Shark Infested Custard (15 page)

       I was accepted and I matriculated in the University of Miami night school program. All I had to do was to go to classes for four nights a week for four years, and I would have a J. D.—Juris Doctorate. My first four courses were Torts, Insurance, Reading and Writing for Law, and Introduction to Law, on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday nights, in that order. Two weeks into the semester, I dropped the first three courses, and I would have dropped Introduction to Law, as well, if it hadn't been for Alton Thead, who taught the course.

       Law is dull, but that isn't the only reason I dropped out. In my job as adjuster, I frequently had to call on people at night, and this conflict made it difficult to attend night classes. My office hours during the day made it impossible for me to find time to study, which meant that I would have had to spend every Saturday, all day, in the Law Library. Sunday mornings were spent at Reserve meetings, and our strict C. O. was a stickler for attendance. If you missed three meetings without obtaining permission to be absent in advance, and he was reluctant about giving permission, too, he would write a letter recommending that you be recalled to active duty for another year. We all lived in fear of this possibility, and he was very anxious to exercise this power.

       A seven-day week is not a hardship if a man truly wants to become a lawyer. It is a matter of putting in the fours years, of serving the time, and a great many young men stick with it. But to do so requires more than a negative motivation, and my sole motivation for matriculating was that I did not want to be a graduate student in Psychology But it was the example of Alton Thead who persuaded me to give up Law School, although he did not set out deliberately to do so. Thead is a fine man, and he has a brilliant mind. He was entertaining, forceful, witty, and fascinating in the classroom, and he relished talking about his own experiences as a practicing lawyer.

       Thead had attracted nationwide notoriety in the late 1950s when he found a Jewish male who was willing to sue his parents for circumcising him as a baby. This was the most difficult part, Thead told us in class, finding a young Jew who was willing to go along with this radical suit. Thead's case, of course, was a good one. Circumcision is a violation of a man's human rights, and the unlawful mutilation came within the province of the newer and stronger state legislation designed to protect the "battered child." Circumcision is not necessary medically, except in about four percent of those male children who are circumcised, and Thead had lined up more than a dozen doctors to testify to this fact to the court. Legally, the parents of the young man were in a poor position. They had "tradition" on their side as a precedent, but little else. They had doctors, too, but the best arguments they could muster were those of "sanitation." The fact that a circumcised penis is easier to keep clean than one that is not is a poor excuse for the mutilation of a baby's body and for violating his rights as a human being. Thead's other major argument, which would have been more cogent today, now that the country, as a whole, is more liberally educated sexually, carried little weight with the jury in the '50s. And this clincher (in my opinion, anyway) was that the glans of a circumcised penis becomes tough, and because of the loss of sensitivity, anywhere from twenty to thirty percent of a man's pleasure in sex is lost when the foreskin is removed.

       Thead lost the case, which certainly would have had nationwide ramifications if he had won, and he appealed to the Florida Supreme Court. He lost there, too, on a five-four split decision, and then appealed to the U. S. Supreme Court. The U. S. Supreme Court refused to review the case, and that was the end of it. Eventually, I suppose, another lawyer will take it up again, and the mutilation of boy babies in this country will be stopped; but Thead's mistake, which he acknowledged, was in using a Jewish male instead of a WASP. The religious tradition was too much to overcome, all at once, and he should have sued on behalf of a Protestant male instead, avoiding the religious issue altogether.

       Alter losing this case, Thead became involved in an income tax dodge, and almost became disbarred. He advised a Palm Beach client about a tax dodge, and the man was caught later on by the I. R. S. The disgruntled client spread the word that Thead, after advising him, had informed the I. R. S. about the dodge in order to collect the ten percent informer's fee. Several anonymous letters were sent to the Bar Association, but nothing was proved. But once the false rumor got around, Thead had to close his Palm Beach office for lack of business.

