The Accused, Harold R. Daniels [read out loud books txt] 📗

a dozen men seated on the high stools that lined the bar. They seemed friendly enough, as one or two nodded; but there was a withdrawal common to such occasions. The men at the bar were regulars or they had established their worth by having been in the place for an hour or more and having spent an appropriate amount of money. Morlock and Dodson were new and therefore strangers.

The bartender served their glasses. Dodson drank his quickly and noisily. Morlock could feel the Chianti warming his stomach. He told himself again not to be stuffy and drank his beer. They ordered more and Dodson, who was speaking louder, began a conversation with the man next to him. He dragged Morlock into the discussion. “This is a friend of mine,” he said pompously. “A professor. Al, this is—what did you say your name was?”

The man said, “Snapper,” and signaled for drinks. “Glad to know you, Professor.”

Morlock could feel his own natural reserve melting, dissolving in a tide of beer. He protested—it was not more than a token protest—that he was not really a professor but managed to leave the implication that he could be if he wanted to. And he signaled for a round himself, knowing that he was on the verge of drunkenness. The man who called himself Snapper was of his own age, with thinning light hair and a scar running from his cheekbone to the point of his jaw. He fingered the scar continually.

“Got this in an accident a month ago,” he explained. “We were going down to Attleboro at two o’clock in the morning drunk as a hoot owl. I just got my car back yesterday.”

In the space of two hours Snapper became their friend. Dodson proclaimed this with great and solemn conviction. Morlock, in a golden haze himself, recognized that Dodson was quite drunk and forgave him for it in the same moment. A rare tolerance had come upon him, and he did not resent Dodson even when he loudly explained to Snapper that they were footloose and anxious for company.

Snapper—he was drinking whisky instead of beer by this time—nodded his head wisely. “You came to the right place,” he congratulated them. “In half an hour or so when the band comes in there’ll be so many in there you’ll have to beat them off with a club.”

They waited for the band to arrive. The waiting reminded Morlock of other days, high school dances, the few others he had been able to go to when the youths would hang around outside the auditorium waiting for the music to start and pretending to be tremendously bored with it all and all the time yearning for the pretty girls inside the building. When the music started in the next room he and Dodson hung back for another drink so that Snapper would not think them eager. Except that now it was no longer simply a matter of pretty girls….

*

Prosecution Attorney Gurney: Your name is Gino Fangio?

Fangio: It is.

Gurney: You are known as Snapper, are you not?

Fangio: They call me that sometimes.

Gurney: When did you first meet the accused?

Fangio: Sometime before Christmas.

Gurney: I’ll refresh your memory. It was December 22, Thursday, wasn’t it?

Fangio: I guess so, if you say so.

Gurney: In a barroom?

Fangio: Yes.

Gurney: Was he drunk at the time?

Liebman: Objection.

Cameron: Sustained.

Gurney: Was he drinking at the time you met him?

Fangio: A few, I guess. He and that other guy were out for a good time. Nobody was going to get hurt.

Gurney: Were you with Morlock for the rest of the evening?

Fangio: Well, about that time, he and the other guy—

Gurney: Mr. Dodson.

Fangio: Yeah, Dodson. He and Morlock went into the dance hall. I stayed out at the bar.

Gurney: Did they state their purpose in going into the dance hall?

Fangio: They wanted women. Dodson was—

Liebman: Your Honor, that is speculative.

Cameron: The last statement will be stricken. Do you wish to take an exception, Mr. Gurney?

Gurney: No, Your Honor. Snapper—Mr. Fangio—you stated that you stayed at the bar. Isn’t it true that if you wished to meet an unescorted woman you would have gone with them into the dance hall?

Fangio: Yes.

Gurney:. Women frequented the place?

Fangio: A lot of them came there.

Gurney: Without escorts?

Fangio: A lot of them came stag.

Gurney: In other words, it was a good place for a man to meet a woman without the usual conventions. Did you tell the accused that it was such a place?

Fangio: Maybe I did. I guess I did.

Gurney: What were your words as you remember them?

Fangio: I said that they could probably get fixed up if they went in and looked around.

Gurney: And was it right after that that they went in?

Fangio: Yes.

*

The Commonwealth of Massachusetts vs. Alvin Morlock. Direct testimony of Gino Fangio.

Morlock and Dodson walked in to the dance floor together, in pretended deep conversation, pointedly not looking around until they were seated at a small table. There were other men going back and forth. Most of these boldly looked around the room, making audible comments on what they saw, and returned to the main bar again.

They ordered drinks and kept up the conversation. “Look at those cheap characters,” Dodson said contemptuously. “I’ve seen ‘em before. They don’t want to get stuck buying drinks so they wait until the girls order before they go over and start moving in.”

Morlock agreed that this was so. He was less and less interested in Dodson’s conversation now and more and more interested in the people—most of them women in twos and threes. In the dim light it was hard to distinguish features but there were two girls—in their early twenties, he guessed—in a near-by booth and both of them seemed attractive. One of them caught his glance and smiled tentatively.

