The Underground Man

3

Steve Winslow leaned back in his chair, put his feet up on his desk, and opened the New York Times. A former actor, Steve read the paper inside out, starting with the drama section. It was skimpy this morning- no articles, no reviews, mostly only movie ads. Steve moved on to the sports. The Knicks had won again. Not surprising-their first good season in years and they were on a roll. The Yankees were rumored to be about to make a managerial change. That was news? Hell, you could run the same column every six months.

Steve sighed. Shit. Another day with nothing to do but read the paper. And just when he’d thought he had it made.

For a while, Steve Winslow had been the most obscure lawyer in New York City. A lawyer with only one client who’d handled only one case. And handled it in such a way as to make himself look like an incompetent clown. Then the Marilyn Harding case had come along and changed all that. He’d made a splash in that one all right, right on the front page of the Daily News. It was sensational.

Too sensational. He’d made a name for himself all right, and he had a law practice now. But it wasn’t a normal law practice. Because the type of publicity he got wasn’t the type that attracted your standard brand of client. It was the type that attracted mainly the undesirables and the kooks.

And not in great numbers, either. Most days there were none. Some days there was one. Today there’d been two. Mr. Thorngood and Mr. Walsh.

One undesirable and one kook.

Steve sighed again, put the section of the paper down. So much for drama and sports. Time for the hard news. Pro-life protests, terrorists, and the budget deficit. Steve picked up the first section, opened the front page.

Tracy Garvin came in the door. “Someone else to see you.”

Steve folded the paper, kicked his feet off the desk and sat up. “You’re kidding.”

Tracy smiled. “I know. It’s a deluge. Three in one day.”

“Who is it?”

“A Mr. Carl Jenson.”

“What does he want?”

“He wouldn’t say.”

Steve grinned. “Again? You must be getting a complex.”

“Not as long as you keep reading them the riot act when they try to throw me out.”

“Never fear,” Steve said. “So what’s he like?”

“He’s about thirty, medium height and build, brown hair, blue eyes.”

“That’s a police description. How does he strike you?”

“I don’t like him. And not just ’cause he wouldn’t talk to me. He’s got a pleasant enough face-not ugly, not handsome-just ordinary. It’s just his manner. I mean, he’s well dressed. Presentable. There’s nothing I can put my finger on. I just don’t like him.”

Steve grinned. “You’re advising me against taking him on as a client?”

“Of course not. It’s just a feeling, and he may be a nice guy, but you asked me so I told you.”

“All right,” Steve said. “Show the gentleman in.”

Tracy went out and returned moments later ushering in Carl Jenson. She made a show of closing the door behind her, indicating that she intended to stay, before saying, “Mr. Jenson to see you, Mr. Winslow.”

The gesture was wasted. Jenson strode up to the desk. Steve rose to meet him.

“Mr. Winslow?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Carl Jenson.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

They shook hands.

“Sit down, Mr. Jenson,” Steve said. “What can I do for you?”

Jenson sat in the clients’ chair. Steve sat at his desk. Tracy pulled up a chair, opened her notebook. Jenson gave her a look, but said nothing. Tracy frowned slightly. Steve’s eyes twinkled. She’d been hoping Jenson would object to her being there so Steve would dress him down.

“I was hoping we could exchange some information,” Jenson said.

“I beg your pardon?”

Jenson put up his hands. “I know, I know. You’re an attorney. You don’t want to tell me anything. But I think once you understand the situation-” Jenson smiled. “Well, I’m sure we can work something out.”

“I’m not so sure we can,” Steve said. “But what did you have in mind?”

“It’s about Uncle Jack, of course.”

“Uncle Jack?”

“Yes. Perhaps you didn’t catch the name. I’m Carl Jenson.”

“Your name I caught. Your drift is what I’m having problems with.”

“But surely he mentioned me.”

“Who?”

“Uncle Jack.”

“And who is Uncle Jack?”

“Then he didn’t mention me. That’s strange. No wonder you’re confused. I’m sorry. I keep saying Uncle Jack. I mean Jack Walsh, of course.”

Steve’s face was absolutely neutral. “Jack Walsh?”

Jenson smiled and put up his hands. “Sure, sure. Play it safe and conservative. Like you never heard the name. All right. I’ll tell you. I’m referring to Jack Walsh. My uncle. The man who came to your office this morning to consult you.”