       He then obtained a private investigator's license in Miami Beach, and lost it through some mysterious technicality—or loophole—discovered by the City Commission. Thead could not tell us the reasons why because the information was still privileged, between Thead and an unnamed client, but he would be able to reveal it some day in his autobiography, he said.

       At any rate, Thead had returned to the Harvard Law School and earned a doctorate in Judicial Science, and then obtained a teaching position at the University of Miami Law School.

       If the practical practice of law had given such a hard time to a man as brilliant as Thead, I thought, there was little future in it for me. Besides, there are more lawyers per capita in Miami than in any other city of comparable size in the United States—and I intended to make Miami my permanent home. During that single semester, while I took Thead's introductory law course, we became friends. We were not close friends, but we had a relationship a little deeper than the usual teacher-student friendship because he knew that I was dropping out of Law School at the end of the term.

       I hadn't seen Dr. Thead for about three years. Two or three times during the last three years I had driven over to the university to see him, but I hadn't been able to find a place to park. This morning, however, I intended to see him even if I had to park illegally, which I finally had to do. All of the visitor slots were filled, taken in all probability by law students too cheap to buy a five-dollar student decal, so I was forced to park on the grass between a coconut palm and a "No Parking—Anytime" sign.

       Eight years ago, there were always a few law students wearing coats and ties, but not any longer. The law students, like the undergraduates, wore the new poverty uniform—jeans, T-shirts, ragged blue work-shirts, beards, shoulder-length hair and beads, and they frowned in disapproval as I crossed the courtyard. My suit, and relatively short hair, alienated me, I supposed, and the dirtiest looks came from the students who were my age or older. But I am used to these intolerant looks, and I had other, more important things on my mind. I had called Thead before driving over to the university, and I knew that he was waiting for me.

       Thead grinned at me when I entered his cubby-hole office, and stopped writing on his legal pad. He was thinner and smaller than I remembered. I took off my jacket and sat in the single visitor's chair. Wearing a half-smile, Thead looked at me from behind his glasses, and nodded. He took a pack of crumpled short Camels out of his shirt pocket, untangled a boomerang from the cellophane, straightened it, and managed to light it without taking his eyes off mine. This was a neat trick, and I had forgotten how disconcerting it could be.

       "You look prosperous, Hank," he said. "How much are you making nowadays?"

       "Twenty-two thousand, expenses, and a free Galaxie." I shrugged. "And I usually get a Christmas bonus."

       "That's two thousand more than I make, and I don't have the use of a free car, so why did you finally decide to visit the old loser?"

       "I've tried a few other times, Dr. Thead, but there's no place to park around here. I'm in a 'no parking' area now, and when I asked you for your unlisted home phone, you wouldn't give it to me."

       "I finally took the phone out, Hank. An unlisted number doesn't work Somehow, and there are dozens of ways, students got the number and called me at home. If someone really wants to see me badly enough, he'll find a way, even if he can't find a place to park."

       "That's true." I grinned. "A very good friend of mine has a problem, and asked me to help him out. I said I would if I could, and that's why I came to you."

       He grinned. "Good. I was afraid that you had gotten into some trouble."

       "No, sir. It's a friend. A man has threatened his life, and even took a pot shot at him, and he doesn't know what to do about it."

       "The shot missed, I take it?"

       "Yes, but it was quite close. Should he ask for police protection?"

       "He could, but he wouldn't get it. What did he do—screw the man's wife?"

       "No, but the man thinks he did."

       "What makes him think so?"

       "The situation he was in made it look bad, that's all. But there's no doubt that the husband is serious. He really intends to shoot my friend."

       "In that case," Thead said, "your friend had better shoot him first. If he pleads self-defense, he won't get more than two or three years."

       "How about a license to carry a gun?"

       "It takes a little time. How much time does your friend have?"

       "Not much."

       "To get a license, it's necessary to write the chief of police a letter and request one. The reason the weapon is needed must also be stated, and it has to be a good one, like carrying large sums of money. In your case, it would be simple. As a detail man, you carry drug samples in your car, and you need to protect them from theft, right?"

