The Devil's Stocking

by Nelson Algren

  “Would you mind repeating all that?”

  “You were not listening?”

  “No sir.”

  “Do you remember pleading guilty to the indictment charging you with assault and robbery of Imogene McElway?”

  “Everything ran concurrent. I’m not definitely sure which was first or second.”

  “This is not to be taken lightly, sir. You are charged with robbery of Imogene McElway. Do you remember it?”

  “Naturally, I remember it. I confessed it. I was charged and found guilty of it. I went to an institution and was punished thoroughly for it. I accepted the punishment. I served the time imposed by the court. It should be obvious to anybody that Id remember it. Or are you trying me for that all over again? What became of the murders in the Melody bar? I thought that that was why I was brought here today.”

  Raymond stepped to one side, glanced at the judge as if for help and received none. He took a deep breath and began all over:

  “You have never been charged with the offense of robbery in connection with the events of June seventeenth, nineteen hundred and sixty-six?”

  “You might say larceny.”

  “You have not been taken back to Bordentown for violation of your parole, even though you are an admitted thief?”

  “No sir.”

  “You are still walking the streets?”

  “No sir.”

  “You’re incarcerated?”

  “I’m limited, as you might say.”

  “I can see you’re not unlimited. You still go to work every day?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Is it, or is it not a manner of speaking, that you stood outside the Melody Bar and Grill shouting, ‘Everybody in here has been shot!”’

  “What I said was to the police officer, ‘Sir, I think you’d better call for an ambulance. There are people inside who’ve been shot.’”

  “You went to the cash register to get change to make a call?”

  “I went in there to try to help. I did go to the cash register to get that dime. When I seen the money, knowing myself, that I’m a thief, I took more. Basically I am a thief. But I am no assassin. Remember that, mister. I am not an assassin.”

  “Nobody has accused you of assassination,” Judge Turner assured Iello. “Please answer the questions only. I am striking it.”

  “I would prefer it to remain,” Ben Raymond requested the court.

  “I’m certain you would,” Judge Turner replied. “I am striking it.” “You are not, then, an assassin?” Ben Raymond turned back to the witness.

  “Don’t answer that question,” Judge Turner cautioned Iello, and turned back to Raymond. “I told you I struck it, Mr. Raymond. That means it is an improper question and it is stricken. I hope I make myself clear.”

  “You told the police that you didn’t see the face of the man coming out of the bar,” Raymond resumed questioning Iello. “Is that correct or not?”

  “It is possible.”

  “It is a fact. Is it not?”

  “I had a reason why I didn’t.”

  “I didn’t ask you, mister, anything about your reasons. I asked you one simple question and that one alone. Is it not a fact that you informed police, the morning of June seventeenth, nineteen hundred and sixty-six, ‘I didn’t see his face.’ Is that correct or is it not correct?”

  “Whatever the officer wrote on his report I would have to say I said it.”

  “That is not the question, Mr. Iello,” Judge Turner interrupted. “Do you remember saying …”

  “No, I don’t. I don’t remember that, your honor. I remember only the highlights. I told them it was the same car I seen on the corner. At the station I told the officers, ‘This looks like the same man, but forget it, I don’t want to get involved.’ I didn’t identify anybody at the station. In the morning De Vivani accused me of stealing some money and I told him, ‘Go screw yourself, De Vivani. You may be the chief dago around here but you’re just another wop to me.’”

  “What money was he talking about?”

  “Who knows what he was talking about? I sure didn’t. I don’t remember hardly any of the conversation except telling him it was a New York plate.”

  “Did De Vivani at any time suggest you were a possible suspect in these murders?”

  “I don’t remember anything like that.”

  “Where were you when you saw the cars taillights?”

  “Out on the street looking at the back of the car. As it hit the brakes it lit up. I was in a good position because I was back in the crowd. I didn’t want anyone to see me was why I faded back.”

  “And isn’t it a fact that the statement I’ve just shown you was given after you saw a car occupied by Ruby Calhoun returned to the vicinity of the tavern under police escort? Is that not correct?”

  “Correct. But I didn’t identify him.”

  “When you got to the register by climbing across Dude Leonard, did you realize he was dead?”

  “You could tell he wasn’t alive.”

  “And when you went back you had to go across him again—and you didn’t stop, in all that time, to make a phone call?”

  “No sir.”

  “Did you go back to see if Mrs. Shane could be helped?”

  “Sure I came back.”

  “And what did you do for her?”

  “What could I do for her?”

  “Did you call for an ambulance?”

  “I called the operator.”

  “After or before you took the money?”

  “After. Obviously.”

  “How long did the police keep you in protective custody in October, nineteen hundred and sixty-six?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  “How long have you been in their protective custody?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  “You have used drugs, have you not?”

  “Under a doctor’s care.”

  “And within three weeks of this date you have been under the influence of narcotics, have you not?”

  “What date?” Judge Turner wanted to know. “What relevancy does it have whether he uses narcotics or not three weeks ago?”

