Bomber's Law

by George V. Higgins

  “The feds said apologetically that in fact it wasn’t all the same to them, that their feelings would be hurt if he took that attitude, and that he would not be excused. That while they’d so hoped it wouldn’t be necessary for them to insist, resort to stronger measures, and not just begging and pleading, either, if he didn’t change his mind and voluntarily avail himself of their kind hospitality pretty damned quick, they’d jolly-right-well feel compelled to. And then in short order, he’d feel some compulsion himself.

  “Well, he didn’t, avail, and they did, feel compelled, compelled to have him compelled. They went into court and got a grant of immunity for him, guaranteeing that nothing that he said in the grand-jury room could be used in evidence against him, unless he took to perjuring himself, and then they hauled him in there and started asking him for all sorts of stuff about Chico that would’ve been more than just terribly embarrassing for Mister Pell to’ve had come out; it would’ve put Mister Pell in. Which would probably annoy him very much.

  “Ernie reminded them that in the first place he wasn’t sure he’d even ever heard of this Mister Pell who seemed to fascinate them so, but that even if he was sure, if he recalled knowing this guy, some stories about him and some things he might’ve done, he still wouldn’t like to talk about them—because if he discussed Mister Pell he might inadvertently waive his own constitutional right not to incriminate himself, which was very precious to him. And the feds said: ‘No yah won’t, ya shit, you’ve been immunized, so ya can’t. Now talk,’ and he became terribly distraught and burst into tears, or something, so they took him down before the judge and she patiently admonished him that if he persisted in what she viewed as real impudence, she was going to take it as meaning that he didn’t take her wishes seriously, behavior she would be inclined to deem contemptuous. She therefore ordered him to return to the nice ladies and gentlemen of the grand jury and have a pleasant conversation with them, answer all their questions, and sent him back to do that.

  “Well, he went, there being a sizable U.S. Marshal on each side of him with a good grip on one of his elbows, but he took the Fifth Amendment again and once more didn’t converse, so they drug him back out and in before the judge again and this time she was pissed. ‘Okay for you, Ernie, you little turd,’ she said, or words to that effect, ‘I’m gonna hold you in civil contempt now, and you’re goin’ off to the hoosegow, my friend, until you decide to start talking or this here grand jury expires.’ And that’s where he’s been ever since.”

  “He’s afraid of this Chico,” she had said, “pain and pleasure, is it? Chico’ll hurt him if he talks, and reward him if he doesn’t. Have someone like this Mossi character shoot him, or beat him up or something.”

  “Well,” he said, “that’s what it’d look like to the average person, and the result’s the same as if that was the explanation—he won’t talk about Chico—but that’s probably not exactly it. These guys, Chico could get him hurt if he got Chico in the shit, but most likely if he did Chico’d be so busy trying not to get the guy he works for in the shit that if anybody did something to Ernie, it’d be to frighten Chico. Bolster his resolve if it developed a sag. No, the real reason that Ernie’s so quiet’s most likely that the feds didn’t give him a big enough problem. Theoretically they can keep calling him back every time one grand jury expires and a new one’s impaneled, getting him cited again when he won’t talk. But as a practical matter, they won’t. They’ll lose interest in tormenting him, light on someone else to pester, and in time he’ll get out. And he knows this.

  “When and if they do try him on the racketeering charge, which they have to do within six months of when they got the indictment or he can get it dismissed for lack of speedy trial, and he duly gets convicted, the judge isn’t going to send him back to jail for another month or so—he’ll get time served, or a suspended, and they’ll have to let him out. He knows that, too.

  “Ernie’s in the can because someone either lost his temper and got such a hard-on for Chico that his judgment was impaired, or else got so distracted by some other case or overwork he just didn’t use any judgment at all, never thought the thing through. A good fierce lawyer’d see this, hit the USA with a barrage of motions, get Ernie habed up into court and begin to eat the rug that his client’s in the can either by reason of prosecutorial mistake or by abuse of prosecutorial discretion—misconduct, really. Using the contempt process to hit the guy with a heavier punishment than the one for the crime he’s charged with. Either way, Ernie in the can’s no cosier, and what the government’s doing to him doesn’t look any prettier; so, a lawyer who could get the court see it either way’d get Ernie either tried and then released, or just plain released.”

