The Big Nowhere

Mal turned and saw Dudley holding a stack of photographs; Rolff finished typing a paragraph and looked up. Dudley pushed a snapshot in his face; Rolff said, “No,” calmly. Mal walked around the table and scoped the picture close up.

It was fuzzy black and white, a teenage girl naked with her legs spread. Dudley read from the flip side. “To Le

Mal held his breath; Rolff stood, gave Dudley an eye-to-eye deadpan and a steady voice. “No. My wife and I have forgiven each other our minor indiscretions. Do you think I would leave the pictures in my desk, otherwise? No. Thief. Fascist parasite. Irish pig.”

Dudley tossed the photos on the grass; Mal shot him the no hitting sign; Rolff cleared his throat and spat in Dudley’s face. Mal gasped; Dudley smiled, grabbed a manuscript sheet and wiped the spittle off. “Yes, because fair Judith does not know about fair Sarah and the clap you gave her, and I just played a hunch on where you took your cure. Terry Lux keeps meticulous records, and he has promised to cooperate with me should you decide not to.”

Rolff, still voice steady. “Who told you?”

Dudley, making motions: verbatim transcription. “Reynolds Loftis, under much less duress than you were just subjected to.”

Mal thought through the gamble: if Rolff approached Loftis, all their covert questionings were compromised; the UAES might put the kibosh on new members—terrified of infiltration, blowing Da

Veins pulsed all over Leonard Rolff’s face. He said, “Yes.”

Dudley said, “Grand”; Mal wrote L. Rolff, 1/8/50 at the top of a clean sheet. Their interrogee squared his glasses. “Open court testimony?”

Mal took the cue. “Most likely deposition. We’ll start with—”

Dudley, his voice raised for the first time. “Let me have this witness, counselor. Would you mind?”

Mal shook his head and turned his chair around, steno pad braced on the top slat. Dudley said, “You know why we’re here, so let’s get to it. Communist influence in the motion picture business. Names, dates, places and seditious words spoken. Since I’m sure he’s much on your mind, we’ll start with Reynolds Loftis. Have you ever heard him advocate the armed overthrow of the United States government?”

“No, but—”

“Feel free to volunteer information, unless I state otherwise. Have you some grand tidbits on Loftis?”

Rolff’s tone seethed. “He tailored his policeman roles to make the police look bad. He said he was doing his part to undermine the American system of jurisprudence.” A pause, then, “If I testify in court, will he get the chance to tell about Sarah and me?”

Mal answered, half truth/half lies. “It’s very unlikely he’ll stand as a witness, and if he tries to volunteer that information the judge won’t let him get two seconds in. You’re covered.”

“But outside of court—”

Dudley said, “Outside of court you’re on your own, and you’ll have to rely on the fact that repeating the story makes Loftis appear loathsome.”

Rolff said, “If Loftis told you that, then he must have been cooperative in general. Why do you need information to use against him?”

Dudley, not missing a trick. “Loftis informed on you months ago, when we thought our investigation was going to be centered outside the UAES. Frankly, what with the recent labor troubles, the UAES presents a much nicer target. And frankly, you and the others were too ineffectual to bother with.”

Mal looked over and saw that Rolff bought it: his squared shoulders had relaxed and his hands had quit clenching. His follow-up question was dead on target: “How do I know you won’t do the same thing with me?”

Mal said, “This grand jury is officially on, and you’ll be given immunity from prosecution, something we never offered Loftis. What Lieutenant Smith said about the labor trouble is true. It’s now or never, and we’re here to make hay now.”

Rolff stared at him. “You acknowledge your opportunism so openly that it gives you an awful credibility.”

Dudley ha’ ha’d. “There is one difference between our factions—we’re right, you’re wrong. Now, concerning Reynolds Loftis. He deliberately portrayed American policemen as misanthropic, correct?”

Mal went back to transcribing; Rolff said, “Yes.”

“Can you recall when he said that?”

“At a party somewhere, I think.”

“Oh? A party for the Party?”

“No. No, I think it was a party back during the war, a summertime party.”

“Were any of these people also present and making seditious comments: Claire De Haven, Chaz Minear, Mort Ziffkin, Sammy Benavides, Juan Duarte and Mondo Lopez?”

“I think Claire and Mort were there, but Sammy and Juan and Mondo were busy with SLDC around that time, so they weren’t.”

Mal said, “So this was summer of ‘43, around the time the Sleepy Lagoon Defense Committee was going strongest?”

“Yes. Yes, I think so.”

Dudley said, “Think, comrade. Minear was Loftis’ bedmate. Was he there and acting vociferous?”

Mal caught up on his note-taking, shorthanding Dudley’s flair down to simple questions; Rolff ended a long pause. “What I remember about that party is that it was my last social contact with the people you mentioned until I became friendly with Reynolds again in Europe a few years ago. I recall that Chaz and Reynolds had been spatting and that Reynolds did not bring him to that party. After the party I saw Reynolds out by his car talking to a young man with a bandaged face. I also recall that my circle of political friends had become involved in the Sleepy Lagoon defense and were angry when I took a job in New York that precluded my joining them.”

Dudley said, “Let’s talk about Sleepy Lagoon.” Mal thought of his memo to Loew: nothing on the case should hit the grand jury—it was political poison that made the Pinkos look good. Rolff said, “I thought you wanted me to talk about Reynolds.”

“Digress a little. Sleepy Lagoon. Quite an event, wasn’t it?”

“The boys your police department arrested were i

“That’s your interpretation, comrade. Mine differs, but that’s what makes for horse races.”

Rolff sighed. “What do you want to know?”

“Give me your recollections of the time.”

“I was in Europe for the trial and appeals and release of the boys. I remember the actual murder from the previous summer— ‘42, I think. I remember the police investigation and the arrest of the boys and Claire De Haven becoming outraged and holding fund-raisers. I remember thinking that she was currying favor with her many Latin suitors, that that was one reason she was so carried away with the cause.”

Mal butted in, thinking of culling facts from Dudley’s bum tangent, wondering why the tangent. “At these fund-raisers, were there CP bigshots present?”

“Yes.”

“We’re going to be getting some SLDC surveillance pictures. You’ll be required to help identify the people in them.”

“Then there’s more of this?”

Dudley lit a cigarette and motioned Mal to quit writing. “This is a preliminary interview. A City marshal and court reporter will be by in a few days with a long list of specific questions on specific people. Lieutenant Considine and I will prepare the questions, and if we’re satisfied with your answers we’ll mail you an official immunity waiver.”

“Are you finished now, then?”

“Not quite. Let’s return to Sleepy Lagoon for a moment.”

“But I told you I was in New York then. I was gone for most of the protests.”

“But you did know many of the SLDC principals. Duarte, Benavides and Lopez, for instance.”