Jenson stopped, looked at him. Steve said nothing. Jenson frowned. “Or perhaps he used another name. That would be just like him.” Jenson smiled. “But you couldn’t miss him. I mean the bum.”

“The bum?”

“Yeah, the bum. The street person. The man who looked like he rolled in the gutter before he came up here.”

Steve said nothing. His face remained positively neutral.

“Surely you remember him,” Jenson said dryly.

Steve sighed. “Mr. Jenson. I think I made my position clear. I have no intention of discussing any of my clients with you in any way. If you came for information, you’re in the wrong place. Now, if you want to talk, I will let you talk. If you want to keep making statements that are really questions, and trying to get a rise out of me, I suggest that you leave.”

Jenson nodded. “Sure, sure. You say that now. But once you understand the situation … All right. All right. You listen, I’ll tell you.”

Jenson stopped and leaned in confidentially. “The first thing you have to understand is that the man is sick. I don’t mean physically sick. Physically he’s strong as a horse. No, I mean mentally sick. The man has lost it. Gone off the deep end. So whatever he told you, you shouldn’t take it at face value.”

Steve closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. “Mr. Jenson,” he said. “We don’t seem to be getting anywhere. And I doubt if there is anywhere to get. In the interests of expediency, I am going to discuss this with you as if I knew what you were talking about. Which quite frankly I don’t. But setting that aside, and without admitting for a moment that I even know the man you’re talking about, let’s discuss him. This man-your uncle-Jack Walsh-what makes you think he’s not mentally competent?”

“Are you kidding?” Jenson said. “Just look at him. He sleeps in the subways. He lives like a bum.”

“Mr. Jenson, there are thousands of homeless people in New York City. Granted, some of them are mentally incompetent. But a large number of them are merely poor.”

“But he isn’t poor,” Jenson said. “That’s the whole point. The man’s worth millions.”

“Millions?”

“Yes, of course. Didn’t he tell you that?”

Steve frowned. “Again with the questions.” Steve rubbed his head. “Mr. Jenson, what makes you think your uncle consulted me?”

“I don’t think, I know.”

“How do you know?”

“I followed him here.”

“You followed him?”

“Yes.”

“Why were you following him?”

“To see where he went, of course. But, oh, you don’t mean that. You have to understand. None of us had seen him in weeks.”

“Us?”

“Yes. The family. His family.”

“And who might that be?”

Jenson frowned. “But surely you know that. If you don’t there’s no point. But you won’t let on, because you won’t tell me what he told you.”

“Who’s the family?” Steve rephrased his question.

“I don’t know why I should answer your questions when you won’t answer mine.”

“Any reason why you don’t want me to know who his family is?”

“None at all.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I was just pointing out that it wasn’t fair.”

“I never claimed to be fair. You sought this interview. I told you it was going to be one-sided.”

Jenson glared at him for a moment. Then he shook his head. “All right, have it your way. The family. Let’s see. There’s me. My sister Rose-that’s Rose Tindel. Her husband, Jason Tindel. My cousin Pat, Pat Grayson. Her husband, Fred Grayson. My Aunt Claire, Claire Chesterton. She’s Uncle Jack’s niece.”

“Wait a minute. Your aunt is your uncle’s niece?”

“No, no. That does sound strange, doesn’t it. Jack Walsh is really my great-uncle, but I call him Uncle Jack. My mother was his brother’s daughter. They’re both dead now. So’s my father. I always think of him as Uncle Jack.”

“I see. So that’s the family?”

“Yes. Except for Jeremy. He’s eighteen. He’s Jack’s sister’s grandson. His parents were killed in a car accident when he was three. Aunt Rose brought him up.”

“All right,” Steve said. “And you say none of you had seen him for weeks?”

“That’s right.”

“And then today?”

“I saw him on the street.”

“Speak to him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Jenson waved his hand. “You don’t understand.”

“I’m trying to understand. You’re not giving me much help. Why wouldn’t you speak to your uncle? Why would you just follow him?”

“Because he wouldn’t speak to me.”

“Why not?”

“I told you. He’s strange.”

“So what was the point of following him?”

Jenson’s eyes flicked momentarily. “To see where he goes. What he’s up to. Which is why I’m here.”

Steve sighed. He thought for a moment. He turned to Tracy Garvin. “Miss Garvin. This man is not consulting me as a client. I don’t need notes of this interview. Besides, I think your presence is inhibiting him.”