  “So he’s basically wasting his time, then,” she said.

  “Basically,” he said. “He’ll make a few brownie points with da bigga-boys dere, but the principal result of what he’s doing’s to get him six months for not talking in lieu of two months, max, for bookin’. He’s doing four months more’n he needs to.”

  “So he’s being a fool,” she said. “He’s making a fool out of himself. Has he thought about it this way? Does he also know that?”

  He did not say anything for a moment. “Probably not,” he said, “I would say: most likely he hasn’t seen it that way yet. I’ve never fine-tuned this particular bozo, but extended sequential reasoning, beyond the first convolution? Isn’t generally one of the breed’s major skills. And subtlety almost never is.”

  “Well then,” she said, “if you want him to tell you something that at first he’s going to resist telling you, you might be able to discombobulate him a little by helping him to see what’s actually going on. That he’s making a fool out of himself, at considerable discomfort, without real hope of gaining anything from it. Get him mad at the people he works for—who, after all, got him into this fix and don’t seem to’ve helped him much to get out of it so far, get him this lawyer he really needs. Who knows? If he won’t talk to become a good citizen, well, maybe he will for revenge.”

  “You know,” he said, “I think I will do just that.”

  “You, uh, you like it in here then, do you, pal?” Dell’Appa said. “Food isn’t bad, and so forth, you got a nice room with a view, a comfortable bed, entertainment’s okay? They put in the new wine-cellar yet? Or still makin’ do with the old one?”

  Ernie regarded him the way a large and ordinarily-confident cat registers the presence of an indolent bull-mastiff resting nearby just out of paw-slugging reach. He shrugged and said: “It’s all right.”

  “You like it here, then,” Dell’Appa said. “Nothin’ special, but basically okay.”

  Ernie raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, basically okay,” he said.

  “So you’re in no hurry, get out then,” Dell’Appa said. “Don’t miss gettin’ laid and all that shit? Goin’ out with the guys for a few?”

  Ernie sighed. He shifted in the chair. He shook his head once. “You jerkin’ my chain for?” he said.

  “I’m not jerkin’ your chain,” Dell’Appa said. “Hey, for all I know you’re gettin’ laid more inside here’n you’re used to gettin’ laid, you’re onna street. How should I know what flavor you like? Could be why, you don’t wanna leave.”

  “You’re jerkin’ my chain,” Ernie said. He exhaled heavily. He steepled his fingers and stared at them, frowning. “I dunno why I get all this shit,” he said. He looked up. “I really don’t. Been here fifty-three days now, nothin’ to do, can’t go out and do nothin’, and also got no end in sight. What am I, for Christ sake, Hitler or somethin’, you’re bustin’ my stones alla time? I’m really worth all you guys’ time here, am I, fuckin’ with my life like this? Christ, I didn’t kill no one, did I? Least nobody that I can remember.”

  “Yeah-yeah, go ahead,” Dell’Appa said. “Play the violin for me.”

  “Bullshit, the violin, violin,” Ernie said. “Stick the violin right up your ass. You guys’re makin’ me toast, without provin’ I did any
thing, even. The federal guys, they come down once a week, and I get brought up in this room. And who do they think they’re foolin’, they tell me they’re doin’ a favor, have me brought up here so nobody sees me, the guys onna tier, none of them know what I’m doin’? That I’m seein’ the feds once a week? What is this, a joke, somethin’, huh? I tell those guys nothin’, nothin’s what I’m tellin’ them, an’ everyone in here, everyone else, all the other guys know it. Because if I was, I was tellin’ them somethin’, I wouldn’t be still in here now, would I? No, I’d be back out onna street. Because what did they put me in for? Not talkin’s what they did me for.

  “I know all you guys think we’re bad guys. Okay, so go ahead, think that. But Christ, that don’t mean that we’re stupid, we can’t figure a fuckin’ thing out.” He wheezed an imitation laugh. “I say to them, I told them this. I said: ‘Hey, we’re not dummies, for Christ sake. You got us inside, yeah, we know you did that, but we didn’t leave our brains in the safe-lock, we came in.’

