together, that’s all. At lunchtime or whatever. He just, you know, lit up a joint and passed it around a couple of times.”

  “Just passed the joint, eh? How many times is ‘a couple of times,’ Dom?”

  “I don’t know. . . . Six or seven, maybe? Eight?”

  Balchunas turned to Overcash. “You hear that, Clayton? This must be that new math they teach in school nowadays. ‘A couple of times’ is eight times.” He turned back to me. “You remember Ralph saying anything about a guy named Roland?”

  “Roland? No. Who’s Roland?”

  “Leon says Ralph talked to you two once about a guy named Roland. Thinks he comes from New York, maybe? Thinks he might be Ralph’s connection? What do you remember about that conversation, Dom? Your buddy says you were there that time when Ralph was talking about Roland.”

  Leo could get in deep shit for lying to the cops like this. Could get us both in trouble. “I don’t remember anything about any Roland. Maybe Ralph said something to Leo—I don’t know. Not to me.”

  “You got some reason to protect this guy, Dom?”

  “Protect who? Ralph? No.”

  “No? You sure? Because your story’s not matching up that good with your buddy’s. Which leads me to the conclusion that one of you guys isn’t being 100 percent honest.”

  I said nothing. This was just great: they thought I was bullshitting them, not Leo. Let me do the talking, he’d said. If I ended up having to call Ray, I was really fucked.

  “You getting dry mouth, Dom? You keep swallowing. Want another mint?”

  “No, thank you.” Fuckin’ pig bastard. He could shove his mints.

  “So this Ralph never sold you anything, right? Just ‘passed the joint.’ Generous guy, huh? Just brings his stash to work and shares it.” He smiled. Leaned forward—close enough for me to smell his peppermint breath, see the little pockmarks on his nose. He whispered his next question. “And how about you, Dom? You ever share anything of yours with Ralph?”

  “What . . . what do you mean?”

  “Well, how can I put this delicately? Your friend Leon says this Ralph’s of the persuasion where—where he likes the fellas better than he likes the girls. Leon says Ralph and this foreman over on Bickel Road might have a little something funny going on. A little something more than a boss-and-worker relationship. See what I’m saying? So I guess I was just wondering out loud if you and Ralph ever made any kind of private deal. You know. He gives you something you want and you give him something he wants.”

  What was he asking—if Ralph and me had ever gotten queer together? Had Leo told him something like that? If he had, I’d beat the shit out of him. But he wouldn’t say that. Would he? “If you’re saying what I think you’re saying, then no. No way. Never!”

  “It’s interesting, though. How you and Leon like to go over to their house, hang out with these guys on the weekend. Unusual for two normal, red-blooded American guys to want to do that. I’m not making any accusations, Dom. I’m just making an observation.”

  “We don’t ‘hang out’ there. I was just looking at a car. Dell’s wife’s car.” I turned to Overcash. “The guy’s got a wife.” I addressed Avery next. “They’re selling her car because she’s got multiple sclerosis. . . . Look, I want a lawyer. Okay?”

  “What do you want a lawyer for?” Overcash asked. “Captain already told you we’re just doing some research. Asking a few questions, seeing what we can eliminate.”

  “Yeah, well, you can give me a lie detector test if you think—”

  “Hey, you want a lawyer, Dom?” Balchunas said. “We’ll be glad to let you call a lawyer. But like I said, all we’re trying to do is streamline this thing. Get you and your buddy out of here nice and easy. All we gotta do is iron out a few discrepancies, that’s all. A few inconsistencies between wh
at you’re telling us and what Leon told us. Like this business about Ralph’s contact, for instance. This Roland dude from New York.”

  Fuck ’em—Ralph and Leo both. I wasn’t going to let any stupid cop sit there and call me a fag—I didn’t care what kind of bullshit story Leo had given them. “He just . . . Ralph grows his own, okay? That’s what he told us, anyway. He said he has a few plants out in a field someplace. Out in the woods. . . . I swear to God. That’s all I know.”

  “Must be damn good plants, eh?” Balchunas said. “Must have a pretty high yield. Because Leo says he’s seen pounds of the stuff. Now you’re saying Ralph gets pounds of the stuff from ‘a few plants’? I mean, even if ‘a few’ is nine or ten, that’s still quite a yield. Wouldn’t you say, Dom? This Ralph must have one hell of a green thumb.”

  “I never saw pounds of it. Maybe Leo did, but all I saw was a couple of joints.”

  “This Ralph’s a Negro fella. Right?”

  “What?”

