Authors: John Katzenbach
‘Who am I, Mr Jefferson?’
‘I don’t know. I ain’t never seen you before.’
‘I hate lies. Once again, who am I, Mr Jefferson?’
‘I don’t know, I don’t know, Jesus, why you doing this?’ Leroy Jefferson’s reply was high-pitched with anxiety.
The visitor sighed. Jefferson felt the knife on his leg, tightened his stomach muscles against the expected pain, but instead the voice simply continued.
‘I saw you today, Mr Jefferson. In the courtroom, pleading guilty to all those phony charges. I had had such high hopes for you, Mr Jefferson, when I read of your arrest. Imagine my surprise this morning when I saw in the paper that you’d been cleared of Mrs Millstein’s murder -and that you were going to help the police in their inquiries. Of course, the story didn’t say what inquiries those might be, but I thought it better to err on the side of safety. So I hurried right over to the courtroom and took my seat right with the rest of the curious and the concerned in the back, and waited for you to come out.
You appeared preoccupied, Mr Jefferson. All eager to get on with your business and not attentive to your surroundings. That’s a bad habit for anyone of a criminal persuasion, don’t you think? Always smarter to take stock of who’s who and what’s what, even in a crowded courtroom. Should have taken the time to go over each and every one of the faces that were packed inside. But you didn’t do that, did you, Mr Jefferson? Instead you conveniently provided me with your address. So, I came on over and decided to wait for you here, Mr Jefferson. Because I had some questions and I have some doubts and I hate uncertainty. You’re a professional criminal, Mr Jefferson. Don’t you think that is always the smartest approach: assume the worst. Assume there’s a problem. And if there isn’t, well, then you’re pleasantly surprised. Isn’t that right, Mr Jefferson?’
‘Man, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about’
The last words he spoke were swallowed by a sharp pain as the knife blade probed the bandages again, searching for skin and muscle. He breathed out harshly:
‘Goddamn it, that hurts, man, I don’t know what, you’re crazy, just leave me alone …”
‘Who am I, Mr Jefferson?’
Leroy Jefferson didn’t answer. Tears of pain cluttered his face, running down his cheeks. Very little that the man said to him was clear. All he could taste was an acid dryness in his mouth.
‘You a killer,’ Leroy Jefferson said.
The man hesitated, and Jefferson heard him inhale deeply.
‘That’s a start,’ said the man. ‘Here is a simple question: who is Simon Winter?’ Leroy Jefferson was confused. He licked the sweat from
his lips. ‘I don’t know that name.’
Pain like a rocket soared through him and he gasped out in the darkness, a scream rising within him, racing toward his lips, only to stop, gurgling in his throat when he heard the man say: ‘Stay quiet!’
His leg was aflame. The knife had scraped through the wrappings, twisting at flesh. Leroy Jefferson tried to bend forward, twisting against the confinements of the duct tape and the wheelchair. ‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘Don’t do that, man. Please don’t do that.’
‘Who am I, Mr Jefferson?’
‘Please, please, whatever, just don’t do that again …”
‘That was only a start, Mr Jefferson. I’ll try again. Who is Simon Winter and what does he know about me?’
Leroy Jefferson let words burst through his lips, a torrent of fear, almost as if he could already sense the burning in his leg as the knife ripped at tendons and nerves.
‘Man, I don’t know! I never heard that name before!’
For a moment the man was silent and Leroy Jefferson searched through the darkness for the knife. He felt the man shifting next to him, reaching at the damaged leg, and he quickly added: ‘That’s the truth, man. I got no idea, don’t hurt me again!’
‘All right,’ the voice said after a pause. ‘I did not think you necessarily knew the answer to that question.’ There was another silence before the voice continued, ‘Mr Jefferson, you must have the patience of a spider. Spin your web and wait for your prey to deliver itself to you.’
The voice hesitated, then continued: ‘Isn’t that right, Mr Jefferson?’
He answered quickly. ‘Sure. Yes. What you say.’
A small, bitter laugh creased the darkness. ‘Who am I, Mr Jefferson?’
‘Please, I don’t know. I don’t wanta know, and even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell nobody.’
‘Do you think I’m a criminal, like you, Mr Jefferson?’ ‘No, yes, man, I don’t know…’
‘You think I’m some parasite that kills and robs to support a disgusting drug habit? You think I’m like you?’ ‘No, no, that’s not what I meant.’ ‘Then, who am I, Mr Jefferson?’
