“I know. It’s a pretty cool car.”
When Victor and Harvey got back to the school, Harvey went straight to Mr. Weeble’s cubicle. “I was wonderin’ if I could borrow your magnifyin’ glass,” he said. “I’ll just be usin’ it over here in the lounge.”
“Why would a young man your age need a magnifying glass?” Mr. Weeble’s’ eyes looked huge because of the thick lenses in his glasses.
“I need it to look for a detail in a picture.”
“Oh—that makes perfect sense then. You’re welcome to borrow it.” Mr. Weeble handed it to Harvey. “Thanks a lot, bro,” said Harvey, heading for the lounge.
Weeble thought, There, he did it again. He called me bro.
Harvey sat down next to Victor and took the picture from its great big envelope. It was just like he’d remembered it. There were about forty people standing in the back row, with a line of children in front. Most of the old men wore a white dress shirt open at the neck, and suspenders with held up their long black pants. Why were they dressed like that? It had to be a picture taken during the summer.
The young dark-skinned girl was on the end. There was something around her neck. Harvey used the magnifier to get a real close look. What was around her neck was a tooth! And it looked like a rawhide strand held it in place. It looked just like the wolf’s tooth!
He showed the picture to Vice. “Tell me what you see here.”
Victor took the picture, looking it over with a frown. “It looks like an old-time family reunion picture.”
“That’s what it is. When do you think it was taken?”
Victor frowned some more. “That’s hard to say. I’d guess the forties, based on those old guys with their suspenders and black trousers.”
“You see the young girl on the end? The one who looks like a half-breed?”
“Yeah,” said Victor. “Her skin is so dark she sticks out like a sore thumb.”
“Here,” said Harvey as he handed the magnifying glass to Victor. “Tell me what you see around her neck.”
Victor studied the girl for several seconds, moving the eyeglass closer, then further away. “It looks like a tooth—a big canine tooth from like a wolf or a bear.”
Harvey was glad to hear him say so. “That’s what I thought. A wolf’s tooth.”
“Do you know who she is?” asked Victor.
“No. I don’t.”
“Then why the interest?”
Harvey looked at Victor, telling him, “I’m startin’ to think she might be one of my ancestors. Part of my family tree.”
Victor waited a while before he responded. “It must be hell not knowing who your own parents were, or grandparents, or anything else about your family.”
“It’s startin’ to feel like that,” said Harvey. He got up and went back to Mr. Weeble’s cubicle. He handed him his magnifying glass, but he also handed him the picture. “What do you think of this picture?”
Weber Weeble took the picture. First he tried to study it with his thick glasses, but then he took to using the magnifier. He studied it for awhile and then said, “I think it’s a real good photograph. It looks like it might have been taken at a family reunion.”
“That’s what I think. “When do you s’pose this picture was taken?”
Weeble went after it with the magnifying glass, then said, “I’d guess between 1938 and 1945. I can’t be sure, of course, but based on the men’s clothing, I’d say it would fall somewhere in that seven-year period.”
“It was probably taken in the summer, wouldn’t you say?”
“Oh yes. It’s definitely a summer picture. That’s the time of year when families had these large reunions.”
“Okay,” said Harvey, “if it’s in the heat of the summer, why are those guys dressed like that? Didn’t they ever hear of shorts and tee shirts?”
“No, that’s how people dressed in the summer back then. Even if they were sweltering. Look at an old-time baseball photograph some time. Look at the crowd and notice how the men are dressed.”
Harvey decided Weeble was a good guy. He was an old nerd, like maybe fifty, but Harvey liked him. He took back the picture, ready to walk away. “Thanks, bro.”
15. ALBERTO LICHTENSTEIN’S CONTRIBUTION
On Sunday mornings at SAS, the students slept later and then gobbled down breakfasts of eggs, sausage, bacon, and fried potatoes. The food line also had orange juice, melon slices and pineapple slices, but nobody had much interest in food like that. “That’s for old women at brunch,” said Carmelita one day.
