The Underground Man

26

Steve Winslow smiled at Jeremy Dawson through the wire mesh screen in the lockup. “I like your haircut.”

Jeremy’s eyes flashed. “Hey, fuck you,” he said. He ran his hand over his bald head. “I feel like a freak.”

Steve had trouble keeping a straight face. He shrugged. “Well, there’s freaks and there’s freaks.”

“Hey, I don’t need your abuse. You said shave it off and I shaved it off. But I feel stupid as hell.”

“Relax. Bald is sexy. Remember Yul Brynner.”

“Who?”

Steve groaned. “Never mind.” He waved his hand around the lockup. “So how do you like your new surroundings?”

“Jail is jail, man. When am I gonna get out of here?”

“Small problem there. You’ve been indicted for murder.”

“Yeah, well what about bail?”

“You can’t make bail.”

“Why not? I just inherited a million bucks.”

“Yeah, well that’s another thing.”

“What is?”

“Where’s page 2, Jeremy?”

“What?”

“You know what. What happened to the second page?”

“What second page?”

“The will, Jeremy. The second page of the will.”

Jeremy stared at Steve Winslow. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Steve frowned. He’d been watching Jeremy’s reactions closely. Jeremy Dawson seemed utterly baffled. Either his confusion was genuine, or the kid was one hell of an actor.

Steve Winslow couldn’t tell which. And, he figured, with anyone else he probably could. But this punk kid, this bald teenager staring up at him, this stupid street-smart crack dealer, he couldn’t read at all.

Steve sighed. “There’s a problem with the will, Jeremy.”

“What do you mean? What problem?”

“The will isn’t signed.”

“What are you talking about? I saw him write it. He wrote his name on it.”

“He didn’t sign it at the bottom.”

“What the hell difference does it make?”

“Maybe none. But the point is, your relatives are contesting it.”

“Can they win?”

“I don’t think so.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is they’re contesting it. Whether they can win or not is a moot point. That means it’s not important, it doesn’t matter. What’s important is they’re contesting it at all.”

“Why?”

“Because until the will contest is settled, the will can’t be probated and you can’t inherit.”

“Oh.”

“Which means you can’t touch the money, and I can’t use it to pay your bail.”

“Shit.”

“Exactly. Which means right now the only way for you to get out of here is to have twelve people stand up and say ‘not guilty.’ So forget the will, forget the money, forget the bail. Beating the rap, that’s the only thing now.”

Jeremy held up his hands. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. I can’t forget the will. Now, you say they’re contesting it-how can they do that?”

“Any relative can contest a will.”

“No, I mean what are they claiming?”

“First of all, that the will isn’t signed.”

“It is signed.”

“It’s a debatable point. I’m gonna debate it in court. I don’t need to debate it with you.”

“But isn’t it a point you can win?”

“Nothing’s certain. Let’s just say we got a good shot.”

“O.K. What else do they claim?”

“They’ll claim undue influence.”

“What does that mean?”

“That you were with your uncle when he wrote the will, that you coerced him into writing it.”

“Bullshit. It was all his idea. I didn’t even know he was doing it.”

“I understand. I’m just telling you what they’ll claim.”

“Well, they’re wrong.”

“And I will so inform the judge. I’m on your side, Jeremy. You don’t have to argue this with me.”

“Yeah, right. What else will they claim?”

“That Jack Walsh wasn’t of sound mind when he made the will.”

“Wait a minute. That’s been decided. You proved he was.”

“A judge ruled him sane then. It doesn’t mean one now will rule he was.”

“But-”

Steve Winslow held up his hands. “Look, kid. I’m trying to help. But I talk to you, and I can’t help feeling, ‘My god, am I here all alone?’ Now I understand, a million bucks is a lot of money, you’re interested, you wanna know if you’re gonna get it.

“But get this through your thick head. If you’re convicted of murder, one, you’re going to jail and two, you ain’t getting a cent. So get your head out of the clouds, stop thinking about the damn money, and give me some help with this damn murder case.”

Steve stopped and rubbed his head. “Now, you’ve had time to think about it. Who had the combination to your locker? Who could have taken the gun?”

Jeremy sighed and shook his head. “There’s no one.”

“Nobody ever picked up something for you after school?”

“No.”

“No one you ever asked to do you a favor, to get something out of your locker for you?”

“No.”

“What about the movie?”

“What?”

“The movie. And afterwards. Your alibi. You remember anyone who saw you, anyone at all?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Think. You must have seen someone.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“The whole time?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t see anyone?”

“No.”

Steve sighed. “Christ, you’re a big help.”

Jeremy shrugged. “Hey, I’m sorry.”

Steve looked at him. He shook his head. “No, you’re not,” he said. “But let me tell you something. When District Attorney Harry Dirkson gets you on the witness stand-” Steve pointed his finger, “-then you’ll be sorry.”