hipness that was one part desperation and one part naïveté. Some of them would be basically decent men crippled by a mean and uncaring society; others would be (yes, there really is evil) mean and uncaring men who wanted to cripple society. I was beginning to sense Michael Reeves's kinship with this groupâcertain, lawyers and social workers use cons in the same way. The cons have a great need to express their rage and self-pity and sense of doom, and people like Reeves show them how to do itâjust as long as the cons show total allegiance. It's a cheap way to play God.
Karl was crying now, sobbing and writhing in the grasp of his friends. You could see a big stain where he'd peed his pants. His eyes were shot with red. He stank of sweat. He needed to throw up and sleep. Not much else would do him any good. When they took him away, he was still crying.
Donna drifted over. "Is he going to be all right? Shouldn't they take him to a hospital?"
Before I could explain, Keech said, "The hospital would call the cops and they'd bust him for parole violation. Using drugs is something parole officers frown on."
"Where did he get his mescaline?"
"Michael's desk," Anne said simply, as if it were perfectly logical that a desk would be used to dispense drugs. "In the next room he had a small office. That's where he kept it."
"Why mescaline?"
Keech shrugged. "He said it helped get at the truth."
"I thought this was an acting class."
Anne smiled ironically. "Michael always said that acting and truth were the same thing. You couldn't act well unless you understood the truth about yourself."
"So he fed these poor bastards mescaline," I said. "Great fucking guy."
"It just kind of got out of hand is all, Dwyer," Keech said. "I mean, for the first six months it was a great class. A very straight acting class. No drugs, anything. Hell, I got good enough in here to get the part at the Bridges Theater. The whole experience made being an ex-con tolerable. Then things changed, I guess."
"How?"
Anne said, "Michael started playing 'truth' games, the way acting coaches like to. You know, tell us something painful about your past. Well, as you can imagine, people who've been in trouble with the law feel a great deal of anxiety. Michael became more and more obsessed with getting to that."
Keech shook his head. "By the end, it was much more like some kind of group therapy than an acting class. Michael would just sit over there and watch us and never say a word. With the drugs, he didn't have to."
"You said 'us.' Did you take the drugs?"
He flushed. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."
"How about you, Anne?"
She stiffened. Despite her regal good looks, she seemed older now. "Yes." I thought of her and her husband in the cabin this afternoon. The ugly things he'd said to her. Their search for something unknown.
"Who else was in the class besides the men from the halfway house?"
Keech thought a moment. "Evelyn."
I watched Anne's face as Evelyn's name was mentioned. A tic appeared at the corner of her right eye. It was not difficult to guess that they'd both been rivals for Michael's attention.
"How about Lockhart?"
Now it was Keech's turn to look uneasy. "Lockhart?"
"Yeah. He's another guy from the halfway house."
Keech nodded. "Sure. He was a member of the group for a while."
"He was very tight with Michael," Anne said. "Very tight."
I studied Keech's eyes. "He's missing. You have any idea where he might be?"
"No, I don't."
We were having a stare-down. He won. I glanced back at the door, where some of the halfway house men had begun to file in. They looked sad and scared and I wanted to say something to them, but they'd already heard far too much from fellow cons who'd used them and dark saviors like Michael who'd exploited them.
"Why don't you do these guys a favor, Keech, and throw the fucking drugs away?"
"I'm going to. Believe me." He sounded young and lost.
For the first time I sensed something likeable in Keech. He was a
Karl was crying now, sobbing and writhing in the grasp of his friends. You could see a big stain where he'd peed his pants. His eyes were shot with red. He stank of sweat. He needed to throw up and sleep. Not much else would do him any good. When they took him away, he was still crying.
Donna drifted over. "Is he going to be all right? Shouldn't they take him to a hospital?"
Before I could explain, Keech said, "The hospital would call the cops and they'd bust him for parole violation. Using drugs is something parole officers frown on."
"Where did he get his mescaline?"
"Michael's desk," Anne said simply, as if it were perfectly logical that a desk would be used to dispense drugs. "In the next room he had a small office. That's where he kept it."
"Why mescaline?"
Keech shrugged. "He said it helped get at the truth."
"I thought this was an acting class."
Anne smiled ironically. "Michael always said that acting and truth were the same thing. You couldn't act well unless you understood the truth about yourself."
"So he fed these poor bastards mescaline," I said. "Great fucking guy."
"It just kind of got out of hand is all, Dwyer," Keech said. "I mean, for the first six months it was a great class. A very straight acting class. No drugs, anything. Hell, I got good enough in here to get the part at the Bridges Theater. The whole experience made being an ex-con tolerable. Then things changed, I guess."
"How?"
Anne said, "Michael started playing 'truth' games, the way acting coaches like to. You know, tell us something painful about your past. Well, as you can imagine, people who've been in trouble with the law feel a great deal of anxiety. Michael became more and more obsessed with getting to that."
Keech shook his head. "By the end, it was much more like some kind of group therapy than an acting class. Michael would just sit over there and watch us and never say a word. With the drugs, he didn't have to."
"You said 'us.' Did you take the drugs?"
He flushed. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."
"How about you, Anne?"
She stiffened. Despite her regal good looks, she seemed older now. "Yes." I thought of her and her husband in the cabin this afternoon. The ugly things he'd said to her. Their search for something unknown.
"Who else was in the class besides the men from the halfway house?"
Keech thought a moment. "Evelyn."
I watched Anne's face as Evelyn's name was mentioned. A tic appeared at the corner of her right eye. It was not difficult to guess that they'd both been rivals for Michael's attention.
"How about Lockhart?"
Now it was Keech's turn to look uneasy. "Lockhart?"
"Yeah. He's another guy from the halfway house."
Keech nodded. "Sure. He was a member of the group for a while."
"He was very tight with Michael," Anne said. "Very tight."
I studied Keech's eyes. "He's missing. You have any idea where he might be?"
"No, I don't."
We were having a stare-down. He won. I glanced back at the door, where some of the halfway house men had begun to file in. They looked sad and scared and I wanted to say something to them, but they'd already heard far too much from fellow cons who'd used them and dark saviors like Michael who'd exploited them.
"Why don't you do these guys a favor, Keech, and throw the fucking drugs away?"
"I'm going to. Believe me." He sounded young and lost.
For the first time I sensed something likeable in Keech. He was a
Similar Books
