RESIDENCE OF THOMAS AND Cynthia Haskins, 713 West Seventy-sixth Street, New York; 24 May, 1968. Excerpt from tape recording BN-DT-TH-0018-96G.
THOMAS: … and then the nasty turd stiffed me. He said he only had ten dollars with him. He opened his wallet to show me.
CYNTHIA: Bastard.
THOMAS: And then he laughed and asked if I took credit cards. I swear if I had a razor with me, he’d have been a member of the castrati right then. I was just furious. I thought he was good for at least fifty. Mid-westerner, of course. Pillar of the church. PTA. Rotarians. Elks. And all that shit.
CYNTHIA: And Odd Fellows.
THOMAS: You wouldn’t believe! He said he was in New York on a business trip—but I know better, luv. He probably comes in twice a year to get his ashes hauled. I hope the next time he meets some rough trade from uptown. They’ll shove his credit cards right up his hairy ass.
CYNTHIA: Duke called today.
THOMAS: What did you say?
CYNTHIA: I said we were working on it. I said we had the paper and were working it out. He was satisfied.
THOMAS: That’s good. I don’t think we should appear too anxious … do you, luv?
CYNTHIA: No I guess not. But I really want to do a good job for him, Tommy. Maybe then he’ll let us in on it. I got the feeling it’s something big.
THOMAS: Why do you think that?
CYNTHIA: He’s being so very, very careful. And five bills is a lot of bread for what he wants us to do. Someone is behind him on this. He just got out of poke a few months ago. He wouldn’t have that kind of loot.
THOMAS: We’ll do a good job for him. He scares me sometimes. His eyes are so pale and they look right through you.
CYNTHIA: I know. And that Ingrid is no Mother Goose, either.
[Lapse of seven seconds.]
THOMAS: Tell me something, Snap. Did you ever swing with her?
[Lapse of five seconds.]
CYNTHIA: Twice. No more.
THOMAS: Bent—isn’t she?
CYNTHIA: You have no idea. I couldn’t describe it.
THOMAS: I thought so, luv. She’s got the look. And I bet I can guess her hang-up. …
CYNTHIA: What?
THOMAS: Whips, chains, feathers … the whole bit.
CYNTHIA: You’re warm.
THOMAS [laughing]: I bet I am. That’s what I don’t understand—Duke going that route. It’s not like him.
CYNTHIA: Every man’s got to get out sooner or later. I told him we’d be ready by next Friday. Okay?
THOMAS: Why not? I’m ready now. [Lapse of six seconds.]
CYNTHIA: I walked past that house on Seventy-third Street this morning.
THOMAS: My God, you didn’t go in, did you?
CYNTHIA: Do you think I’ve got shit for brains? He told us not to … didn’t he? Until we get his go-ahead I walked by across the street.
THOMAS: How did it look? Want a stick, luv?
CYNTHIA: Yes, all right, light me one. Good-looking town house. Gray stone. Black canopy from the doorway to the curb. I saw two brass plates—the doctors’ names. There was a doorman talking to the beat fuzz out in front. Rich-looking building. Smells like money. I wonder what’s on Duke’s mind?
THOMAS: One of the apartments, I expect. How are you going to work it?
CYNTHIA: I’m going to call the doctor-doctor for an appointment, giving the name on those cards you got me. No one recommended me; I just moved into the neighborhood and need a doctor and saw his sign. Before I go to see him, I’ll bite all my nails off down to the quick. I’ll ask him for something to keep me from biting my nails. If he suggests something. I’ll tell him I tried all kinds of liquids and paints and they didn’t work. I’ll ask if he thinks it might be a mental or emotional problem. I’ll get him to recommend me to the shrink next door.
THOMAS: Sounds good.
CYNTHIA: I’ll stop by the shrink’s office and see him or make an appointment. I’ll leave another card and tell him the doctor-doctor sent me. If I don’t get enough on the first visits, I’ll make some excuse for going back. How does it sound? Anything wrong?
THOMAS: Well … one thing. You got the cards and a good address. They’ll never in a billion years check to see if you actually live there—until their bills are returned. And then it’ll probably be too late. But you better check with Duke to make sure. Find out how you should handle the bills. My God, if the doctor-doctor sent out a bill after the day you visited him, and it was returned, it might fuck the whole thing. You better ask Duke.
