Part 9 (1/2)

”There's no way of knowing,” said the Duke, ”But I think there's just as good a chance that he'd have gotten his hands on some other little girl, even if the warning had gone out. There will always be parents who don't pay enough attention to what their children are doing. They may blame themselves if something happens, but that may be too late.

As it happens, we _weren't_ too late. Let's be thankful for that.

”By the way, am I wrong in a.s.suming that Nestor will not get your psychotherapy treatment?”

”No, you're right,” I said. ”The warden at Sing Sing will be taking care of him from now on.” I turned to Brownlee and said: ”Which reminds me--what's going to be the disposition on the Hammerlock Smith case?”

”I talked to Judge Whittaker and the D.A. Your recommendation pulled a lot of weight with them. They agreed that if Smith will plead guilty to felonious a.s.sault and agree to therapy, he'll get off with eighteen months, suspended. When I release him, he'll never bother young boys again.”

The Duke looked puzzled. ”Hammerlock Smith? Odd Name. What's he up for?”

I told him about Hammerlock Smith.

He thought it over for a while, then said: ”Just what is it you do to men like that? How can you be so sure he'll never hurt anyone again?”

Brownlee started to answer him, but a uniformed officer put his head in the door. ”Excuse me, Dr. Brownlee, the District Attorney would like to talk to you.”

Brownlee excused himself and followed the cop out, leaving me to explain things to His Grace.

”Do you remember that, a couple of centuries ago, the laws of some countries provided the perfect punishment for pickpockets and purse-s.n.a.t.c.hers?”

He gave me a wry grin. ”Certainly. The hands of the felon were amputated at the wrist. Usually with a headsman's ax, I believe.”

”Exactly. And they never picked another pocket again as long as they lived.” I said. ”Society had denied them the means to pick pockets.”

”Go on.”

”Do you remember Manny the Moog? The little fellow who was brought in yesterday?”

”Distinctly. I thought it was odd at the time that you should release a man who has a record of such activities as car-stealing and reckless driving, especially when the witness against him turned out to be a perfectly respectable person. I took it for granted that he was one of your ... ah ... 'tame zanies', I think you called them. But I did not and still don't understand how you can be so positive.”

”I let Manny go because he's incapable of driving a car. The very thought of being in control of a machine so much more powerful than he is would give him chills. Did you ever see what happens when you lock a claustrophobe up in a dark closet--the mad, unreasoning, uncontrollable panic of absolute terror? That's what would happen to Manny if you put him behind the wheel of a running automobile. It's worse than fear; fear is controllable. Blind terror isn't.

”Manny had one little twist, in his mind. He liked to get into a car--_any_ car, whether it was his or not--and drive. He became king of the road. He wasn't a little man any more. He was G.o.d, and lesser beings had better look out.

”We got to him before he actually killed anyone, but there is a woman in Queens today who will never walk again because of Manny the Moog.

But there won't be any more like her. We took the instrument of destruction away from him; we 'cut off his hands'. Now he's leading a reasonably useful life. We don't need to sacrifice another's life before we neutralize the danger.”

”What about Joey Partridge?” His Grace asked. ”He's one of your zanies, too, isn't he?

”That's right. He couldn't keep from using his fists. He liked the feel of solid flesh and bone giving under the impact of those big fists of his. Boxing wasn't enough; he had to be able to feel flesh-to-flesh contact, with no padded glove between. He almost killed a couple of men before we got to him.”

”What did you do to his hands?”

”Nothing. Not a thing. There's nothing at all wrong with his hands.

But he _thinks_ there is. He's firmly convinced that the bones are as brittle as chalk, that if he uses those fists, _he_ will be the one who will break and shatter. It even bothers him to shake hands, as you saw last night. It took a lot of guts to do what he did last night--walk over to those two thugs knowing he couldn't defend himself. He's no coward. But he's as terrified of having his hands hurt as Manny is of driving a car.”

”I see” the Duke said thoughtfully.