  “He’s black? Of the Negroid persuasion?”

  “I guess.”

  “You guess? Jesus, you can’t even give me a straight answer about that?”

  “He’s . . . I think he’s part Indian, too.”

  “Yeah? American Indian or India Indian?”

  “American Indian. Wequonnoc, I think.”

  “That right? Half-black, half-Indian, huh?” Balchunas turned to Officer Overcash. “Poor guy. Probably doesn’t know whether to go out and scalp his next meal or let welfare pay for it.” He turned back to me. “You know what Leon says, Dom? He says Ralph reads a lot of radical literature. Black Panther stuff. Overthrow-the-government kind of stuff. You know anything about that?”

  I shook my head. Was this Leo’s whole big plan to get us off the hook? Trash Ralph? Slander the guy? Slander me, too, maybe, while he was at it?

  “You ever seen Ralph with guns? Firearms of any kind?”

  “No.”

  “No, huh? You sure?”

  “He read . . . he’s read this one book called Soul on Ice. That’s all I ever heard him say anything about black power or power to the people or whatever.”

  “Soul on Ice, eh? I heard about that book. Right on, brother! Who wrote that one, anyway, Dom? I forget.”

  “Eldridge Cleaver.”

  “Eldridge Cleaver. Any good—that book? Would you recommend it?”

  I told him I’d never read it.

  “No? How about Roland? The guy from New York? He’s a colored boy, too, right? Black Panther, maybe?”

  “I already told you. I don’t know anything about any Roland.”

  “You got a brother works on this work crew, too. Right?”

  What was he dragging Thomas into it for? What had Leo said about Thomas? “My brother doesn’t have anything to do with any of this,” I said.

  “No? Leo says your faggoty foreman takes a little bit of a special interest in him. You and your brother are twins, right?”

  I nodded. Felt my heartbeat revving up. “He just likes to tease Thomas, that’s all. Pick on him. He’s a bully. . . . He knows he can get a rise out of him.”

  “Get a rise out of him, huh? Interesting way to put it. You guys identical twins?”

  I swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Your brother expose himself at work last Friday, Dom? The queers on that crew get him to play show-and-tell for them, did they?”

  I was going to nail Leo when we got out of there. What right did he have to feed Thomas’s humiliation to the cops? And why? For what purpose?

  “Look, you’re jumping to the wrong conclusions. My brother just—”

  “What’d they do—trade him a couple of joints for a look-see?”

  “It was nothing like that!” I felt close to tears. I knew they were busting my balls—toying with me the way a cat bats around a mouse before he bites his fucking head off. But why my brother? Why did Leo have to drag Thomas into it? “Dell’s been harassing my brother all summer,” I said. “Bullying him. Calling him names. And he just . . . my brother’s a little high-strung and he just . . . he freaked. They goaded him into it.”

  “Who goaded him into it? Ralph?”

  “Dell. Really. You’ve got the wrong idea. He was just bullying him. Just jerking him around.”

  “Just jerking him around,” Balchunas said.

  “God, you’re twisting everything I say. My brother’s—”

  “Look at his ears, Clayton,” Balchunas said. “You’re blushing, Dom. Why you covering for Ralph?”

  “I’m not covering for him.”

  “He’s just a generous guy who likes to bring his dope to work and share it, right?”

  “I don’t know what kind of a guy he is. We just work together. He’s very private.”

  “Uh-huh. You ever let him get private with you? In exchange for some hash?”

  “No!” Leo was going to pay for this, big time.

  “Take it easy, Dom. This is off the record now. This is just research.”

  “I don’t care what it is. I would never . . . me or my brother!”

  “Relax, Dom. Relax. We know you’re okay. We know all about that girlfriend of yours.” He cupped his hands in front of his chest, fondled a pair of imaginary breasts.

  “Leave my girlfriend out of this,” I said. “And my brother, too. My brother never even took one stupid toke all summer long.” I was fighting back tears.

  “Okay, take it easy,” Avery said. “Suppose we change the subject.”

  Balchunas’s fist whacked down hard on the table. “No, let’s not change the subject,” he said. “Let’s just end the subject and let this little twerp get his lawyer like he goddamn wants to. Because you know what?” He turned to Overcash. “You know what, Clayton? I’m starting to get a little tired of wasting our time while this little shit here keeps talking around in circles. I’m starting to think maybe this arrogant little son of a bitch might need to call a lawyer after all. Or call his mommy and daddy, or his buddies over on Bickel Road, or someone. Because Leon’s telling us one thing and this guy’s telling us another, and all we’re trying to do is get the two of them out of here tonight.”

