The Heckler

“I see it, all right. But I don’t think there’s enough here to add up to extortion, and I can’t—This guy hasn’t made anyreal attempts on your life, has he?”

“What are you gonna do?” Raskin asked. “Wait until he kills me? Is that what? And then you’ll make a nice funeral for me?”

“But you said you didn’t think he was serious.”

“To kill me, I don’t think so. Butsuppose, Meyer. Just suppose. Listen, there are crazy people all over, you know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, certainly.”

“So suppose this crazy nut comes after me with a shotgun or a butcher knife or something? I get to be one of those cases in the newspaper where I went to the police and they told me to go home and don’t worry.”

“Dave—”

“‘Dave, Dave!’ Don’t ‘Dave’ me. I remember you when you was in diapers. I come here and tell you a man said he’s going to kill me. Over and over again, he’s said it. So this is attempted murder, no?”

“No, this is not attempted murder.”

“And not extortion, either? Then what is it?”

“Disorderly conduct,” Meyer said. “He’s used offensive, disorderly, threatening, abusive, or insulting language.” Meyer paused and thought for a moment. “Gee, I don’t know, maybe we have got extortion. Heis trying to get you out of that loft by threatening you.”

“Sure. So go pick him up,” Raskin said.

“Who?” Meyer asked.

“The person who’s making the calls.”

“Well, we don’t know who he is, do we?”

“That’s simple,” Raskin said. “Just trace the next call.”

“Impossible to do in this city,” Meyer said. “All our telephone equipment is automatic.”

“So what do we do?”

“I don’t know,” Meyer said. “Does he call at any specific time?”

“So far, all the calls have come in the afternoon, late. Just about closing time, between four and five.”

“Well, look,” Meyer said, “maybe I’ll stop by, this afternoon or tomorrow. To listen in on the calls, if any come. Where’s the loft?”

“Twelve thirteen Culver Avenue,” Raskin said. “You can’t miss it. It’s right upstairs over the bank.”

In the streets, the kids were yelling “April Fool!” as the punch line to their first-of-April jokes. And they chased each other into Grover Park the way kids will always chase each other, leaping the stone walls and cavorting along the path and ducking behind trees and bushes.

“Watch out, Frankie! There’s a tiger on that rock!” and then they shouted “April Fool!”

And then dashing off again to duck behind another rock or another tree, the punch line old and clichéed by this time, but delighting them nonetheless each time it was shouted.

“Over your head, Johnny! An eagle!April Fool! ”

Running over the close-cropped grass and then one of the boys ducking into the trees again, and his voice coming from somewhere in the woods, a voice tinged with shock and awe, reaching out for the path.

“Frankie! There’s a dead guy in here!”

And this time no one shouted “April Fool!”

2.

THE GENTLEMAN THEY FOUND in Grover Park had been dressed for the approaching summer. Or perhapsundressed for it, depending on how you chose to view the situation. No matter how you chose to view it, he was wearing only a pair of black shoes and a pair of white socks, and that’s about as close to being naked as you can come in the streets of any big city. Not that this gentleman was overly worried about arousing the ire of the law. This gentleman was dead.