Lord!"
Dugman climbed into the car and slammed the door. "And what is our cause, brothers?"
"Say it out!" said Jeffers.
"Let us hear it!" said Maus.
"It is to investigate and invigilate. It is to detect and suspect. It is to bring to the bar of justice lowlife motherfuckers of every description, but especially the lowlife motherfucker responsible for the heinous crime which we got before us now."
"That the truth!" said Jeffers.
"Hear his word!" said Maus.
"Because he has not only done fuck' with the citizens; because he has not only done fuck' with the po-lice; but he done have the temerity to fuck with the Trio, and therefo' he has fuck with the wrong dudes! Mr. Driver, take us to the Deuce!"
"A-men!" said Maus, and cranked the engine to a roar. "I wasn't going to come in," said the dark young woman to Marlene Ciampi. "I figured, what the hell, I was stupid, I learned my lesson. Looking for Mr. Goodbar, and all that, I figured I was lucky not to be dead. But, like, I couldn't just leave it. I started jumping at shadows, being nervous on the street. My sleep is shot. I can't work.
"So I went to the cops. It turns out, if you don't go right away, you might as well not go at all, because you washed the evidence away and also they figure if you waited days, how bad could it be? But they gave me your name down at the precinct, so I figured it was worth a shot and, so…"
Her voiced trailed off. Marlene looked at the card she was filling out. Name: Jo Anne Caputo, West Village address, worked at NYU, age twenty-six, date of incident, description of assailant. Jo Anne had been explaining, without being asked, why she had delayed a week before reporting the rape. It was a familiar reaction, and one that added an additional burden to the prosecution of such cases.
Marlene said, "OK, Ms. Caputo, what I want you to do now is tell me about the incident in as much detail as you can remember."
Caputo took a deep breath. "The incident… OK. I met this guy two weeks ago this coming Saturday, June 10, in a bar called Adam's. It's in SoHo, I don't know the exact address…"
"That's OK, I know it."
"He seemed OK-calm, decent; said his name was Bob Graziano. Didn't put any heavy moves on me. I gave him my number.
"He called me a couple of days later, nice conversation, asked me for a date for the next Saturday, the seventeenth, for dinner and a show. I said OK.
"He showed up around eight. I ask him in, offer him a drink. Right away I notice something different about him-he's more nervous, more agitated. I sat down on my couch, he's still pacing back and forth, rattling ice cubes. So I get up and say something about shouldn't we be going, and he grabs me.
"I thought it was a joke for a second there, like he was parodying a horny guy. But then he started really mauling me, squeezing my breasts, and trying to grab my crotch. I managed to push him away. But when I saw his face was when I really got scared.
"I said to myself, 'JoAnne, you have really done it this time.' I began shouting at him, that he was an asshole, that I wanted him out of there right now, and like that. That's when he pulled out the knife."
"Describe it, please."
"A regular knife, like a kitchen carving knife."
"Not a hunting knife or a switchblade?"
"No, I don't think so. A regular carving knife, about eight or ten inches long, and shiny."
"All right, go ahead. What happened then? And please try to remember his exact words, if you can."
Caputo's voice became lower and more strained. "He told me to take my clothes off. 'Strip, cunt! Now!' is what he said. 'I want to see that precious cunt!' I said, 'Please don't hurt me.' And he said, I forget what, something about don't make me angry, and I'll do anything I want to you-he got real crazy then, so I started taking my clothes off.
"When I was naked, he told me to sit on the couch and keep my mouth shut. He couldn't stand women running off at the mouth, he said. Cunt bullshit, he called it. Then he picked
Dugman climbed into the car and slammed the door. "And what is our cause, brothers?"
"Say it out!" said Jeffers.
"Let us hear it!" said Maus.
"It is to investigate and invigilate. It is to detect and suspect. It is to bring to the bar of justice lowlife motherfuckers of every description, but especially the lowlife motherfucker responsible for the heinous crime which we got before us now."
"That the truth!" said Jeffers.
"Hear his word!" said Maus.
"Because he has not only done fuck' with the citizens; because he has not only done fuck' with the po-lice; but he done have the temerity to fuck with the Trio, and therefo' he has fuck with the wrong dudes! Mr. Driver, take us to the Deuce!"
"A-men!" said Maus, and cranked the engine to a roar. "I wasn't going to come in," said the dark young woman to Marlene Ciampi. "I figured, what the hell, I was stupid, I learned my lesson. Looking for Mr. Goodbar, and all that, I figured I was lucky not to be dead. But, like, I couldn't just leave it. I started jumping at shadows, being nervous on the street. My sleep is shot. I can't work.
"So I went to the cops. It turns out, if you don't go right away, you might as well not go at all, because you washed the evidence away and also they figure if you waited days, how bad could it be? But they gave me your name down at the precinct, so I figured it was worth a shot and, so…"
Her voiced trailed off. Marlene looked at the card she was filling out. Name: Jo Anne Caputo, West Village address, worked at NYU, age twenty-six, date of incident, description of assailant. Jo Anne had been explaining, without being asked, why she had delayed a week before reporting the rape. It was a familiar reaction, and one that added an additional burden to the prosecution of such cases.
Marlene said, "OK, Ms. Caputo, what I want you to do now is tell me about the incident in as much detail as you can remember."
Caputo took a deep breath. "The incident… OK. I met this guy two weeks ago this coming Saturday, June 10, in a bar called Adam's. It's in SoHo, I don't know the exact address…"
"That's OK, I know it."
"He seemed OK-calm, decent; said his name was Bob Graziano. Didn't put any heavy moves on me. I gave him my number.
"He called me a couple of days later, nice conversation, asked me for a date for the next Saturday, the seventeenth, for dinner and a show. I said OK.
"He showed up around eight. I ask him in, offer him a drink. Right away I notice something different about him-he's more nervous, more agitated. I sat down on my couch, he's still pacing back and forth, rattling ice cubes. So I get up and say something about shouldn't we be going, and he grabs me.
"I thought it was a joke for a second there, like he was parodying a horny guy. But then he started really mauling me, squeezing my breasts, and trying to grab my crotch. I managed to push him away. But when I saw his face was when I really got scared.
"I said to myself, 'JoAnne, you have really done it this time.' I began shouting at him, that he was an asshole, that I wanted him out of there right now, and like that. That's when he pulled out the knife."
"Describe it, please."
"A regular knife, like a kitchen carving knife."
"Not a hunting knife or a switchblade?"
"No, I don't think so. A regular carving knife, about eight or ten inches long, and shiny."
"All right, go ahead. What happened then? And please try to remember his exact words, if you can."
Caputo's voice became lower and more strained. "He told me to take my clothes off. 'Strip, cunt! Now!' is what he said. 'I want to see that precious cunt!' I said, 'Please don't hurt me.' And he said, I forget what, something about don't make me angry, and I'll do anything I want to you-he got real crazy then, so I started taking my clothes off.
"When I was naked, he told me to sit on the couch and keep my mouth shut. He couldn't stand women running off at the mouth, he said. Cunt bullshit, he called it. Then he picked
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