Read Online Half World: A Novel by Scott O'Connor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Scott O'Connor
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Henry?”
“Wonderful,” Henry said. “Yes, it does.”
Doris beamed.
19
The girls went out with their lists of names and came back with johns that Dorn wanted questioned, open cases in his department that had grown cold utilizing standard methods.
Dorn procured the drugs. Cannabis, mescaline, morphine, scopolamine. They tested the efficiency of various delivery systems. Whether a drug was smoked in a tainted cigarette or consumed in a spiked drink. They measured onset times, the degree to which the drug softened resistance, loosened tongues.
The results were different with every john. The men talked, or slept, or wanted nothing but sex for hours. They found that it was better for the girls to ask questions after sex, lying in bed with johns who expected them to dress and take their money and leave. The flattery of the extra attention, the unexpected intimacy. This was far more effective than asking questions earlier in the encounter, while teasing or withholding, which tended only to make the johns angry.
They watched things Henry would have preferred not to. His eyes on the window and then down to the ledger, reading what he’d written in the spilled-over light from the other room. Taking his attention off the scene when he could. Trying not to think about the fact that these girls were daughters, that they might have brothers and sisters, may have once been part of a family. The girls slapped or pushed or helddown. The first few times this happened, Henry rose from his chair but Dorn told him to stay put, that one of them running in would do nothing but blow the project and put the girls in further danger down the road. So Henry sat and looked at the ledger when he could no longer watch the window.
He checked the post office boxes, sent paperwork back east. He typed up brief memos, the barest outlines of the operation, dates and times, the relative success or failure of a particular night. Funds arrived in the bank account and Henry withdrew enough for the rent and the liquor cabinet, the film and reels of audiotape.
They used the apartment three or four nights a week. Henry was home during the mornings, working on the biography of his time with Weir, or sleeping when he could, the sounds of Ginnie and Thomas reading or playing in the living room weaving in and out of his dreams. Hannah would already be at school. He seldom saw her during the week. After lunch and maybe a trip to the park with Thomas, he was back in the city, getting to the apartments no later than sundown. The end of the workday on the streets around him, men walking to the train, loosening their ties, heading home. Henry walking against the flow, crossing from one place to another.
He had told Ginnie that he would be working nights now, mostly. He didn’t give her any more information and she didn’t ask, though he could tell she wanted to. It wouldn’t be for long, he said. Things would be back to normal soon.
Dorn arrived after his detective’s shift, and they ate the sandwiches Henry had picked up from the deli on Powell. Sometimes Dorn insisted that they go out for a real meal, and then they took the Lincoln to one of Dorn’s favorite spots, a restaurant in Chinatown or North Beach where the maître d’s had booths waiting and the bartenders kept Dorn’s martini glass full.
My name is Clarence. My name is Heath. My name is Stan. I’m a longshoreman, a truck driver, a shoe salesman in town on business. They all had different wants and needs, different things they told the girls to do. Some of the white men wanted to be rough with Emma; some wantedher to be rough with them. Some wanted to be tied to the bedposts with their belts, burned with cigarettes. Some wanted to be coddled, caressed, held.
The range and depth of need didn’t surprise him. He had been trained to seek out the weaknesses in others. He’d seen photos, read private letters, heard recorded conversations. What surprised him was watching it play out just a few
“Wonderful,” Henry said. “Yes, it does.”
Doris beamed.
19
The girls went out with their lists of names and came back with johns that Dorn wanted questioned, open cases in his department that had grown cold utilizing standard methods.
Dorn procured the drugs. Cannabis, mescaline, morphine, scopolamine. They tested the efficiency of various delivery systems. Whether a drug was smoked in a tainted cigarette or consumed in a spiked drink. They measured onset times, the degree to which the drug softened resistance, loosened tongues.
The results were different with every john. The men talked, or slept, or wanted nothing but sex for hours. They found that it was better for the girls to ask questions after sex, lying in bed with johns who expected them to dress and take their money and leave. The flattery of the extra attention, the unexpected intimacy. This was far more effective than asking questions earlier in the encounter, while teasing or withholding, which tended only to make the johns angry.
They watched things Henry would have preferred not to. His eyes on the window and then down to the ledger, reading what he’d written in the spilled-over light from the other room. Taking his attention off the scene when he could. Trying not to think about the fact that these girls were daughters, that they might have brothers and sisters, may have once been part of a family. The girls slapped or pushed or helddown. The first few times this happened, Henry rose from his chair but Dorn told him to stay put, that one of them running in would do nothing but blow the project and put the girls in further danger down the road. So Henry sat and looked at the ledger when he could no longer watch the window.
He checked the post office boxes, sent paperwork back east. He typed up brief memos, the barest outlines of the operation, dates and times, the relative success or failure of a particular night. Funds arrived in the bank account and Henry withdrew enough for the rent and the liquor cabinet, the film and reels of audiotape.
They used the apartment three or four nights a week. Henry was home during the mornings, working on the biography of his time with Weir, or sleeping when he could, the sounds of Ginnie and Thomas reading or playing in the living room weaving in and out of his dreams. Hannah would already be at school. He seldom saw her during the week. After lunch and maybe a trip to the park with Thomas, he was back in the city, getting to the apartments no later than sundown. The end of the workday on the streets around him, men walking to the train, loosening their ties, heading home. Henry walking against the flow, crossing from one place to another.
He had told Ginnie that he would be working nights now, mostly. He didn’t give her any more information and she didn’t ask, though he could tell she wanted to. It wouldn’t be for long, he said. Things would be back to normal soon.
Dorn arrived after his detective’s shift, and they ate the sandwiches Henry had picked up from the deli on Powell. Sometimes Dorn insisted that they go out for a real meal, and then they took the Lincoln to one of Dorn’s favorite spots, a restaurant in Chinatown or North Beach where the maître d’s had booths waiting and the bartenders kept Dorn’s martini glass full.
My name is Clarence. My name is Heath. My name is Stan. I’m a longshoreman, a truck driver, a shoe salesman in town on business. They all had different wants and needs, different things they told the girls to do. Some of the white men wanted to be rough with Emma; some wantedher to be rough with them. Some wanted to be tied to the bedposts with their belts, burned with cigarettes. Some wanted to be coddled, caressed, held.
The range and depth of need didn’t surprise him. He had been trained to seek out the weaknesses in others. He’d seen photos, read private letters, heard recorded conversations. What surprised him was watching it play out just a few
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