       "All my friend carries is credit cards, Dr. Thead. Very little cash."

       "How many credit cards?"

       "American Express, Diner's, MasterCard, and three or four gas cards, I guess."

       "There you are, then. Stolen credit cards are worth fifty or sixty bucks apiece on the black market. So there's two-fifty or three hundred bucks already. That's a large sum of money, Hank, even in Miami. The next step is going to the police range. To get a license to carry a weapon, a man has to qualify on the range with his own pistol. The initial fee, if he qualifies on the range and his application is approved by the chief, is seventy-five bucks, plus a twenty-five dollar annual fee after that. So the initial outlay is some spare time, and a hundred dollars. The license is good for Dade County only. If he wants to take the pistol into other counties he has to get another separate license from each county."

       "What about carrying a pistol without a license?"

       "A man's permitted to carry a pistol in his car, as long as it isn't hidden. He can put it on the seat beside him in plain view. If he keeps it in the glove compartment, the compartment must be locked at all times. They have to let a man carry a gun in his car, Hank. Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to drive home with it from the gun shop, you see."

       "So there's no problem in buying a gun?"

       "None at all, if you've got the price."

       "Thanks, Dr. Thead. I'll tell my friend."

       "I'll bet you will. And because he's your friend, Hank, there's no fee for all this valuable information."

       "He can afford a fee, Dr. Thead. Send me the bill, and I'll see that he sends you the money."

       "No fee, Hank. I'd hate to pay the tax on it. When are we going to have lunch?"

       "I'll have to call you. My boss is flying in tonight, and I've got a lot of things to do today, but I'll call you soon."

       "Please do, Hank. You've put on a few pounds, haven't you?"

       "A few, but I still do my fifty push-ups every morning, and I'm on a diet again. I can take off ten pounds in a week. The next time you see me, I'll be back down."

       I got up and put on my jacket. It was cool in his office, and there were several things I wanted to talk about with Thead, but I had taken enough of his time already. Besides, I didn't want to confide in him. It was too embarrassing.

       "Hank?"

       "Sir?"

       "Perhaps you'd better tell me your friend's name?"

       "Why?"

       He shrugged, and then he grinned. "In case the police find his body, I can tell them what his name was."

       I shook my head and smiled. "No use you getting involved, Dr. Thead. If something happens to him, I'll tell them his name."

       "All right—but call me soon."

       Outside in the hot sun again, I felt as if I were walking under water as I crossed the courtyard toward the narrow strip of lawn where I had parked my Galaxie. Except for two Cuban refugees, looking for goodies in a Dempsey Dumpster, there were no suspicious looking people around. I lit a cigarette, and climbed into my car.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The explosion, when I turned on the ignition, was instantaneous, but the engine caught. My foot jammed down involuntarily on the gas pedal, and the engine roared. The engine fan, turning at high speed, forced thin wings of black smoke from under the hood on both sides of the car. For a moment, there had been a high shrill whistle before the explosion. I was startled, and my mind was benumbed by the sudden, unexpected noise. Conscious now of the racing engine, I turned off the ignition, unfastened my seat belt and climbed stiffly out of the car.

       I wasn't hurt and, looking at the hood, I couldn't see any damage to the car. There was only a faint remnant of smoke wisping out from under the closed hood. I was joined by a half-dozen curious, bearded students. One of them grinned.

       "Looks like somebody pulled a trick on you," he said.

       "Did any of your guys see anyone around my car?" I said, looking at them. They shuffled back a pace or two. There was some silent head-shaking.

       I opened the driver's door, reached under the dash, and pulled the knob to unlock the hood. There was a scattering of gray flecks of paper littering the engine. A student leaned over to look at the engine, picked up a thin red-and-white wire, and traced it to the battery. The wire was split, and scraped to the copper at the ends, and two thin strands were wound around the terminals. There were some short lengths of the red-and-white wire mixed with the shredded bits of gray paper.