Fuzz полностью

So they let the kid go at two-thirty without even offering him an ice cream cone or some gumdrops, and then they sat around the squadroom handling the suspect note with a pair of tweezers and decided to send it over to Lieutenant Sam Grossman at the police lab in the hope that he could lift some latent prints that did not belong to Sergeant Murchison.

None of them mentioned the deaf man.

Nobody likes to talk about ghosts.

Or even think about them.

"Hello, Bernice," Meyer said into the telephone, "is your boss around? Yeah, sure, I'll wait."

Patiently, he tapped a pencil on his desk and waited. In a moment, a bright perky voice materialized on the line.

"Assistant District Attorney Raoul Chabrier," the voice insisted.

"Hello, Rollie, this is Meyer Meyer up here at the 87th," Meyer said. "How's every little thing down there on Chelsea Street?"

"Oh, pretty good, pretty good," Chabrier said, "What have you got for us, a little homicide up there perhaps?"

"No, nothing like that, Rollie," Meyer said.

"A little ax murder perhaps?" Chabrier said.

"No, as a matter of fact, this is something personal," Meyer said.

"Oh-ho!" Chabrier said.

"Yeah. Listen, Rollie, what can you do if somebody uses your name?"

"What do you mean?" Chabrier asked.

"In a book."

"Oh-ho!" Chabrier said. "Did somebody use your name in a book?"

"Yes."

"In a book about the workings of the police department?"

"No."

"Were you mentioned specifically?"

"No. Well, yes and no. What do you mean?"

"Did the book specifically mention Detective 3rd/Grade Meyer …"

"Detective 2nd/Grade," Meyer corrected.

"It specifically mentioned Detective 2nd/Grade Meyer Meyer of the …"

"No."

"It didn't mention you?"

"No. Not that way."

"I thought you said somebody used your name."

"Well, they did. She did."

"Meyer, I'm a busy man," Chabrier said. "I've got a case load here

that would fell a brewer's horse, now would you please tell me what's on your mind?"

"A novel," Meyer said. "It's a novel named Meyer Meyer."

"That is the title of the novel?" Chabrier asked.

"Yes. Can I sue?"

"I'm a criminal lawyer," Chabrier said.

"Yes, but …"

"I am not familiar with the law of literary property.'

"Yes, but …"

"Is it a good book?"

"I don't know," Meyer said. "You see," he said, "I'm a person, and this book is about some college professor or something, and he's a short plump fellow …"

"I'll have to read it," Chabrier said.

"Will you call me after you've read it?"

"What for?"

"To advise me."

"On what?"

"On whether I can sue or not."

"I'll have to read the law," Chabrier said. "Do I owe you a favor, Meyer?"

"You owe me six of them," Meyer said somewhat heatedly, "as for example the several times I could have got you out of bed at three o'clock in the morning when we had real meat here in the squadroom and at great risk to myself I held the suspect until the following morning so you could get your beauty sleep on nights when you had the duty. Now, Rollie, I'm asking a very tiny favor, I don't want to go to the expense of getting some fancy copyright lawyer or whatever the hell, I just want to know whether I can sue somebody who used my name that's on a record in the Department of Health on a birth certificate, can I sue this person who uses my name as the title of a novel, and for a character in a novel, when here I am a real person, for Christ's sake!"

"Okay, don't get excited," Chabrier said.

"Who's excited?" Meyer said.

"I'll read the law and call you back."

"When?"

"Sometime."

"Maybe if we got somebody in the squadroom sometime when you've got the duty, I'll fly in the face of Miranda-Escobedo again and hold off till morning so you can peacefully snore the night …"

"Okay, okay, I'll get back to you tomorrow." Chabrier paused. "Don't you want to know what time tomorrow?"

"What time tomorrow?" Meyer asked.

The landlady had arthritis, and she hated winter, and she didn't like cops too well, either. She immediately told Cotton Hawes that there had been other policemen prowling around ever since that big mucky-muck got shot last night, why couldn't they leave a lady alone? Hawes, who had been treated to similar diatribes from every landlady and superintendent along the street, patiently explained that he was only doing his job, and said he knew she would want to co-operate in bringing a murderer to justice. The landlady said the city was rotten and corrupt, and as far as she was concerned they could shoot all those damn big mucky-mucks, and she wouldn't lose no sleep over any of them.