CYNTHIA: Yes, that makes sense, Tommy. Doctors usually send bills out a few weeks or a month later—but no use taking chances. I didn’t think about how I was going to pay them. You know, you’ve got some brains in that tiny, pointed head of yours.
THOMAS: And I worship you, too, luv!
CYNTHIA: This is lousy grass … you know? Where did you get it?
THOMAS: I just got it. No like?
CYNTHIA: All twigs and seeds. Didn’t you strain it?
THOMAS: He told me it had been strained.
CYNTHIA: Who?
THOMAS: Paul.
CYNTHIA: That little scut? No wonder it’s lousy. I’d rather have a Chesterfield. Tommy, how are you going to handle your end?
THOMAS: All front. I waltz in, flash my paper, and get a complete list of everyone in the building. After all, I’m making an informal neighborhood census on behalf of the New Urban Reorganization Committee. And by the way, the day I hit you’ll have to sit in that booth in the candy store most of the morning. That’s the number on my ID card. In case anyone decides to check.
CYNTHIA: All right.
THOMAS: Shouldn’t be more than an hour or so, at the most. I’ll call as soon as I leave. After I get the list from him, I’ll ask him to call individual tenants and see if they’d be willing to be interviewed. Purely voluntary. No pressure. No hard line. Easy does it. If they don’t want to, they don’t have to. I might get into two or three apartments. Those rich bitches get lonely in the afternoon. They want to talk to someone.
CYNTHIA: Just one visit?
THOMAS: Yes. Let’s not push our luck, luv. I’ll get what I can on one visit. If Duke isn’t satisfied, screw him.
CYNTHIA: You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Or vice versa.
THOMAS: How do you like your vice—versa? I guess I would. Maybe. I’m not sure. I told you he frightens me sometimes. He’s so cold and aloof and withdrawn. Someday he’s going to kill.
CYNTHIA: Do you really think so?
THOMAS: Oh, yes.
CYNTHIA: He never carries a piece.
THOMAS: I know. But he’ll do it someday. Maybe he’ll kick someone to death. Or with his hands or whatever is handy. That would be like him—standing there coldly kicking someone in their balls and stomping on them. Until they’re dead.
CYNTHIA: Jesus, Tommy!
THOMAS: It’s true. You know, I’m very psychic about people. Those are the emanations I get from him.
CYNTHIA: Then I won’t even suggest it.
THOMAS: Suggest what?
CYNTHIA: Well … the whole deal is so interesting—I mean Duke giving us all that loot for what we’re doing. I’m sure it’s something big. So I thought. …
THOMAS: Yes?
CYNTHIA: Well, I thought that if we … if you and me … we could discover what it was, maybe we could … somehow, you know … move first and take. …
THOMAS [yelling]: You bloody scut! Forget it! Forget it … do you hear? If I ever hear you mention such a thing again I’m going right to Duke and tell him. We’re getting paid for what we do. That’s it! You understand? That’s all we know and all we do unless Duke gives us something more. Do you have that straight?
CYNTHIA: Jesus Christ, Tommy, you don’t have to scream at me.
THOMAS: Frigging cunt. You get ideas like that and we’re dead. You understand what I’m saying? We’re dead.
CYNTHIA: All right, Tommy, all right. I won’t say any more about it.
THOMAS: Don’t even think about it. Don’t even let the idea get into your stupid little brain again. I know men better than you and. …
CYNTHIA: I’m sure you do, Tommy.
THOMAS: … and Duke isn’t like you and me. If he found out what you said, he’d do things to us you wouldn’t believe. And it wouldn’t mean a thing to him. Not a thing. Ignorant slut!
CYNTHIA: All right, Tommy, all right.
[Lapse of sixteen seconds.]
CYNTHIA: When Duke calls next Friday, you want me to give him what we’ve got and get the go-ahead?
THOMAS: Yes. Outline it for him. Ask him how you should handle paying the doctors. He’ll come up with something.
CYNTHIA: All right.
[Lapse of six seconds.]
THOMAS: Snap, I’m sorry I yelled at you. But I was frightened at what you said. Please, please, forgive me.
CYNTHIA: Sure.
THOMAS: Would you like a nice hot bath, luv? I’ll get it all ready for you. With bath oil.
CYNTHIA: That would …
[End of recording due to tape runout.]