The Heckler

THE COSTUME RENTAL SHOPwas in downtown Isola on Detavoner Avenue. There were three dummies in the front window. One was dressed as a clown, another was dressed as a pirate, and the third and last was dressed as a World War I pilot. The window was grimy, and the dummies were dusty, and the costumes looked moth-eaten. The inside of the shop looked grimy, dusty, and moth-eaten, too. The owner of the shop was a jovial man named Douglas McDouglas who’d once wanted to be an actor and who had settled for the next best thing to it. Now, rather than creating fantasies on stage, he helped others to create fantasies by renting the costumes they needed for amateur plays, masquerade parties and the like. He was no competition for the bigger, theater rental shops nor did he wish to be. He was simply a man who was happy doing the kind of work he did.

The deaf man entered the shop, and Douglas McDouglas recognized him at once.

“Hello there, Mr. Smith,” he said. “How’s every little thing?”

“Just fine,” the deaf man answered. “And how are things with you?”

“Couldn’t be better,” McDouglas answered, and he burst into contagious laughter. He was a fat man, and the layers of flesh under his vest rippled when he laughed. He put his hands on his belly as if to control the pulsating flesh, and said. “Are you here for the costumes?”

“I am,” the deaf man said.

“They’re ready,” McDouglas said. “Nice and clean. Just got them back from the cleaners day before yesterday. What kind of a play is this one, Mr. Smith?”

“It’s not a play,” the deaf man said. “It’s a movie.”

“With ice-cream men in it, huh?”

“Yes.”

“And night watchmen, too huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“The two night watchmen uniforms. The one you got ’way back, and the one you came in for near the beginning of the month. Ain’t they for the movie, too?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” the deaf man said.

“Will you be returning them all together?”

“Yes,” he lied. He had no intention of returning any of the costumes.

“What’s the movie called?” McDouglas asked.

The deaf man smiled. “The Great Bank Robbery,” he answered.

McDouglas burst into laughter again. “A comedy?”

“More like a tragedy,” the deaf man said.

“You filming it here in Isola?”

“Yes.”

“Soon?”

“We start shooting tomorrow.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“I think it will be. Would you get me the costumes, please? I don’t want to rush you, but…”

“Sure thing,” McDouglas said, and he went into the back of the shop.

The Great Bank Robbery, the deaf man thought, and he grinned. I wonder what you would say, fat boy, if you really knew. I wonder what you will think when you hear the news over your radio. Will you feel like an accessory before the fact? And will you rush to the police with a description of “John Smith,” the man who rented these costumes? But then, John Smith is dead, isn’t he?

And you don’t know that, Mr. McDouglas, do you?

You don’t know that John Smith, garrulous old John Smith, was shot to death while wearing a costume hired from this very shop, now do you? Garrulous old John Smith who, we discovered, was dropping just a few hints too many about what is going to take place tomorrow. A dangerous man to have about, that John Smith. And he remained talkative even after we’d warned him, and so Goodbye, Mr. Smith, it was lovely having you in our friendly little group, but speech is silver, Mr. Smith, and silence, ahhh, silence is golden, and so we commit you to eternal silence, BAM!

The deaf man grinned.

And then, of course, it was necessary to dispose of the costume. It would not have been necessary were you not such an organized man, Mr. McDouglas. But stamped into the lining of each of your costumes is the name of your shop, and we couldn’t have run the risk of the police stripping down a corpse and then coming here to ask you questions about it, now could we, Mr. McDouglas? No, no, it was far better the way we did it. Strip the uniform from the body, cart it to Grover Park, and leave it there as naked as the jay birds.

Again, the deaf man grinned.

I’m really terribly sorry to report, Mr. McDouglas, that your lovely night watchman’s uniform was burned to ashes in an incinerator. But that was the only way, you see. We shall do the same thing with these costumes. The police may get to you eventually, Mr. McDouglas, but we certainly don’t want them reaching you any sooner than they ordinarily might.

And when they get to you, you will of course describe me.

The deaf man grinned.

But is my hair really blond, Mr. McDouglas? Or is it bleached especially for this jolly little caper? And am Ireally hard of hearing? Or is the button in my ear a further device to confuse identification? Those are the questions the police must ask themselves, Mr. McDouglas.

I somehow feel they’ll have themselves a merry little chase.

“Here we are,” McDouglas said, coming from the back of the shop. “How do you like them?”

The deaf man studied the white uniforms.

“Very nice, Mr. McDouglas,” he said. “How much is that?”

“Pay me when you bring them back,” McDouglas said.