Dodson dropped all pretense. “See anything good?” he asked anxiously.

“Over in the booth,” Morlock said. “What do you think?”

Dodson peered eagerly in the direction of the booth. “They’re looking over here,” he whispered excitedly.

“They’re not pigs either.” Still looking toward the booth he suddenly swore. “Dammit. Look at those two punks!”

Morlock turned slightly so that he could see without being obvious. Two youths were approaching the booth. They were, both of them, tall. Both were dressed alike in dark suits that were conservative to the point of being ostentatious. Morlock felt a wholly unreasonable fury at the two intruders. He and Dodson had seen the girls first. The two youths spoke briefly to the girls who then stood up and came into their arms. They danced toward the table occupied by Dodson and Morlock.

Dodson began swearing in a monotone. Morlock, afraid that he might be overheard, attempted to quiet him. “Maybe they came together,” he said.

Dodson muttered, “Like hell,” and bent to his drink.

Morlock shrugged. “We’ll have to be quicker next time,” he said.

The two girls danced closer. Morlock was not comforted by the knowledge that he had been right. They were pretty. Both had heart-shaped faces framed with masses of dark hair. Both had good legs, slim and graceful. They looked like sisters, Morlock thought. One was slightly taller than the other. The shorter one—she was about Dodson’s height—wore a white satin blouse. Underneath it she wore a brassiere—Morlock could see the straps of it when she turned—that lifted her small round breasts delightfully. Her skirt was tight. When she leaned forward against her partner her buttocks also looked small and round. Dodson watched avidly. “How would you like to pat that!” he demanded. He had recovered his good nature. “Didn’t I tell you there was stuff here?”

The band stopped; the two couples returned to the booth—and the youths left. Morlock stood up. “I want the small one,” he said.

Their names, it developed, were Audrey and Lucy—Audrey being the shorter of the two—and they were sisters. Also they drank whisky sours although there had been only beer bottles on the table when Morlock, with a boldness that surprised himself and impressed Dodson, had walked confidently to their table and asked, “Can we buy you a drink?” While he had moved toward their table, Dodson had remained in his seat, watching him eagerly but ready, Morlock was certain, to ridicule him if the girls rejected his offer. They did not and in his wonderful new cloak of confidence he had turned and beckoned casually to Dodson to come over.

As Dodson walked toward him, the new Morlock watched him with some feeling of superiority. Dodson, he thought, would have wagged his tail if he had had one.

Both of the girls worked in a jewelry shop. Both were in the office, they explained quickly. Morlock doubted it and this, too, increased the magnificent self-esteem that he now felt. They were lying to impress him—and Dodson too. Probably they were pearl dippers.

Dodson lost no time in explaining that they were members of the Ludlow faculty. Morlock faulted him for this. Dodson had, when it came right down to it, no faith in his own attractiveness or his own personality. He therefore attempted to reflect whatever light came from being a professional man. Had he not earlier referred to himself and Morlock as educated men? Morlock felt that he needed no crutch.

He was seated beside Audrey. The upper half of her white satin blouse flared sharply to her shoulders so that he could see the upper halves of her white breasts, and where yesterday he would have painfully avoided the appearance of glancing at them, he now openly stared—and felt his earlier resolution to find a decent girl and carry on a mild affair melt in a warm tide of desire. Audrey had, in a few sentences, exposed her own complete lack of mental or spiritual assets. She had, Morlock admitted, no need of them. Having admitted this, he devoted himself to appreciation of what she did hold for men—the appreciation being visual and verbal and in both cases completely acceptable to Audrey.

After an hour and many drinks, she began to press herself against him when they danced. The abstract Morlock noted that she had a magnificent awareness of her really beautiful body and an equal knowledge of the manner in which she might best activate it. He sighed for Dodson who seemed to be making no progress whatsoever with Lucy, and had sunk to the point where he was now trying to make her drink more than she could handle. Unfortunately, he had to order for himself as well as Lucy, the result being a shabby race between sobriety and sex with Dodson ahead, if at all, only slightly.

Morlock danced twice with Lucy. She remarked that the band was good for a small outfit. Audrey had made this comment. She noted that there was a good crowd tonight. Audrey had made this observation, too. Morlock, having no designs on Lucy, was bored.

Another hour and Dodson was making definite progress. When the two girls left for the powder room after an appropriately cute explanation, he watched them sway away from the table and said pridefully, “I told you we’d find something in here!”

Morlock generously did not remind Dodson that he had made all the overtures.

Dodson continued, “She’s hot. I’ll bet we won’t have any trouble getting them out of here and up to the hotel.” There was in the manner he said it, Morlock thought, something suggestive of whistling in a graveyard, and he wondered how many times Dodson had come this far with one of his conquests and seen it the unconsummated.

They came back to the table, and Lucy said, “It’s getting late. We’ve got to work tomorrow.”

They had