Leroy Jefferson sobbed his response, a plaintive plea mingled with the aching pain that came in waves from his ravaged leg. ‘I don’t know, I don’t know…’
He heard the man start to move about the apartment, circling him, and he swiveled his head, trying to follow the shape as it traveled through the shadows in the living room. After a moment the voice asked, in a steady, mildly curious voice:
‘Tell me, if you were to die tonight, right here, right in the next two seconds, Mr Jefferson, would the world even hesitate for a second to note your passing?’
‘Man, please, I’ll tell you what you want, but I don’t know what you’re saying. You talking crazy talk. I don’t understand. I just don’t understand.’
‘I have been a part of great things, Mr Jefferson. Some of the greatest moments this world has ever seen. Unforgettable events. Incredible times.’
The voice emptied the room of everything except fear. Leroy Jefferson could see the man’s outline as he moved past the diffuse, weak light tossed haphazardly into the room through the living room window by a streetlight lurking somewhere distant. ‘Who am I, Mr Jefferson?’
He shook his head in the darkness. ‘Oh, please don’t ask me that! Man, I don’t know who you are!’ The voice again slid a small, coarse laugh into the still air
around him. It seemed to come from several spots at once, and Leroy Jefferson pivoted his head about, trying to find where the man stood in the ink-dark spots of the room. Again he wanted to cry out, but he knew it would be useless. He shivered deeply, and waited for the voice to ask another question. He felt confused, afraid. He barely understood what the man was asking. The language was beyond his experience. But then, so was the pain in his leg, which throbbed and gnawed at him, keeping pace with his heartbeats and the fear that ricocheted about within him.
‘All right,’ the man said. He continued moving from side to side, sometimes pausing behind the wheelchair. Leroy Jefferson pivoted nervously. ‘Let’s talk about your deal with the State of Florida. What sort of deal is it, Mr Jefferson?’
‘I got to tell them what I know about some crimes.’
‘Good. That’s helpful. What crimes, Mr Jefferson?’
‘Breakins. Robberies. Bunch of them on Miami Beach.’
‘Good. Keep going.’
‘Man, that’s it! Whole pile of little shit crimes, some robberies, like I said. Maybe rat on some coke dealers too, that’s what they want from me.’
The voice moved around behind him. ‘No, that doesn’t make much sense, Mr Jefferson.’
‘I’m telling you the truth …’
The man laughed. ‘You insult me, Mr Jefferson. You insult the truth.’
He suddenly felt the pressure of the knife against his cheek and he wanted to scream. The man must have anticipated this, because he whispered into Jefferson’s ear: ‘Don’t shout. Don’t yell. Don’t do something that might make me want to end this.’
He bit back terror and nodded.
There was a second’s delay before the man spoke. ‘How strong are you, Mr Jefferson? Remember, don’t shout out. You remember that, don’t you?’
Jefferson nodded.
‘Good,’ the man said. Then he slowly drew the tip of the knife across Leroy Jefferson’s cheek, cutting a deep furrow in the skin.
Jefferson clenched down on his lip to avoid screaming. Salty blood ran into the corner of his mouth.
‘Don’t lie to me, Mr Jefferson. I truly despise being lied to.’
The voice was never raised. It stayed a low, cold tone.
Jefferson thought he should say something, but he was preoccupied with the knife blade, which tickled at his other cheek.
‘One should always use their anger constructively, Mr Jefferson.’
The knife tip dug into his skin again, and was drawn slowly across the cheek, parting the flesh. Pain redoubled, and for an instant he thought he might pass out.
The man sighed, and moved to the side of the wheelchair. For just an instant his profile was caught in a wayward shaft of weak light. His white hair glistened, almost as if it were electric.
‘There is a great difference between being old and being experienced, Mr Jefferson.’ The man bent down over him. ‘Now consider what has happened. I’ve been quite patient with you. I’m not asking for something you cannot provide. All I demand is a little bit of honest information.’
‘I’m trying, please, I’m trying …’
‘I don’t think you’re trying quite hard enough, Mr Jefferson.’
‘I win. I promise.’
‘Who knows about Der Schattenmann, Mr Jefferson?’
‘Man, please, I don’t know that name.’
