Tongue tied - Stevenson Richard - Страница 8

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Diefendorfer confirmed this when he explained that he was a vegetable grower in central New Jersey. He had hauled a truckload of eggplants into the city, and while he was unloading at his wholesaler's Hunts Point dock he overheard a report on an all-news radio station of the tear-gas attack on the J-Bird and his crew.

"You weren't listening to the show this morning?" J-Bird said. "I find that hard to believe. Are you some kind of NPR elitist fruitcake, or what?"

Apparently uninterested in being provoked by Plankton, Diefendorfer said evenly, "I listen to public radio sometimes. I mostly listen to the all-jazz station in Hobo-ken when I can pick it up. I've never actually tuned into your program, Mr. Plankton. Maybe I should. What's it about?"

"What's it about?" Plankton sniffed. "What kind of a freakin' question is that?"

"Mr. Plankton's show," I told Diefendorfer, "is about Mr. Plankton. Now that you've met him, you can tune in weekday mornings from seven to ten if you want more of him."

We had all moved back into Jeris's office, where Barner said, "Thad, what made you come over here this morning? You're a member of the FFF that did the tear-gas attack?"

"No," Diefendorfer said, "I have no connection with whoever threw the tear gas, and I have no idea who they are. But if they call themselves the Forces of Free Faggotry, I just want to make it plain that they're not the original FFF. I was a member of that organization, and we were totally nonviolent."

"Sounds like a bunch of wimps," Plankton said.

"Why? Because we didn't want anybody to get hurt during one of our operations?"

"Well, no. You know what I mean."

"No, I don't. What do you mean?"

"I mean… I guess to somebody like you I have to stop everything and explain the obvious. I mean, if some mean bastard deserves a fat lip and you don't give him one, then you're a wimp."

Diefendorfer remained serene. He said, "So?"

"Whaddaya mean, 'So'?"

"So we're wimps. So what?"

"What do you mean, so you're wimps, so what? If you're wimps, you're… you're wimps. Do you want to be a wimp?"

"I don't care," Diefendorfer said mildly.

"Are you totally spineless?" Plankton asked, looking incredulous.

"No, not at all," Diefendorfer said. "I'm Amish."

We all looked at Diefendorfer. Apparently this was the last thing anyone in the room expected to hear.

After a moment, Plankton said, "You're shittin' me."

"No, sir."

Barner said, "And you're gay? You're gay, and you're Amish, and you're out of the closet?"

"It's actually more complicated than that," Diefendorfer said. "But basically, yes, I'm Amish, I'm gay, and I'm out. I'm also shunned in Ephrata, Pennsylvania. But I live in New Jersey, which puts up with me pretty well."

Plankton said, "But you're not wearing that black-and-blue getup that the Amish wear."

"No, not anymore," Diefendorfer said.

"Did you drive your horse and buggy up six flights?" Plankton asked. "I hope to hell you didn't ride up on the elevator. Wouldn't that be a heinous sin? Apparently, getting corn-holed is no longer a big deal among the Amish- which is news to me. It's not the Amish of-what was that Harrison Ford movie? Eyewitness News or something? But can you ride elevators, too? I seem to be behind the times."

"My horse and rig are out in the lobby," Diefendorfer told the J-Bird. "I walked up the stairs, but my horse, who's a Methodist, road up ahead of me."

"An Amish wiseass," Plankton sneered. "Now I've seen it all."

"And, homosexuality is still frowned upon among the traditional Amish," Diefendorfer went on. "But personal conscience has always been respected among the brethren, and my conscience has led me farther afield than has been the case with some others.

It's what led me to the Forces of Free Faggotry when I was eighteen, and it's why I came over here before I headed back to the farm. 1 came to tell you that the FFF was as righteous a community of men and women as I've ever known, and no true FFP'er would ever attack anybody with tear gas. Not even anybody as confused and obnoxious as you are, Mr. Plankton."

Over the shades came a discernible movement of Plankton's left eyebrow. "You can call me J-Bird. There's no need to stand on ceremony."

"Okay. No true FFFer would ever attack anybody with tear gas. Not even anybody as confused and obnoxious as you are, J-Bird."

I had known Plankton for less than an hour, but I was not surprised to hear him ask, "Ever done any radio, Thad?"

"No, and don't plan to."

"You've got a smart mouth."

"I've been told that. I'm not proud of it."

"That's too bad."

I said, "The J-Bird wants you on his show, Thad, before the competition-WOR or WABC-discovers you."

"Strachey gets the picture," Plankton said. "ABC-Disney would know just how to market you too. The Sarcastic Anabaptist or some crap like that."

Barner, who unlike the rest of us was at this moment working for a living, said, "Thad, I'd like to hear more about your membership in the FFF. When did you say that was?"

"It was from May 1973 to February 1975. I can tell you about it if you like. Although, since you're law enforcement, you could easily look it up in my FBI file. I wouldn't mind having a look myself, if you get hold of it. When I filed a Freedom of Information Act request several years ago and the FBI finally mailed me a copy of my file, most of it had been blacked out."

Plankton whistled and said, "Christ, this is great stuff!"

I told Barner, "Lyle, you're saved. Why didn't we think of this before? You won't have to be caught entering a bookstore. All you need to know is available electronically."

Barner ignored this and said, "I'll see what the bureau has on the FFF."

"Was J. Edgar Hoover a secret member of the FFF?" Plankton asked. "That's probably the part they blacked out in your files, Thad. The stuff about Hoover and his boyfriend there-what was his name? Clyde Barrow?"

"Clyde Tolson," Diefendorfer said. "Right. J. Edgar and Clyde were both FFF moles in the FBI. His antigay hysteria was cover. Ingenious, wasn't it?"

Plankton laughed and shook his head. "Thad, you're breaking my heart, you know.

You going head-to-head with Leo would be sensational, just sensational." "Who is Leo?" Diefendorfer asked. "He's on my show."

I said, "Leo Moyle is the J-Bird's resident racist-slash-fag-baiter. Next to him, the J-Bird is the show's Arthur Rimbaud."

"I liked those flicks with Sly Stallone gunning down commies," Plankton said. "So I'll take that as a compliment." I said, "Thad, could you hang around in the city long enough for lunch? I'd like to hear your FFF story without a lot of kibbitzing from the J-Bird, whose motives in this investigation are mixed, at best."

"You bet they are," Plankton said. "Though let me remind you, Strachey, that foremost among my motives is preventing any physical harm coming to myself and my staff. If you're going to take my money, it would behoove you to keep that in mind."

"I stand behooved on that point."

"Your employment is conditional anyway. We brought you in because of your so-called contacts with the old FFF, and now along comes this old FFFer who says none of his people are involved in this thing at all."

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