Let It All Hang Out Read online

  #

  Now the question remains: how does one prove the existence of a doppelganger. The answer of course is that one cannot. However, I reasoned that if I could prove Richard Lessman was not at any of the places where those incidents occurred, then by default it had to be his doppelganger. Such logic has served me well over the years.

  Therefore, I set about proving my case, the obvious route being to visit the scenes where Lessman was supposedly photographed, videotaped, or audio recorded and question the people involved as to his actual presence. Unfortunately, this proved harder than it sounds. For instance, at the office of Big Tony, the racketeer with whom Lessman was supposedly in cahoots, I found it difficult to question Tony himself, as his burly armed henchmen would not let me inside. In fact, the thugs rather unceremoniously threw me out into the street. A similar thing occurred when I visited the office of the lobbyist from whom Lessman was recorded allegedly taking bribes. His secretary—who didn't look like she knew a thing about typing, or even that she could type given all the jewelry on his wrists, not to mention the uncomfortable sitting position such a tight skirt would impose—insisted the man was out of town on business, all this after she spoke to him on the office intercom. Nor did I have any luck interviewing the married woman with whom the councilman was accused of committing adultery. Although in a way I did, as she insisted nothing of the sort ever occurred. I began to press her on the fact that she'd obviously had an affair with someone, only then her husband burst into the room and somehow it all ended with my getting punched in the nose.

  My only option left was to seek out the prostitute with whom Lessman's doppelganger had been filmed in flagrante dilecto.

  "Aw, be sensible dearie," the woman told me, taking my hand and leading me to a quiet spot at the rear of the building. "Now why 'ould an 'ap'ly married man come roun' 'ere when 'e got 'isself a fine woman waitin' at 'ome?"

  All of which did make perfect sense, although why she was affecting a British accent when she was clearly Latino was a bit puzzling. Nor was I certain as to why she kept pressing her body close against me while she rubbed her hand against my trousers.

  "Course sometimes a man just wants a lil' comp'ny, y'know; nothin' wrong wid that now, is there?"

  I supposed not.

  "An' if'n 'e was t' give 'er a bit o' money after, jus' t' say thank you, there be no 'arm in that, y' s'pose?"

  Anyway, she had a very convincing manner and something in her voice, and her nearness, and her hand pressing against my trousers made me feel that I too could spare a bit of money as a way of saying thank you. Unfortunately, as the exchange was taking place, a cop spotted us and we wound up getting taken downtown.

  "But officer," I protested, "I was only looking for a doppelganger."

  "Well, buddy," the cop replied, "I don't know what you call it back in Germany, but here it's solicitation and it carries a hundred dollar fine."

  "A hundred dollars!" I howled. "Why, the girl here only wanted fifty!"

  To which the girl, suddenly losing her British accent, rolled her eyes and muttered, "Estupido!" as the officer marched her away.

  #

  It was not until the day of the trial that I made my big breakthrough. The crowded courtroom had filled with supporters for the beleaguered councilman—there was even a multicolored cat sitting in the window—while outside a crowd marched with signs saying "Lessman Must Go!" It was heartwarming to see such a showing, although it was equally disappointing to see how his backers, in their haste, had miss-written their placards since they clearly meant to say that the defendant must be let go.

  The prosecuting district attorney laid out his case, all of it compelling in its own right—even though I knew better than to believe any of it. Councilman Lessman was certainly the worse for it, hanging his head in shame and looking away while his defense counsel tried to get him to sit straight and project a positive appearance.

  Then it happened. The DA played the video footage of the councilman's alleged encounter with the prostitute. There on the screen, for all to see, was an individual bearing a remarkable resemblance to the defendant, leaning by the wall of a backstreet alleyway with his trousers down around his ankles and a woman of ill repute bent forward from the waist.

  And there I saw it.

  Or to be more accurate, there I didn't see it.

  "Stop!" I cried, jumping from my chair and pointing to the video monitor. "It's a fake!"

  Chaos followed as the judge pounded his gavel for order and Lessman's lawyer tried to get me to sit back down. But I wouldn't budge.

  "What do you mean, fake?" demanded the district attorney.

  By now, I was struggling with several court officers as they tried to wrestle me down. "Look at it," I cried, struggling in their grasp as they hauled me away. "The doppelganger has no— Has no—" And there, in my excitement, I used the vulgarity—"He has no dick!"

  Following my pointing finger, everyone turned their attention back to the video. Sure enough, where most men would have had an upright male appendage, the image on the screen was obscured by a curious number of blurry squares.

  "It's obviously a doppelganger as you can see his ectoplasmic substance leaking out!"

  The DA looked at me in wonder. "Of all the stupid— You idiot! Obviously the image has been digitized to avoid offending sensitive members of the jury!"

  It was then that Lessman's lawyer perked up. "Am I to understand," he asked, "that the video footage being presented as evidence in this case has been altered?"

  "Well, yeah, sure," the prosecutor admitted. "Like I said, I didn't want to offend—"

  "Offend!" Lessman's shyster pounded the table. "I am offended that the District Attorney would present doctored evidence in an attempt to implicate an innocent man!"

  Anyway, from there it broke down into a lot of legal mumbo-jumbo that I did not understand. The defense hammered away on the point of tampering with the evidence while the District Attorney held fast in his refusal to screen the real, unaltered, and in his opinion X-rated material before a group of morally decent citizens. In the end, the judge had no choice but to toss out the video, after which Lessman's lawyer insisted the rest of the evidence be thrown out as well since it too was undoubtedly suspect.

  Thus, all charges against Dick Lessman were dismissed—although people for some reason began referring to him by the totally inappropriate name of "Dickless Man." A nickname, which for some reason, the councilman held me accountable and refused to ever speak to me again.

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  James Hold

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