Several of them whiled away the rest of the morning in the first-floor lounge, reading comic books or watching TV. (They were not allowed to leave the campus from nine p.m. on Fridays through noon on Sundays.)
’Berto Lichtenstein was a crossword puzzle freak. He had lots of crossword puzzle books that he worked on with his tongue stuck out. He was at the far end of the lounge in an easy chair, working on the Dallas Morning News crossword on a Sunday morning in early November.
Harvey and Victor were sitting on a couch behind the TV, trying to ignore the irritating Weather Channel. Harvey was thumbing through the Al Capone book. (He knew by now that Capone had been a famous Mafia gangster from Chicago.) This book, though, was mostly about taxes. He would read it eventually, but it wouldn’t be interesting. “This Capone guy shoulduv written a book about his adventures as a mobster,” Harvey said to Vice. “Just think of all the great stories he could tell.”
“That’s true,” Victor replied. “But he might have been afraid having those stories in print might get him a longer prison sentence.”
That’s probably the reason, Harvey thought, once more admiring how smart Victor was. Lichtenstein must have had a good puzzle day, because he was crossing the room in their direction, carrying the newspaper. “Look at this guys,” he said with a huge smile. “I got the whole puzzle done and I think every word is right! It’s the first time I’ve ever done that; the Morning News Sunday puzzle is really hard.”
Victor Vice looked over the puzzle and then told Lichtenstein, “Cool, ’Berto, it looks like you nailed it.”
“There’s only one word that bothers me. It’s this one here, 29 across. He showed Victor. The word was sperm bank. “I see no problem, said Victor. There’s lots of sperm banks around.”
“Cool. I nailed it!” Then he changed the subject. He said to Harvey, “Look, Harv, I know I’m a nerd but I don’t like it when people call me one.”
“I can’t blame you for that. You admit you’re a nerd?”
“Of course. But I don’t think it’s right when other people call me it all the time.”
“Okay so what’s up?”
’Berto swallowed before he said, “There’s this one guy who keeps calling me a nerd. He knows I don’t like it, so he just keeps doin’ it all the time, every chance he gets.”
“Who is it?”
Lichtenstein lowered his voice to a whisper level. “It’s a guy named Jesse Stonecipher. Can I get in trouble for tellin’ you this?” He was speaking with a worried look on his face; he kept pushing his glasses back up higher on the bridge of his nose.
Stonecipher; Harvey thought. The white bread asshole who sleeps in the bed next to mine. “Nope,” answered Harvey. “It could get Stonecipher into trouble though. We’ll see.”
A light went on in Vice’s head and his eyes. He hadn’t been paying any attention to the conversation about Stonecipher. “’Berto,” he said urgently, “could you please go back to that chair where you were sitting before? I think I need to talk to Harvey in private.”
Lichtenstein just shrugged his shoulders. “Sure, why not?”
Once he was gone, Victor asked Harvey a question in a low voice: “Where’s that paper of yours?”
“You mean the list?” Harvey answered him very quietly.
“Yeah, the yellow paper with the list.”
“I’ve got it tucked away in my hutch.”
“Why don’t you go get it? I’ve ju
st got this idea.”
Victor’s enthusiasm got Harvey wired up. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll go get it. I’ll be right back.”
He went up the two flights in a hurry to 3A. Stonecipher was lazing on his bed, looking through a copy of Penthouse. Harvey ignored him for the moment, searching below his hidden nine millimeter until he found the folded paper. He locked his hutch, put the folded paper in the back pocket of his jeans, and then said to Stonecipher, “We need to talk.”
There were other guys in the dorm room, reading comic books if they weren’t watching TV or hadn’t already gone back to sleep.
“Huh?”
“We need to talk. Outside in the hall. In private.” Harvey kept his voice low so it was just between him and Jesse.
“What if I say you just go to hell?” He too was talking in a quiet tone.
Impatient, Harvey sighed. “Look, Jesse, we can get to the hall the hard way or the easy way. It’s up to you.”