  “It would have relevancy in that it has been necessary to reduce him to custody for this reason. The police want to keep him in a position where …”

  “You are going off the subject, sir. Dangerously off the subject.”

  “You talked to someone on the prosecutor’s staff last night,” Raymond assured the witness, “did you not?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Did you discuss what reward you were to receive?”

  “I have never been promised anything from the prosecutor’s office.”

  “Have you been promised anything from anyone?”

  “No sir.”

  “You are, of course, aware of the reward offered by the Tavern Owners’ Association?”

  “I’m not sure about anything.”

  “Are you or are you not aware that the mayor of this city declared that reward, the very day of the offense, in every newspaper in the city?”

  “That could be hearsay. I don’t recall. No one from the prosecutor’s office ever offered me anything except protection.”

  “You went behind that bar because you saw the cash register was open. Right?”

  “I went behind the bar to get a dime to make a phone call.”

  “Even though you had two quarters in your pocket?”

  “I thought more of a dime than a quarter, somehow. I could have gotten it off the bartender.”

  “There was no bartender in view, sir.”

  “Not after he’d been slain, I guess not.”

  “When did you do that?”

  “Do what?” Judge Turner asked quickly.

  “Slay the bartender,” Raymond replied.

  “What?’’ Judge Turner demanded.

  “When did he slay the bartender—that is addressed to the witness.”

  “It is not to my knowledge
,” Iello replied.

  “The jury will disregard the question,” Judge Turner ruled.

  “‘When did you slay the bartender?’ is a question which has nothing whatsoever to support it in the proceedings of this court.”

  “The witness Baxter has been sitting here,” Raymond advised Judge Turner before presenting the next witness, “trying to write notes to us. If he were unshackled he could do this more comfortably. It is extremely difficult for a man to write while handcuffed, your honor.”

  “The witness has a record of escapes,” Judge Turner replied, “every time they take off the handcuffs he escapes.”

  “He couldn’t very well escape in this courtroom, your honor.”

  “Remove the handcuffs.”

  “Mr. Baxter,” Raymond asked the uncuffed witness, “is it not true, sir, that, at the time of the murders in the Melody Grill, there were pending against you the following charges: armed robbery of the Burnbrook Motor Lodge in Morristown, New Jersey?”

  “I have that charge pending.”

  “Armed robbery, Raven Motor Lodge, Fort Lee, New Jersey?”

  “I have that pending.”

  “Theft of a motor vehicle in Saddlebrook, New Jersey?”

  “The charge is larceny, not theft.”

  “How about breaking and entering, Bergen County, New Jersey?”

  “I broke but didn’t enter.”

  “How about escape from the Hackensack, New Jersey, police?”

  “When they woke up they caught me.”

  “Armed robbery, Royalton Hotel, Linden, New Jersey?”

  “Pending.”

  “Possession of stolen property, city of Paterson, New Jersey?”

  “Paterson or Elizabeth, I forget which. Maybe Union City.”

  “After you testified before the grand jury, Mr. Baxter, did you talk to Lieutenant De Vivani or state’s attorney Scott?”

  “Correct.”

  “Correct what?”

  “Correct sir.”

  “What did they ask you?”

  “They wanted a statement to the effect that I went back to the Apex Supply Company and broke in. I didn’t want to give it. Later I gave it anyhow.”

  “What were you doing behind the Apex Supply Company early on the morning of June seventeenth, nineteen hundred sixty-six?”

  “I had all black clothes on and I hid my face so no car going by could see me. I started looking for a tire iron and I couldn’t find it. A car came past going on Adams toward Eighteenth Street. It was a white car. The make I wasn’t sure about. Maybe a sixty-three Ford. I saw a Negro in the front seat, driving.”

  “Who was he?”

  “Ruby Calhoun.”

  “Did you know him before?”

  “Not personally. But I knew his face.”

  “You had seen him on television, I assume?”

  “I’d saw him once in Paterson. I was in a car with a friend and he pointed Calhoun out to me.”

  “How long prior to this night, the seventeenth of June,” Raymond asked, “had you seen Ruby Calhoun?”

  “About in February. I seen him in a magazine.”

  “‘Prior’ means ‘before.’ How long before June seventeenth had you seen Ruby Calhoun?”

  “I’d saw his picture often during that time.”

  “Did anything happen while you were working on that door?”

  “I wasn’t actually working on that door. I stopped when I heard like backfiring or a gunshot. I came through the alleyway here and came out on Jefferson Street. I seen someone in front of me on the sidewalk walking toward this corner here.”

  “Could you describe anything of the physical characteristics of the man directly in front of you or anything of the clothing he was wearing?”

  “He was short and stocky. He was walking down the sidewalk on the inside of the shadows. He had on a dark shirt and dungarees.”

  “Did he have high heels, a little higher than ordinary, like a Cuban heel?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Do you recall that Mr. Iello had rather long hair?”

  “His hair wasn’t ever that long.”

  “Did you ascertain that the person you were following was Mr. Iello?”