  “And then, what do they do to me then? They say: ‘Hey, that’s okay, we know that. Everything’s still cool with us. Wanna smoke or a Coke?’ And they think I dunno what they’re doin’? Shee-it. Keep me up here an hour, I’m not sayin nothin’, I know what they want guys onna tier to think there: I’m spillin’ my guts out up here. Well, I got bad news for them then: the guys don’t. ‘At’s the oldest trick inna whole fuckin’ book, an’ everyone knows all about it.”

  He forced a laugh. “And now you come in here, now you show up. The Staties’re seein’ me too. You guys keep this up awhile longer here, CIA’ll be comin’ in too. I’ll have to start holdin’ regular hours, appointments an’ stuff for you assholes, I get any more popular here. ‘Now lessee, on Mondays the Feebia’s here, and Wednesday is State-Police day. So how about Friday, that good for you? I think I can fit you in then. You like mornin’ or afternoons better?’ ”

  “Look,” Dell’Appa said, “the routine’s pretty good but you’re the one who’s wastin’ my time. It isn’t me wastin’ yours. I realize that you’ve got plenty to waste here, but I’m here to do business, all right? So let’s see we can do some of that.”

  “What: business?” Ernie said. “What the hell can you do for me? I’m here on the federal contract. They’re payin’ my room and board thing. They stashed me here ’Cause it’s closer’n Danbury, any place else that they got, so it’s easier to come down here every fuckin’ week and bust my balls for me. Feds the only guys, can come in’n let me out. You, you’re a State asshole, can’t do nothin’ for me. And that’s what I just told you, all right? I’m not stupid, okay? I know some things too. And this thing’s between me and them. It isn’t between me and you.”

  “We’ve been known to make a deal now and then, you know, pal,” Dell’Appa said. “Least you would if you’re not really stupid. We talk to the feds—they talk back.”

  “Oh, right, willya give me a break, man?” Ernie said. “Just gimme one fuckin’ break. The only times you guys talk to each other’s when one of you wants to fuck someone over but can’t find a way to do it—there’s no crime you can charge the guy with. And that’s when you call up the feds, or when the feds call you up, and say: ‘Hey, we wanna fuck this poor bastard over, but we can’t find no way to do it. We really don’t like this poor son-of-a-bitch—see if you can de-ball him, all right?’ And you do. Those’re the times when you talk.”

  “Jesus,” Dell’Appa said, “this’s like trying to talk to a stump, for Christ sake. Who the hell do you think you are? Some kind of celebrity gangster, your life’s on TV Sunday nights? Get offa the hopper, my friend. No one gives a shit about you. You know who up in Boston knows how long you’ve been in here—fifty-three days did you say? Nobody. You’re the only one who’s been counting. As far as the rest of the world’s concerned, you don’t even exist anymore. They’ve forgotten about you up there.

  “You know what happened to you, little man? You pissed somebody off, back two months ago, made some busy fed take notice of you. That was one dumb mistake. Whoever it was noticed you for a day and said: ‘Hey, who is this little shit? What’s with the attitude here? He needs a good kick in the balls.’ ”

  “Bullshit,” Ernie said, but his gaze wavered. “They wanted Chico and they thought, they thought I’d give him to them. Well, maybe they will get him, but they won’t get him from me, and that’s what they know now and that’s why I’m in here now.”

  Dell’Appa laughed. “Is that so?” he said. “Is that really fuckin’ so. You know what you’ve got, Ernie? You’ve got the faith of fuckin’ martyrs. Only yours’s not in Jesus; yours is in your government. You really think that what they tell you is what’s really goin’ on? And that if it happens to be what is goin’ on today, it’ll still be what they’re doin’ eight weeks from today? Boy, the politicians must love you. You’re just what they always hoped for: the guy who not only hears what they say when they’re running for the office and actually believes it, but goes right on believin’, after they’re elected, that is what they’re gonna do. Infuckincredible. It’s a good thing for you, my friend, you weren’t born with a pussy, I think—you’d still believe that all the boys’ll still respect you in the morning. You’re such a perfect asshole you oughta pose bare-ass for the new proctologists.”

