4 Klepto (1930) Irving Waterman stole the silver from the sideboard. Dick's Mom inherited the set as a wedding present - knives, forks, spoons, serving dishes, urns, vases, the works. It was bought in Berlin in the late 18th Century and looked like it. Flamboyant carving, reclining nudes, heavy in the hand. Been in the Kinscherf household for three generations. Teddy used it all the time, not just Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Years, Easter. Hauled it out for dinner, breakfast, even picnics. Supposedly it was worth loads of money. What's the point in having something you don't use? Dick's Dad, Kenneth, owned a chain of jewelry stores. Off the boat from Alsace Lorraine with a set of tools in a doctor's bag, seventeen years old. He was short and wiry and driven and in five short years opened his own shop. That was in 1873, before Dick was born. Ten years later he'd made his fortune. Built a ten bedroom mansion in Rhinebeck. Eight sons and two daughters. They lived splendidly. Servants, European vacations, private schools. Dick never learned to drive because he was chauffeured. Right through Cornell. Riches were taken for granted. He liked to tell about how his old man used to pace up and down the front porch after dinner. Had a gas problem. When he felt a fart coming on, he'd clear his throat like a tuba, camouflage the rip. Dick and his brothers hid behind the drapes in the dining room and listened for it, biting into the felt. It was a big house with big money, but things fell apart. Ken's best friend and partner threw everything they had at a real estate hustle. Their jewelry chain, Darling, Inc., the product of seventeen years labor, was collateral. Ken went for it. Saw much in the balance. The biggest of ships coming in. The future of his grandchildren assured. The wildest American Dream come true. He believed in taking chances, but they lost their shirts. Dick barely made it through college before they had to move out of Rhinebeck. With the money gone, Ken became progressively depressed. Thought he was a failure. Went back to work as a small time jeweler in a small time shop in the Bronx. Family moved into a walkup. After Cornell Dick followed him into the business, apprenticing to a competitor. His skills were adequate, but unremarkable. Big money mattered less to him for having had it. His job was modest, income sufficient to marry and support a family. Although they hardly lived in style, Teddy never complained. Life is not money, she liked to say. When the silver disappeared, an heirloom, she blamed herself. Couldn't figure out what had happened. Went to the drawer to set the table one night and it was gone. Rit was positive Irving Waterman did the job. No two ways about it. He was maniacal. I'm going to set a trap, prove it was Irving, take him down. You're weird about him, aren't you? (Karl. Making a point.) What do you mean? You know. No, I don't. Tying him up in the cellar. That was your idea. He's simple, Rit. That's why he let's us do stuff. . Look. Waterman did it. I know he did, and I'm gonna nail him. He put one of the few remaining fragments, a teapot with a bent handle on a side table near the front door, polished and in plain sight. Nobody could take it without being nabbed. The same day, right after Emma Waterman called Irving home for dinner, Rit yelped: Ma! It's gone! I swear! It was here a minute ago, now it's gone! He was so worked up he ran upstairs to urinate, shouting out of the opened bathroom door. Irving took it! I was right! I got him! Dick and Ann went across the street to inquire. Turned out the kid rolled the entire set up between a couple of towels and hid it under his mattress. Ann was sensitive about accusing him. She wanted her sliver back, but she didn't want to hurt the boy. Irving was not malicious, he was funny in the head. Couldn't help himself. A pale boy with a bad complexion and a gloomy disposition. Ann got her silver back, and that was sufficient. Rit was disappointed his clever plan had yielded so little drama. Why, Dad? Why did you let her do that? Irving got off scott free. He's a kleptomaniac. A what? Klepto...mani...ac, he said, stretching it out as if printing the right choice into a crossword. Kleptomania is a mental disease. Irving can't help himself. He's not a thief. He doesn't think he's stealing or doing anything wrong. He doesn't even remember taking anything. Like a sleepwalker. Rit took this in. Irving's sickness was okay and everything, but he was upset. Wanting to point the finger, but was forced to comply with the charade. Irving was allowed to come over any time he wanted, and take whatever he took. But it was damned strange to be fake around somebody he had the goods on. The power of secret information, like a dagger at the neck, was no manipulative advantage. More sport in the cellar? Not this time. The klepto thing stuck in his craw. Rit wanted at him. You're a thief, Irving. A stinking rotten kid. You take stuff that isn't yours, and get away with it. You're not my friend, or Karl's either. You never were. You never will be. You don't even belong in our house. Go home and stay there. You're a stupid, bad kid, and you're out of the club. But he didn't say a word. It was, alas, the right thing to do. Keep off the simpleton's back. Interesting, he figured. You can get away with something as long as you appear innocent. Fake it good, hide your fingerprints, and you fall into the lap of the double standard. He went to Barber Joe's for a hair cut. Long in front, short in back. Liked getting it. Cold scissors on scalp. Hot lather on the neck. Joe wasn't a talker. You sat. He cut. There was a stack of comics - Superman, Dick Tracy, Krazy Kat - to read while you waited. Read during the cut. The sensual combination of comic fantasy and a goosebump delivering haircut was a big favorite. Anyhow, there he was, sucked in by Tracy, getting his neck shaved, fifty cent piece on the cold marble counter waiting for Joe. When it was done, sheet shook out, hairs swept up, Rit walked, engrossed in Tracy, walked right out, reading. Walked and read all the way home. Sleepwalking. Where did you get that? What? The Dick Tracy comic? Where did you get it? OhmyGod! I musta walked home with it, Mom! I didn't realize, I swear. Just walked out with it. Geez. Then take it back. Why?! Take it back, Rit. It isn't yours. You stole it. I did not! Did you pay for it? No. Did Joe give it to you? No. Then you stole it. You have to take it back. But I'm innocent! Innocent as rat crazy Irving Waterman when he took the silver. Nobody made him suffer. He returned it. Joe was a gentleman. These things happen. Still, Rit couldn't get over the fact that Waterman had escaped even the minor humiliation of confession. Unfair. 5 - Pumping Gas