‘Who is searching for him? Is it the police, Mr Jefferson? Or that attractive young prosecutor? The old people, I know about. But who else? How is it that you are involved in all this? Did you see me that night, Mr Jefferson? I want to know and I want to know now. These are not unreasonable questions, Mr Jefferson, but still, you persist in evasion. Because of that, you’ve forced me to deliver to you a pair of scars, one in either cheek. The wounds will heal, Mr Jefferson, but the scars will remain to remind you of the evils of obstinacy. And you’ve forced me to probe about in your damaged knee. Do you not think I could ruin it completely, Mr Jefferson? Perhaps I could just start to work the knife blade into all those healing sutures. What do you suppose that might feel like?’
‘Please don’t, man, I’m trying to help…’
‘Are you, Mr Jefferson? I’m not impressed. Mr Silver didn’t lie, when I spoke with him under similar circumstances, although I would not characterize his behavior as completely forthcoming. But he had friends he wanted to protect, and so his reluctance was understandable. As was his death. And Mr Stein, well, that was a meeting doomed from the start, right from the second he saw me, same as Mrs Millstein. These were people that I knew, Mr Jefferson. People I have known for decades. Since I was even younger than you. And they died, Mr Jefferson, just as they always died. Quietly and obediently.’
‘I don’t know what you’re saying, man. Please leave me alone.’
‘I asked them the same question, Mr Jefferson. They knew the answer.’
‘I’m sorry, please. I’m sorry…’
‘Who am I, Mr Jefferson?’
Again he sobbed, his voice shut down from pain and fear. He did not reply. After a moment he heard from behind him: ‘I have more questions. You see, Mr Jefferson, I know that the State of Florida wouldn’t cut you a deal after you shot a policeman unless there was someone really special that they were hunting for. Someone who really mattered, mattered enough for them to do something I’m sure they found extremely unpleasant and distasteful. And that was letting you go. Nasty bit of work, that. Letting a junkie who almost murdered a policeman walk free. Must stick in the throat of every policeman and prosecutor in town. So, somehow I just don’t think that you’re helping them out on a bunch of insignificant crimes. No, there’s someone out there much more important, isn’t there?’ ‘Please, man.’
‘Much more important, correct?’ ‘Yes, man, whatever you say!’
‘That someone, of course, is me. It has always been me, but they never knew it.’
The man in the darkness seemed to take a deep breath. ‘So, now, Mr Jefferson, I want the truth. Do you know no one has ever managed to refuse me, in all these years of asking questions. No one asked - no one! - has ever not answered. A remarkable record, that, don’t you think? It was always so easy. People are so vulnerable. They want to live, and when you can take that away from them, it gives you all the power you need. You know something, Mr Jefferson? They always told me. Back then, late at night. There were sirens in the distance from the air raids, and the streets were bombed out. A city of death. It wasn’t all that different from your own neighborhood, Mr Jefferson, which is a curious and interesting thing, don’t you think? We’ve come so far, and yet, not really, have we? Anyway,
Mr Jefferson, they always told me what I wanted to know. Where was the money? The jewelry? And where were their relatives? Their neighbors? Their friends? Where were the others hiding? They always told me something that I needed to know, and they were smart people, Mr Jefferson. Smarter than you. Educated. Resourceful. But I caught them, just as I’ve caught you. And then they told me what I wanted, and so will you.’
Leroy Jefferson heard his own raspy breathing fill the room.
‘Consider your situation for a second…’ the voice continued. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, and he felt wildly disorientated, adrift, as if he were not in his own apartment, in the part of the city he claimed as his own, where he’d grown up and spent almost all his waking hours, but was someplace else, drowning someplace far from shore. ‘You’re already crippled, and now I’ve disfigured you with scars. What remains?’ He pressed the blade up against Leroy Jefferson’s lips.’.. Or maybe you’d prefer to be blind, Mr Jefferson? I could take your eyes. Pve done that before. Are you willing to go through the rest of your life as a blind, dumb cripple? What sort of life would that be, Mr Jefferson? Especially for someone of, shall we say, your economic and social background? I can deliver that, you know…’
Leroy Jefferson saw the knife blade hovering in front of his face, reflecting the small light in the room.
‘… Or maybe something else, something important…’
The man abruptly dropped the knife down, pressing the flat of the blade hard against Leroy Jefferson’s crotch.
‘Isn’t it remarkable how many different ways there are to hurt a man? Physically. Mentally. Emotionally…’ The knife pressed down sickeningly, and Leroy Jefferson thought he might vomit.