  “I’m telling the truth,” I said. Turned to Avery. “I am.”

  “You know what?” Balchunas said. “Send the other one home. I got no beef with him; he cooperated with us. That’s what this little shit doesn’t seem to understand.”

  “I am cooperating!” I said. “What am I supposed to do—lie about it? If I didn’t hear him say anything about some Roland guy, am I supposed to just . . . ? You accuse me and my brother of all this perverted stuff we didn’t even do, and I’m supposed to just—”

  “Okay, okay. Let’s lower the volume, all right?” Officer Avery suggested. “No sense getting all excited. How about if we put it a different way? You listening to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it possible Ralph might have talked to you guys about this Roland and maybe you just don’t remember as much detail about it as Leo does? Maybe you were high at the time or thinking about your girlfriend or something? Or maybe Leo just has a better memory than you do? But maybe you remember something—even something vague—about Roland? Is that possible?”

  “I don’t . . . I’m all mixed up. . . . It’s possible, I guess. Anything’s possible.”

  “But you’re still saying Ralph never sold you any marijuana, right?” Overcash said. “Just passed the stuff, let you take some hits off it?”

  “Yes.”

  “How about that stuff you two had tonight, then? Out at the bridge? Ralph wasn’t passing the joint tonight. He wasn’t even there.”

  “I don’t . . . I guess he just gave Leo a couple of joints.”

  “Gave them or sold them?”

  “Gave them. As far as I know. Leo never said anything about buying them.”

  “Was Ralph planning to sell you some?” Avery asked. “You know—in quantity? Talking to you guys about the possibility? Was this stuff a sample?”

  It h
ad been Leo’s big idea that we should sell dope at school, not Ralph’s. But what was I supposed to do—whack him the way he’d probably whacked me? Or had he? I didn’t know anything anymore. I shook my head. “Not that I know of.”

  “Not that you know of, not that you know of,” Balchunas mimicked. “That stuff you were smoking tonight: potent stuff, right? Little more kick to it than the stuff you guys were smoking at work. Right?”

  “Look, what about my rights?” I said. “I have rights, don’t I?”

  He shot out of his seat. Started jabbing his finger at me. “You know who’s always concerned about their rights, wiseguy? When they get backed into a corner? I’ll tell you who. The guys who are lying between their teeth, that’s who. The guys who are trying to cover something up.”

  “I’m not trying to cover anything up. I just—” He waved his hands at me in disgust. Sat back down.

  “Look, Dominick,” Officer Avery said. “We’d advise you of your rights if we were planning to arrest you. Which we’re trying like hell not to do, if we can help it. Now Leon says that stuff you guys were smoking tonight was a sample. Right? That Ralph wanted you to try it and if you liked it, you guys and he might make a little arrangement? Sell for him at school?”

  “I’m . . . he never said anything like that to me.”

  “You never heard Ralph say he wanted you guys to buy a couple of pounds from him and then turn around and—”

  “I didn’t hear him say that. No.”

  “But maybe he said it to your buddy Leon?” Balchunas asked. “Maybe he offered Leon that deal to the both of you? Leon ever mention any arrangement like that to you?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Maybe.”

  “That’s an imprecise word, Dom. ‘Maybe.’ In your estimation, would you classify ‘maybe’ as ‘yes’ or ‘no’?”

  “How much longer do I have to stay here?”

  “Well, that’s up to you, Dom. If ‘maybe’ is ‘yes,’ Radical Ralph was trying to put together a deal with you guys to sell his dope up there at the university, then you could probably get up and walk out of here in about three to five minutes. And if ‘maybe’ is ‘no,’ he wasn’t, then this might take a while longer. You see what I’m saying? Gets a little more complicated if ‘maybe’ means ‘no.’ Because then we’ve got this discrepancy between what you say and what your buddy Leon says. If ‘maybe’ is ‘no,’ then I guess we ought to have you call yourself a lawyer after all, or call your father, or call someone. Because, hey, let’s face it—between what we found out in that car and what’s going to show up in your urine sample, we got the goods on you, pal. And frankly, my friend, I’ve cooperated with you about as much as I’m willing to cooperate. We got other fish to fry out there in that waiting room. So you tell us, Dom, and you better be quick about it, too. What’s ‘maybe’? Is ‘maybe’ yes, you were aware that Ralph offered you guys a deal to sell for him? Or is ‘maybe’ no, he didn’t?”