Jesse looked at the flashing points of light in Harvey’s dark eyes. He stood up immediately and followed Harvey out into the hallway. Nobody else was around. “I’ve been talkin’ to Lichtenstein.”
“Oh yeah? So what?”
“So what?” answered Harvey. “Maybe this.” He took hold of Stonecipher’s left hand and began twisting it. “Stop! It hurts!”
Harvey didn’t stop. Instead, he twisted a little more. Stonecipher felt like his wrist was about to break. He had to go to his knees to lessen the pain. “What’s Lichtenstein’s name?”
“Alberto,” answered Jesse, turning white and breathing hard. Harvey remembered a passage from the book by Gordon Liddy: This is an effective disabling technique because even though it hurts the subject like hell and often brings him to his knees, usually nothing gets broken and it doesn’t leave a mark.
“Good. Now tell me what’s not his name.”
“Huh? Whatta ya mean?”
Harvey twisted a little more. Stonecipher moaned with the pain. “Just think about it; what is not Lichtenstein’s name?”
“But I can’t—”
“Sure you can,” said Harvey. He twisted a little harder. “For the last time, what is not his name?”
“Okay, okay it’s nerd … nerd is not his name.”
Harvey released the hand. Stonecipher stayed on his knees and clutched the painfully aching wrist to his stomach. “There, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Harvey thought, maybe I’m getting better; in the past I would have really tuned this guy up. Was it the school? And what did getting better mean anyway?
“Go to hell.” Stonecipher gasped and wheezed.
“Okay I will,” said Harvey. “You can go back and look at the naked chicks some more.”
By the time he got back downstairs to the lounge, Stonecipher was the farthest thing from his mind. “I’ve got the paper,” he told Victor. Victor glanced around the lounge, which was huge, but there were some girls sitting fairly close on another couch. “This isn’t private enough,” he whispered to Harvey.
Harvey stood up and said, “Okay, let’s go over there.” He led Victor to the closest office cubicle, the one at the end. It was locked, but the doors were like the size of small privacy doors in public bathrooms. Like the rest of the cubicle’s exterior, the door was covered by some kind of carpet. It wasn’t hard for Harvey to peer over the top of the door, then reach down and free up the inside lock. They went inside and closed the door behind them.
“How’ll this be?”
“Great.” said Victor. “Whose office you s’pose this is?”
“No clue. It looks like someone who’s very neat though, judgin’ by her desk. The important thing is it’s got two chairs and a phone on the desk.” Harvey got out the looping cursive list. Victor turned it over:
It’s safe. It’s in the bank.
Victor studied it for a few moments before he said, “You and I have only thought about banks with money in them.”
“Yeah? So?”
“What if it means sperm banks?”
“I don’t follow you. I don’t know anything about sperm banks.”
“They’re usually part of a hospital or clinic. They keep tubes of sperm catalogued and frozen.”
“Why? What’s the point?”
“There could be lots of reasons,” Victor said. “Maybe some guy wants to bank his sperm when he’s young but’s afraid he might get killed in a car crash or something. Even though he’d be dead, his wife could still have his children.”
“Okay,” Harvey nodded, “Keep on goin’.”
“There’s women out there who want to have babies, but they don’t want a man in their life. They can buy sperm from the bank. I think they’re real handsome men who make deposits as often as they can; they get paid for it.”
“You can get paid for this?”
“Not people like us, Harvey. Just grown men over 21.”
“Why do they have to be handsome or good-lookin’?”
“I’m not for sure but I think women who buy the sperm want to buy from a good gene pool.”
Gene pool? What the hell is that s’posed to mean? “I think you’re gettin’ over my head, Victor.”
Victor laughed. “I think I’m over my head too. In fact, I’m sure of it.”
The next afternoon, on a Dealey Plaza park bench, Harvey ran Victor’s idea past Carmelita. She frowned before she answered. “It’s possible, I suppose. You remember your theory that Oswald used to hang out in the hidden chamber under the trapdoor?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“You remember those funny crinkly wrinkles on those old yellowed newspapers?”