  “Ah, fuck you,” Ernie said, moistening his lips and making small quick movements with his hands back and forth on the table. “Just fuck you and shut up.”

  Dell’Appa chuckled a few times. “You know what you were, you jerk?” he said. “No, you’re weren’t always wrong. When they got you indicted and hauled your ass in, yeah, they were after Chico. They did have a hard-on for Chico, just like they still’ve got one, and sooner or later either they’ll get him or else we will, and Chico’ll go to the can. Well, fifty-three days ago, or whenever it was that they bagged you, one of those feds who’s been after Chico’d had the idea you could and would sink him. As you certainly could, but as you’ve refused to do. This kind of disappointed the G-man, because if you’d’ve been nice enough to come coco with him, he could’ve closed Chico’s file that he’s bored with now because he’s been on it so long, and start chasing somebody else. But his attitude now, since you’ve managed to convince him you’re not going to help him out after all, has got to be: ‘Hey, what the hell? You win some, you lose some. It was still worth a try. And the guy is a stat, another sure guilty, to go in the yearly report.’ He’s working on some new approach, now; he has been for over a month.”

  “You prolly don’t even know what the fucker’s name is,” Ernie said, frowning and using the fingers of his right hand to rub the tips of the fingers on his left. “The fucker who put me in here—you don’t even know who he is.”

  “That’s right, I don’t,” Dell’Appa said. “And I don’t need to know, either, need to know who he is. Because I know what he is, and once you know that you don’t need to know which one—they all think and act just the same. They’re just like us, Ernie—we’re all alike too. Everyone has to study the book, and then everyone goes by the book. Just like you guys’re all alike too; you just go by your own different book.

  “Your problem is that in our books there’s nothing about being friends with people who go by what’s in your book. So that’s why you don’t find us generally friendly, ’less you’re being real nice to us. Your teachers in Sunday School may’ve told you baptism put you on a first-name basis with Jesus. For all I know, maybe it did, and you are. But not where the feds’re concerned, you aren’t; He’s got no reciprocity with them. If you’re not helping them, as you aren’t, then they aren’t gonna know you from the next load of goats. They don’t even know you as Nugent. You’d be lucky to rate a ‘hey, you.’ You ought to be grateful they still come to see you—judge must’ve ordered them to.”

  Ernie snuffled. He rubbed his nose with the first knuckles of his right hand. “You don’t know, though,” he said. “You’re just fuckin’ sayin’ that.”

  “No,�
�� Dell’Appa said, “no I’m not. You’ve got that part wrong. You’re the one ‘just fuckin’ sayin’,’ the one who doesn’t know shit. Unless you’re lying to me, of course, as I think you are, so you do know that I know, that I’m not just fuckin’ sayin’ any fuckin’ thing at all.”

  He smiled. Ernie’s gaze wavered. “Sure you do,” Dell’Appa said. “What I’m telling you’s the truth, and you know it is. It hadn’t crossed your mind until you heard me say it to you, which was of course part of the reason that you didn’t want to hear it. Made you feel pretty silly, right? This great pose that you’ve been striking, standing up and going through, real go-through guy for Chico, how impressed the feds must be? Pretty devastating, must be, realizing after all this time that here you’ve been putting on this big fifty-three-day act for a bunch of total strangers, and the no-good heartless bastards haven’t even watched you, up there on the stage, since the end of the first week or so. Now you know where you lost your thumb; it was up your own ass all the time.”

  Ernie did not say anything for quite a while. He licked his lips and looked away from Dell’Appa’s face, glancing back at it every ten or twenty seconds, until he saw Dell’Appa pronate his left wrist and use his right thumb and forefinger to activate the stopwatch function of the Seiko. Then he fixed his gaze on the watch. Forty-three more seconds went by before he cleared his throat. Dell’Appa pushed the button to reset the stopwatch at zero. “I can’t talk about Chico,” Ernie said. “I can’t talk about him and I won’t.”