  “I wasn’t sure and I didn’t want to call out and arouse suspicion. I thought maybe I could catch up with him and make sure before he got to the bar, if it really was him.”

  “Although you had been with him from early evening, you weren’t sure that the man you were following down the street was Mr. Iello—is that correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “You’d known him for how long?”

  “A few hours.”

  “You’d only known Nick Iello a few hours?”

  “No, I’ve known him a long time.”

  “Although you didn’t recognize the man in front of you, a man driving a car very fast, whom you’d seen once, you recognized in a flash? Is that right?”

  “That’s only a statement,” Judge Turner decided. “Don’t answer it.”

  “Where are you at the present time?” Raymond asked Baxter.

  “Morris County jail.”

  “Have you ever told the jury that you own a thirty-three caliber revolver?”

  The prosecution objected and the objection was sustained.

  “What happened next?” Raymond asked the witness.

  “I saw a Negro carrying a revolver. I walked away from the scene. I went back to Kenneth Kelley’s and he drove me back to Apex Supply. I finally forced the padlock. But all I found inside was a safe behind a partition. I knew I couldn’t make that type safe with the sort of equipment I had, so I left.”

  “Do you see the man who was carrying the revolver in this room?” state’s attorney Scott asked Baxter.

  “Yes sir, he’s right there.” (Pointing at Calhoun.)

  “Do you know a man named Esteban Escortez,” Raymond resumed his examination of the witness, “who was with you in the Passaic County jail on August third, nineteen hundred sixty-six?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you recall telling Mr. Escortez that you were going to play off the Calhoun case against charges you were then facing?”

  “No. I have no such recollection.”

  “You never made such a statement, either to Mr. Escortez or to someone else?”

  “Never. No way.”

  Esteban Escortez was a man of twenty-seven, of short stature but robust physique, of Mexican-American ancestry. Although his face had a defiant tilt, his manner on the stand was shy; and his voice, slightly accented, was low.

  “Why were you in the Passaic County jail, Mr. Escortez, with Dexter Baxter, on or about August second of last year?”

  “We was arrested for armed robbery.”

  “What did Baxter tell you about this case?”

  “He told me he had only one chance. That was to testify for the state against Calhoun. If he didn’t he was going to go away for long.”

  “Did Baxter ever tell you that he was going to play off the Calhoun case against charges, so he and you would benefit?”

  “Yes sir. He did.”

  “And did he tell you in fact that Iello had never seen Ruby Calhoun at that scene in the Melody Bar and Grill?”

  “Yes sir, he did.”

  “Did you have anything to gain by coming here today, Mr. Escortez?”

  “I spend eight dollar, my own money. I get nothing.”

  Calhoun appeared relaxed on the stand. He wore a dark, conservative suit of good material, collar and dark tie. He still wore a heavy mustache but had not let his beard grow back; that he’d been forced to shave off before the Gardello fight.

  “Mr. Calhoun,” state’s attorney Scott began his examination, “were you a witness to the murder of Matt Haloways?”

  “I was.”

  “Had you known the victim previous to his murder?”

  “All my life. He was my daughter’s godfather.”

  “Naturally, you were angered at his killing.
”

  “No. Saddened. He was a good man.”

  “His sons, Ed and Hardee, were your lifelong friends, were they not?”

  “No. I knew Ed for many years. I only know Hardee to say hello to. We have nothing in common.”

  “But you do have a great deal in common with Ed Haloways?”

  “We’re the same age.”

  “Did you know him when you were serving time in Jamesburg?”

  “We locked together.”

  “Naturally you shared Ed’s desire to avenge his father.”

  “I’m not aware that Ed Haloways had such a desire. If so, he never expressed it to me.”

  “He expressed it to the police. He came down to the police station, shortly after his father had been shot down, and warned the police that something would be done about the murder if the police did not do something.”

  “That wasn’t Red. It was his brother.”

  “Nevertheless, the police did do something. They arrested a man named Le Forti, who was found guilty by reason of insanity and is now confined in a state institution.”

  “I’m pleased to hear that.”

  “What is your trade, Mr. Calhoun?”

  “I fight professionally.”

  “Are you successful at it?”

  “Reasonably so.”

  “It is, then, your purpose, when you get into a ring to knock your opponent unconscious, is it not?”

  “It is not. If the opponent should expose himself to a knockout punch, I’ll throw it. But the purpose is simply to win, that’s all.”

  “I see. What was the charge for which you were convicted and sentenced to the state prison?”

  “Objection,” Ben Raymond rose to interpose, and was immediately sustained.

  When Ben Raymond examined Calhoun, he replied in a low voice devoid of tension. When asked to account for himself on the evening of the murders he answered without urgency in his voice, “I was in the Paradise before midnight. They had a jukebox and space to dance in the rear. I stayed for half a dozen records. I don’t remember who I was dancing with. Then a young lady asked me to drive her home. I don’t know her name. She lived about four blocks down from the Paradise. We’d only driven two blocks down when we got the police-car flash. It was Officer Mooney. I showed him my registration.