problem at all.
Frank Jr. more than made up for her. Angry, feisty, raw. He cried when a baby, simmered as he grew. But it was not till he reached h& teens that he began to steal. Haggerty strapped him the first time he was caught. Did no good. Strapped him the second time too. Results the same.
Haggerty, a detective now, used to take long walks alone on lunch hour to the East River, smoking and staring, the container of coffee his only company. His son was a thief. Frank Jr. stole. A cop for a father—not only that, an honest one—-and he stole. His grandfathers both in the force and he stole.
Bad situation.
News began to get out. Frank Jr. was caught a few times, caught at dime stores and candy counters and clothing outfits. And Haggerty couldn ’ t keep it quiet. It was too juicy. Around the precinct it became common knowledge: Haggerty ’ s kid was a whacko.
Bad situation, getting worse.
Being a cop anywhere is a bitch, but trying to cut it in the Apple squares the tensions. Though there are, occasionally, some strange compensations. Like the plastic surgeon on lower Park Avenue who charges a ton for lifts and tucks but who does kneecaps— policemen ’ s kneecaps—free. You tear up a knee on duty, you go to lower Park to the surgeon. And in, would you believe, Staten Island, there ’ s a brilliant dentist who does jaw reconstructions. For cops. As a sideline.
And then there ’ s the Lorber Foundation,.
Ike Lorber wrote books, taught, traveled, lectured, and was generally considered to be just about the most successful, or at least the highest priced shrink in the city. The Foundation—it was really a clinic, but for legal reasons Ike ’ s lawyers wanted it called a foundation—was a large limestone house on Fifth just below Sinai. There was a receptionist, several other shrinks, several other apprentice shrinks, not to mention Lorber ’ s wife, Essy, an analyst of distinction on her own.
Haggerty was just the least intimidated. He mumbled to the receptionist—the elderly prune type—that he had an appointment to see Doctor Lorber and she quick came back with, Which? and he managed that it was Doctor Isaac he wanted and she told him to sit so he sat. Then, a while later, she told him to stand. He stood.
She beckoned for him to follow so he did that too. Finally, she opened a large door and there, seated at an enormous desk, was the Man himself.
Haggerty hadn ’ t known what to expect. Witch doctors weren ’ t his province and more than that, they frightened him. But you couldn ’ t be frightened by this guy.
Placid. That was the word for Ike Lorber. You got the feeling from his expression that he had heard it all, every terror, and no matter what you did, you couldn ’ t shock him and he wouldn ’ t think bad of you. Middle-aged, middle-sized, quick-eyed.
And calm.
Sit down, Frank; thanks for coming over.
Haggerty nodded.
Talking to Captain Hoffman. Said you were into sort of a situation.
The boy steals.
And gets caught.
Yessir. That too.
Which is worse I wonder.
Pause. The stealing.
I took stuff when I was young. Don ’ t most kids?
I can ’ t say. I know that …
Yes, Frank?
I know I never took a thing in all my life. Don ’ t think bad of me, but I never broke the law.
What a world we live in, Frank, when a man has to say don ’ t think bad of me about being honest.
Everybody ’ s cutting corners nowadays, sir. I was brought up not to. Probably sounds stuffy to you but there it is.
And the boy ’ s how old?
Almost sixteen.
And this is hard for you, isn ’ t it, Frank? Being here now, talking about it?
Pause.
Take your time, Frank—nothing but time here.
Pause. Tightness in the throat. Finally: it just fucking kills me, Doctor Lorber.
Nod. His name?
Pause.
Easy, now; really.
Again the tightness. Finally: His name is Frank Jr.
A glance at the thick appointment book. A scratching out of something. Could you bring Frank Jr. here tomorrow do you think? After
Frank Jr. more than made up for her. Angry, feisty, raw. He cried when a baby, simmered as he grew. But it was not till he reached h& teens that he began to steal. Haggerty strapped him the first time he was caught. Did no good. Strapped him the second time too. Results the same.
Haggerty, a detective now, used to take long walks alone on lunch hour to the East River, smoking and staring, the container of coffee his only company. His son was a thief. Frank Jr. stole. A cop for a father—not only that, an honest one—-and he stole. His grandfathers both in the force and he stole.
Bad situation.
News began to get out. Frank Jr. was caught a few times, caught at dime stores and candy counters and clothing outfits. And Haggerty couldn ’ t keep it quiet. It was too juicy. Around the precinct it became common knowledge: Haggerty ’ s kid was a whacko.
Bad situation, getting worse.
Being a cop anywhere is a bitch, but trying to cut it in the Apple squares the tensions. Though there are, occasionally, some strange compensations. Like the plastic surgeon on lower Park Avenue who charges a ton for lifts and tucks but who does kneecaps— policemen ’ s kneecaps—free. You tear up a knee on duty, you go to lower Park to the surgeon. And in, would you believe, Staten Island, there ’ s a brilliant dentist who does jaw reconstructions. For cops. As a sideline.
And then there ’ s the Lorber Foundation,.
Ike Lorber wrote books, taught, traveled, lectured, and was generally considered to be just about the most successful, or at least the highest priced shrink in the city. The Foundation—it was really a clinic, but for legal reasons Ike ’ s lawyers wanted it called a foundation—was a large limestone house on Fifth just below Sinai. There was a receptionist, several other shrinks, several other apprentice shrinks, not to mention Lorber ’ s wife, Essy, an analyst of distinction on her own.
Haggerty was just the least intimidated. He mumbled to the receptionist—the elderly prune type—that he had an appointment to see Doctor Lorber and she quick came back with, Which? and he managed that it was Doctor Isaac he wanted and she told him to sit so he sat. Then, a while later, she told him to stand. He stood.
She beckoned for him to follow so he did that too. Finally, she opened a large door and there, seated at an enormous desk, was the Man himself.
Haggerty hadn ’ t known what to expect. Witch doctors weren ’ t his province and more than that, they frightened him. But you couldn ’ t be frightened by this guy.
Placid. That was the word for Ike Lorber. You got the feeling from his expression that he had heard it all, every terror, and no matter what you did, you couldn ’ t shock him and he wouldn ’ t think bad of you. Middle-aged, middle-sized, quick-eyed.
And calm.
Sit down, Frank; thanks for coming over.
Haggerty nodded.
Talking to Captain Hoffman. Said you were into sort of a situation.
The boy steals.
And gets caught.
Yessir. That too.
Which is worse I wonder.
Pause. The stealing.
I took stuff when I was young. Don ’ t most kids?
I can ’ t say. I know that …
Yes, Frank?
I know I never took a thing in all my life. Don ’ t think bad of me, but I never broke the law.
What a world we live in, Frank, when a man has to say don ’ t think bad of me about being honest.
Everybody ’ s cutting corners nowadays, sir. I was brought up not to. Probably sounds stuffy to you but there it is.
And the boy ’ s how old?
Almost sixteen.
And this is hard for you, isn ’ t it, Frank? Being here now, talking about it?
Pause.
Take your time, Frank—nothing but time here.
Pause. Tightness in the throat. Finally: it just fucking kills me, Doctor Lorber.
Nod. His name?
Pause.
Easy, now; really.
Again the tightness. Finally: His name is Frank Jr.
A glance at the thick appointment book. A scratching out of something. Could you bring Frank Jr. here tomorrow do you think? After
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