kept trying to date me, for an evening, or early morning actually, after I got through work, saying he knew a place where we could go “and not be bothered,” whatever that meant. And I kept putting him off, saying, “Soon, I hope—I’ll take another rain-check,” but it was harder each time. In spite of the way we’d begun, I’d come to like him. Or perhaps ‘like’ is the wrong word, but I was drawn to him, and I was coming to understand better what Liz had told me that first night, about the undeniable appeal of being asked, especially when it’s an attractive man doing the asking.
Then one night he came in earlier than usual and didn’t bring up the subject. He seemed in a very low mood, as though something was on his mind. I asked: “What is it, Tom? Did I pour gravy on your ice cream? What’s on your mind anyway?”
“Plenty. I have a friend that’s in trouble.”
“Someone I know?”
“Jim Lacey.”
“… Oh? The one whose son you spelled the day of the funeral?”
“The one. You may have seen him in the paper. He’s been indicted.”
“Indicted? For what?”
For answer, he dug into his briefcase and tossed a newspaper down on the table between us. The story was on the bottom of page one. James E. Lacey, senior municipal engineer with the county, had been indicted in a matter involving taking bribes to recommend sewer connections for some new development area. It was one of those cases they have all the time in Prince George’s County, where millions are made overnight on the basis of rezoning decisions, the award of sewer connections, of water connections, of paving connections. “Well, I’m sorry,” I said, as pleasantly as I could. “It always hurts when a friend gets in some trouble.”
“What hurts is, I’m not able to help.”
Not knowing what help was called for, I said nothing, but in a moment he explained: “He’s an idiot, a gambler, up to his ears in debt. No one would lend him a dime, and his trouble is, he can’t make bail. It’s been set at $12,000, and will cost over $1,000 for a bond, and he just doesn’t have it. Can you imagine, a man with his power and connections, sitting in a jail cell because he can’t raise a thousand dollars? If I had it I’d stand the bond myself—but it’s out of the question for me.”
“… You haven’t got a thousand dollars either?”
He smiled at me as if to say, What care I about money? But what it said was, No, I haven’t got a thousand dollars either.
“Once some of the things I’m working on ripen, I’ll have that much many times over—but at the moment I’m strapped, at least for that kind of money, so I have to deal myself out.”
Bail was something I knew nothing whatever about. I had heard of bail bondsmen, but just who they were and how they worked was completely out of my world. He waited some more, sipping his seltzer a bit, and then went on: “I have a house, of course. My father left methe place, and I still live there. And it’s worth double the bail, which is what they require. Unfortunately, I borrowed some money on it— so that’s out. I could sign a property bond otherwise, and I’d be only too glad to. But what you can’t do, you can’t. That’s what’s getting me. He knows about the house but not about the mortgage, and wonders why I don’t sign his bond. And for some reason I hate to tell him the truth. It sounds as though I just cooked up an excuse.”
“Start over. Explain about the house.”
He did, in words of one syllable, telling how the bail bondsmen use one house over and over, to sign a dozen bonds, each one for a nice charge, “but the house must be free and clear. If it’s mortgaged it can’t be pledged.”
“And it bothers you, not to be able to help?”
“Well? Wouldn’t it bother you?”
He opened up a little bit then, saying how Mr. Lacey was more than a friend. “He’s someone I badly need, for something I’m shooting for. I have an eye on a position in
Then one night he came in earlier than usual and didn’t bring up the subject. He seemed in a very low mood, as though something was on his mind. I asked: “What is it, Tom? Did I pour gravy on your ice cream? What’s on your mind anyway?”
“Plenty. I have a friend that’s in trouble.”
“Someone I know?”
“Jim Lacey.”
“… Oh? The one whose son you spelled the day of the funeral?”
“The one. You may have seen him in the paper. He’s been indicted.”
“Indicted? For what?”
For answer, he dug into his briefcase and tossed a newspaper down on the table between us. The story was on the bottom of page one. James E. Lacey, senior municipal engineer with the county, had been indicted in a matter involving taking bribes to recommend sewer connections for some new development area. It was one of those cases they have all the time in Prince George’s County, where millions are made overnight on the basis of rezoning decisions, the award of sewer connections, of water connections, of paving connections. “Well, I’m sorry,” I said, as pleasantly as I could. “It always hurts when a friend gets in some trouble.”
“What hurts is, I’m not able to help.”
Not knowing what help was called for, I said nothing, but in a moment he explained: “He’s an idiot, a gambler, up to his ears in debt. No one would lend him a dime, and his trouble is, he can’t make bail. It’s been set at $12,000, and will cost over $1,000 for a bond, and he just doesn’t have it. Can you imagine, a man with his power and connections, sitting in a jail cell because he can’t raise a thousand dollars? If I had it I’d stand the bond myself—but it’s out of the question for me.”
“… You haven’t got a thousand dollars either?”
He smiled at me as if to say, What care I about money? But what it said was, No, I haven’t got a thousand dollars either.
“Once some of the things I’m working on ripen, I’ll have that much many times over—but at the moment I’m strapped, at least for that kind of money, so I have to deal myself out.”
Bail was something I knew nothing whatever about. I had heard of bail bondsmen, but just who they were and how they worked was completely out of my world. He waited some more, sipping his seltzer a bit, and then went on: “I have a house, of course. My father left methe place, and I still live there. And it’s worth double the bail, which is what they require. Unfortunately, I borrowed some money on it— so that’s out. I could sign a property bond otherwise, and I’d be only too glad to. But what you can’t do, you can’t. That’s what’s getting me. He knows about the house but not about the mortgage, and wonders why I don’t sign his bond. And for some reason I hate to tell him the truth. It sounds as though I just cooked up an excuse.”
“Start over. Explain about the house.”
He did, in words of one syllable, telling how the bail bondsmen use one house over and over, to sign a dozen bonds, each one for a nice charge, “but the house must be free and clear. If it’s mortgaged it can’t be pledged.”
“And it bothers you, not to be able to help?”
“Well? Wouldn’t it bother you?”
He opened up a little bit then, saying how Mr. Lacey was more than a friend. “He’s someone I badly need, for something I’m shooting for. I have an eye on a position in
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