The Heckler

“Let me think,” Random said. His brow wrinkled. He sucked spit in around his four teeth and made horrible noises with his mouth. “I think better with a bit of refreshment before me,” he said subtly.

“Bartender, another whiskey,” Carella said.

“Why, thank you, sir, that’s good of you,” Random said. “I think I met him a few nights before the beginning of the month. March twenty-ninth or thirtieth, something like that. It was a Saturday night, I remember.”

Carella flipped open his wallet and pulled a small celluloid calendar from one of the compartments. “Saturday was the twenty-eighth,” he said. “Was that the date?”

“If it was the last Saturday in March, yes sir.”

“There were no Saturdays in March after that one,” Carella said, smiling.

“Then that, sir, was the date, yes, sir. Ahhh, here’s my whiskey now. Drink hearty, lads, this stuff here puts hair on your clavicle it does, arghhhhh!” He smacked his lips, set the glass down again and asked, “Where were we?”

“Johnny,” Hernandez said. “Met him in a bar called the Two Circles up on The Stem on Saturday night, March twenty-eighth. Go on.”

“Did you write all that down, sir?” Random asked.

“I did.”

“Remarkable.”

“How old would you say the man was?” Carella asked. “This fellow Johnny.”

“In his sixties, I would say.”

“In good health, would you say?”

Random shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not a physician, you understand.”

“I know. But was he coughing or anything? Did he look pale or run-down? Did he have any tics or nervous mannerisms? Did he—”

“He seemed to be in perfectly good health,” Random said, “as far as I could tell. You understand, I didn’t ask him to take off his clothes so I could give him a physical examination, you understand, sir. I am saying only that, on the surface, looking at him with my naked eye, and without the benefit of a medical education, I would say this fellow Johnny was as fit as a fiddle.” Random paused. “That’s just an expression,” he said.

“Okay,” Carella said, “he told you his first name was Johnny. Did he mention his last name?”

“No, sir, he did not. Sir, with all due respect to the Police Department, any extended conversation makes me exceedingly thirsty. I do wish I could…”

“Bartender, another whiskey,” Hernandez said. “He didn’t give you his last name, correct?”

“Correct.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he was on his way to work.”

“Work? What kind of work?”

“He didn’t say.”

“But this was the nighttime, wasn’t it?”

“That is correct, sir. It was a Saturday night.”

“And he said he was going to work?”

“Yes, sir, that is exactly what he said.”

“But he didn’t say what kind of work?”

“No, sir,” Random said. “Of course, he was wearing the uniform.”

“Uniform?” Carella said.

“Uniform?” Hernandez echoed.

“Was it a sailor’s uniform?” Carella asked. “Was he a sailor, Mr. Random?”

“Ahhhh,” Random said, “here’s my whiskey now. Drink hearty, lads, this stuff here puts hair on your clavicle, it does, arghhhhh!” He smacked his lips, set the glass down again and asked, “Where were we?”

“The uniform. Was it a sailor’s uniform?”

“A sailor’s uniform? On a man well into his sixties? Now, sirs, that’s pretty silly, if you ask me.”

“Well what kind of a uniform was it?”

“It was gray,” Random said.

“Go on.”

“It could have been a postman’s uniform,” Random said.

“Wasit?”

“I don’t know. Or a bus driver’s.”

“Well, which was it? A postman’s or a bus driver’s?”

“I don’t know. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t feeling too well that night, you understand. I was having a little trouble with my eyes, you understand. Focusing, you understand. So all I can remember is that it was a gray uniform, with a uniform cap and all.”

“It wasn’t a chauffeur’s uniform, was it?”

“No, sir, it was gray.Gray . Not black. No, not a chauffeur’s uniform.” Random paused. “But hewas working for somebody. I remember that. So I guess that would let out the post office, wouldn’t it? Unless he was talking about his foreman, that’s a possibility, isn’t it?”

“He mentioned his employer’s name?” Carella asked.

“Well, no, not exactly,” Random said. “Only indirectly.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he had to get to work or the deaf man would be angry. That’s what he said.”

“The who?” Carella asked. “Thedead man?”

“No, no, thedeaf man. Deaf. You know. Hard of hearing. Deaf. Of course, that may have been just an expression.”

“You’re sure that’s what he said?” Carella asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Anything else about this deaf man?”

“No, sir.”

“Or about where he was going to work?”

“No, sir. Not a word.”

“You’re sure you’re remembering this correctly, Mr. Random?” Hernandez asked.

“Of course I remember it,” Random said. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Well, you said you were a little out of focus.”

“Yes, but—”

“What you meant was that you’d had a little too much to drink, isn’t that right?” Hernandez asked.

“Well, yes, but—”

“What you meant was that you had a couple of sheets to the wind, isn’t that right?” Hernandez asked.

“That’s just an expression,” Carella said quickly.

“Wereyou kind of loaded, Mr. Random?”

“I suppose so,” Random said philosophically.