Read Online Pinball by Jerzy Kosinski - Free Book Online Page A

where he asked to use the washroom. The counter man, a twenty-two-year-old musician—a recently married gentle fellow who worked there part-time—told him that the place didn’t have a public toilet. Actually, it didn’t, but our noble savage chose not to believe the guy, and—possibly to save face in front of two young women who were with him—he knifed the young man to death for lying to him. Then he vanished. He managed to stay clear of the police, write many more songs, and, possibly in collusion with some of his past sponsors, have them published under another name, and sung by some of our best country and western stars, before tipping off the newspapers to who he was. He’s still writing, as far as I know, still at large and invisible again. Nobody has any idea what he looks like these days, whether he has killed anyone else, or who—if anyone—is helping him out. And that man is a publicized murderer! If he can hide and write his music in secret, think of what Goddard, with Nokturn Records behind him, could get away with!” Scales looked sadly up at Domostroy.
    “Do you then think looking for Goddard would be a complete waste?” Domostroy asked.
    “In my opinion, it would,” Scales said. “At least it’s been a complete waste for, I guess, quite a few thousand people so far.”
    “You mean I don’t have the smallest chance of finding him?”
    “That’s exactly what I mean.”
    “What about Nokturn Records? Surely they deal with him, don’t they? How? How does he get his music to them?”
    “By mail probably. From their very first press conference on Goddard, Nokturn has stuck to the same story: they say that no one in the company has ever met Goddard in person and that no one there knows who or where he is. Therefore, Nokturn could not divulge his secret even if they wanted to.”
    “Do you believe them?” asked Domostroy.
    “Do I have any proof that they are lying?”
    “But what about the government?’ Domostroy was insistent. “Someone in the government must know who Goddard is.”
    “C’mon, Domo,” said Scales gruffly. “What does the government care? Goddard is a rock singer, not the head of a foreign state in disguise or a Soviet or CIA master spy on the loose!”
    “But Goddard gets money from Nokturn, doesn’t he? What about taxes? Doesn’t the government go after his taxes? They certainly went after mine—checking my returns year after year—when I used to compose and record!” Domostroy was feeling more and more frustrated.
    “I know they did,” said Scales softly. “I represented you then.” He straightened in his chair. “As I recall,” he went on with exaggerated calm, “about a year after Goddard’s first big album came out and the first big money started rolling in, a congressional inquiry prompted the IRS to do a scrupulous audit of all of Nokturn’s dealings with Goddard. The IRS found nothing illegal in Nokturn’s handling of their Goddard business. On the contrary, as Oscar Blaystone, Nokturn’s president, revealed, the company paid all Goddard’s royalties to a Swiss bank’s numbered account, but only after all New York state and city taxes and all federal taxes had been withheld. That meant, as an agent of the IRS publicly pointed out, that by remaining incognito, Goddard was voluntarily waiving massivetax deductions he would be entitled to under U.S. tax law as a self-employed artist.” He paused. “It also means that as long as his income is properly taxed to the fullest, Goddard is free of any hassles with revenue agents. And given the extraordinary secrecy the Swiss guarantee people with really big accounts—can you imagine how big Goddard’s account must be!—he can move money from there with the greatest ease to accounts in his own name, or in the name of John Doe, anywhere in the world, without fear of discovery. What else do you want to know, Domo?” he asked, glancing at his desk calendar.
    “Nothing. I guess you’ve said it