Tracy’s face fell. She looked at Steve as if she couldn’t quite believe he’d said that.

“So,” Steve said, “why don’t you go call Mark Taylor. See if he’s turned up anything on the Halsburg case. If he has, coordinate with him and set everything up.”

Tracy stared at him. There was no Halsburg case. She blinked. Then nodded. “Yes, Mr. Winslow,” she said. She folded her notebook, got up, and went out the door.

Steve Winslow turned back to Jenson. “All right,” he said. “It’s just you and me here. We can stop beating around the bush. If you won’t quote me, I won’t quote you. What the hell’s going on?”

Jenson smiled. “You now admit Uncle Jack called on you?”

“I’ll admit anything you like. I can always deny it later. But say Uncle Jack was here. Why shouldn’t I listen to him, and what’s it to you?”

“That’s more like it,” Jenson said. “All right, let’s talk turkey. My uncle’s worth a lot of money. It’s his. All his. Made it himself. A self-made man. It’s a classic success story. Who was it-Horatio Alger, right? Anyway, that’s him. Made it in the stock market. Started with a hundred bucks, parlayed it into a small fortune. In his day, the man was a genius. Sharp as a tack. Now …” Jenson shrugged.

“What happened?”

“He got old. Senile. Lost it.”

“Just like that?”

Jenson’s eyes shifted. “No. It was gradual.”

“Nothing happened to trigger it?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

“No, his mind just started getting muddled.”

“When?”

“Within the last year.”

“Before that he was fine?”

“Yes.”

“And he had a home?”

Jenson nodded. “Now you’ve got it. That’s the whole point. He had a home. A life. A family.”

“Where was home?”

“He had a house in Long Island. Great Neck. Gorgeous house. Lived there thirty years. One day he up and sells it, goes and lives on the subway.” Jenson smiled and shrugged. “What more do I have to say?”

“How does that affect you?”

Jenson looked at him. “Are you kidding? I was living there. In the house. We all were. Suddenly he sells it out from under us. No word, no warning, we’re out on the street. You know what it’s like trying to get an apartment in the city these days? Forget it. Right now we got a bungalow in Teaneck, New Jersey. We’re all jammed into it and lucky to get it. Meanwhile he’s running around the subway system begging quarters with the winos. All the time, the man’s worth millions.”

“So,” Steve said, “what is it you want?”

“I told you what I want. Let’s swap some information. Maybe we can help each other.”

“How so?”

“Look. The man’s insane. You can’t accept employment from a man who’s mentally incompetent. The way I understand it, he’s not responsible for his actions, so anything he does wouldn’t be legally binding. So you start working for him, you could find yourself out on a limb.”

“Whereas?” Steve said.

“Whereas, if you cooperate with me, I could make it worth your while.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. You have to understand. I’m his heir. We all are. We’re blood relations. When he dies, his money goes to us.”

“It does?”

“Yes, it does. In equal portions, share and share alike. I’ve seen the will.”

“I see,” Steve said.

“I’m sure you do,” Jenson said. “But that’s just the thing. Uncle Jack’s lost his marbles. He’s not responsible for his actions and he might do anything. You see the situation. Now he’s consulted a lawyer, and of course that worries me. What if he should try to change his will? He can’t, of course, because he’s not legally competent, but what if he tries? What if he decides to disinherit all of us, and leave the whole shooting match to some wino he met on the subway?”

“What if he did?”

“Well, I don’t think you’d want to be in the position of helping a man who didn’t know what he was doing throw away his money by doing something idiotic.”

“I see.”

“So I’m asking you point blank. Did Uncle Jack consult you about his will?”

Steve shook his head. “You’re inquiring into matters which I’m not at liberty to discuss.”

Jenson’s jaw dropped open. “Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not.”

Jenson got to his feet. “I don’t believe this,” he said. “After all I told you. I mean, you sent your secretary out of the room so we could talk man to man. I thought you understood the situation, then you make me an answer like that.” Jenson shook his head. His face was flushed. “Some attorney,” he said. “What did he promise you? A hundred grand? Two hundred? It doesn’t matter, ’cause you aren’t going to see a penny.” Jenson drew himself up and glared at Winslow. “What a fucking disgrace,” he said. “A man’s trying to defraud his family out of millions, but you can’t discuss it. Probably even think you’re gonna help him do it. Well, fat chance. I’d like to see you try to collect your fee.”

Jenson turned and stalked out, slamming the door behind him.