“I remember. Why?”
“Well, your theory might be right,” she answered. “He might have gone there to hide out from his bosses, but he might have been … he might have been.… how can I put this? He might have been pleasuring himself down there.”
“Ya think?” asked Harvey. “Didn’t I say that in the first place?”
“Okay,” she had to admit, “but let’s think about it a minute. If Oswald went down there for that reason, he might have had his Kennedy assassination all plotted out. Maybe he thought he would get killed afterwards, or at least put in prison for a long time. Maybe he wanted to save some in a sperm bank.”
“You mean, like, for his wife? Did he have a wife?”
“Yes he did, and they had two kids before he died. Her name was Marina. A lot of the time they weren’t living together. She was from Russia.”
Harvey was astonished. “Carmelita, how do you know so much stuff about this?”
“I already told you before. I went to regular schools all my life and—” she brought her face up close to his with her eyes open very wide open to add—“and I did my homework.”
Harvey decided it might be time to bring Victor completely into the fold. “What does he know?” asked Carmelita.
“He’s seen the paper. He didn’t know what to make about it. It was Victor who came up with the sperm bank idea.”
“Does he know about our trips up to sixth floor?”
“I’ve never told him about that. I didn’t tell Oboe Meel about it either. But I showed him the list.”
“You showed the list to him? Are you crazy?”
“Maybe so. But Oboe knew the meaning of the list right away.”
“What is it?” asked Carmelita breathlessly. “Please, you’ve got to tell me.”
“I’ll tell you,” said Harvey, patting her shoulder. “According to Professor Meel the list is a bunch of places where Lee Harvey Oswald lived. Either him or members of his family.”
“That’s all there is to it?”
“That’s all, but he also said if the list was really written by Oswald it would be worth a lot of money. A lot.”
“How much money?” she asked eagerly.
“We can’t say for sure Victor put it on eBay to see if we could auction it there, but we got an e-mail back from them. They want to know if we can auth—authorize—auth—�
��
“Authenticate. Is that the word you’re looking for?”
“Right! That’s it! We have to have a way to prove Oswald wrote it.”
“That would take a recognized hand-writing expert, and he’d have to have a sample of Oswald’s writing.”
Oh God, Harvey thought. Now I’ll probably have to steal a glass cutter from somewhere and go up there and grab one of the letters from the exhibits. But he said, “Wait here. I’ll see if I can find Victor.”
He crossed the street and went inside the lobby. Victor wasn’t hard to find, but then he never was. He was sitting in a lounge chair, reading the Al Capone book. He was very studious.
“Victor, take a break. I want you to come with me across the street. Carmelita and I have somethin’ we want to talk over with you.”
“Carmelita Villanueva?” asked Victor, getting to his feet quickly and dropping the book on his chair.
“Yeah. We need to talk about this whole Oswald list stuff. We need to have all three of us knowin’ the same stuff.”
“If you said Carmelita Villanueva, you don’t have to ask me twice,” said Victor. He made a break for the door and actually got there much before Harvey.
Harvey filled him in briefly as they walked swiftly across the street. As soon as they got to the bench, Victor said to Carmelita, “You guys went up on sixth floor?”
“Yes,” she answered with a smile. “Two times actually. Pretty cool don’t you think?
“It’s unbelievably cool. It’s even way beyond cool.”
“We even found a trapdoor with a hidden chamber.”
“You didn’t tell me that part, Harv.”
“We were walkin’ too fast. I didn’t have time to tell it all.”
“Wow. Sixth floor. What was it like?”
“It was hot and dirty and dusty,” said Carmelita. “They don’t have it cleaned up yet for the public.”
“That outside elevator won’t be finished until the end of the year. I guess they’re not in any hurry to get it polished up.”
“Even the glass on the exhibits was all dusty,” Carmelita added.
“President Kennedy’s pictures were all dusty?”
“Not the pictures; just the glass in front of them.”
Harvey Porter Does Dallas Page 10
