Butch Karp: Act Of Revenge Part 18

"You need to pick up a witness for me, Ed," said Karp, and gave an address.

"That's your place," said Morris.

"Right. My daughter."

"Uh-oh. Will I need backup?"

"Alert the tacticals just in case."

In the unmarked, driving uptown, Lucy asked grumpily, "Isn't this corruption? Taking your kid out in a cop car?"

"Not in the least," said Karp. "After this we're going to go to the hospital to see your mother, who is a witness in a major crime. As are you. Believe me, this is official; right, Ed?"

"Extremely." He goosed the car's siren, moving a cab slightly out of their way. "See?"

"Then why are we going to the Met?"

"To see the Chinese stuff, and you're ent.i.tled to police protection while we do it. Afterward, if you're not satisfied, it's your right as a citizen to lodge a complaint against the two of us. Meanwhile, let me see you smile. Go ahead, it won't break your face."

Lucy managed a thin one, with which the dad had to be content, but somewhat later, in the Asian gallery, the girl's mood lifted. They walked together down the halls of lit gla.s.s cases containing scrolls of calligraphy, Lucy occasionally stopping to translate a poem or stopping to stare, transfixed, at one of the cases. Karp spent his time staring not at the meaningless squiggles on brown silk but at his daughter, thinking about paternal love, and fate, and genetics, and about how he, being who he was, should have been landed with this particular child.

After an hour of this, he found her looking back at him. "You hate this, don't you?"

"Hate is too strong a word. But I'll admit that to me it compares unfavorably to an afternoon at Yankee Stadium, Ron Guidry against Roger Clemens."

She laughed. "We could do that, too. But it was really nice of you to make the sacrifice. I'm really glad I got to see this."

"My pleasure. Want to see more, or go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat?"

"Eat. I'm calligraphied out."

Seated in the cavernous eatery in the museum's bas.e.m.e.nt, the two chatted amiably about Lucy's experiences at Columbia, the scientists who worked with her, and what they were discovering, about the doings of her friends, movies she wanted to see, her reading, her recent work at the Chinese school, exactly as if she were a regular kid, and he a regular dad. The avoidance of certain topics was hardly any strain, and it did both of their hearts good. Mention of the Chinese school triggered something in his mind, and it niggled at him until, just as they were about to leave, he recalled the yellow sheet in his pocket. He pulled it forth and spread it out in front of his daughter.

She looked at it and frowned. "Terrible characters. Very badly formed. Where is this from?"

"Someone left it in my office. Can you read them?"

"Uh-huh. This is liang. It means a roof beam. This is j, which means rank, but it's p.r.o.nounced kp in Cantonese."

"What does it mean in Cantonese?"

"The same thing, but around Chinatown it's also us. I mean, it's the way our family name comes out. It sounds the same and it's an auspicious character. This one I don't know, this one, y, I know from restaurants, it's 'clam,' these two mean 'each other,' I don't know this one, don't know, don't know, this is 'gain' and this is l, 'profits.' " She frowned at the line of characters, then her face brightened. "Oh, I get it! It's a saying: y bng xiang zheng y weng de l. Okay, down lower, this here is y, which means fool or foolish . . ."

"Wait a second, I thought it meant clam."

"No, Daddy, y means clam; y means fool. Can't you hear the difference?"

"Nope. What does the saying mean?"

"Oh, something like, when the snipe and the clam wrestle, the fisherman benefits."

"Ah, so," said Karp.

She gave him an interested look, then returned to the page. "All this scraggly stuff I can't make out. This at the bottom is . . . oh!"

"What?"

She was blus.h.i.+ng. "It's sort of, like, nasty."

"I'll forgive you. What does it say?"

"Literally? p.r.i.c.k hairs sauteed with Chinese chives."

"Good G.o.d!" said Karp, laughing. "What's that all about?"

"It's Hong Kong slang," Lucy explained, laughing, too. "It means, like, a total mess you can't get out of."

"Do you know what Stendahl said was the worst thing about being jailed?" Tran asked.

From her bed Marlene replied grumpily, "No, but I'm sure you're about to tell me."

"You are correct. He said that it was that one could not avoid unwelcome visitors. Do you feel so?"

"No. I welcome all visitors, except those that wish to probe and manipulate my body. Those I detest. The others are useful for ridding myself of acc.u.mulated frustration through a display of ill temper. If I am here long enough, I will have no friends left."

"On the contrary, my dear: any friend who was liable to be put off by rudeness and ill temper has long since abandoned you."

Marlene threw a pillow at him, which he caught, and returned tenderly to its place behind her turbaned head. She said, "This is driving me crazy. I have all these people depending on me, the clients . . . G.o.d knows what's happening to them."

"So far, nothing, I can a.s.sure you. I, rather than G.o.d, have been keeping track of them all while you lie at your ease like a d.u.c.h.ess. Nothing has been let slip in the past three days."

"What? How have you done that?"

"Operatives have been hired and a.s.signed, schedules have been made, checks have been issued. The world goes on quite well without you, Marie-Helene. You are perfectly dispensable."

"I am astounded. I had no idea you were such a genius at organization."

The man who had planned the 1968 Tet offensive in Tay Ninh province accepted the compliment with a sweet smile, saying nothing. Marlene glanced at the room's door, for the third time in as many minutes, a concerned look blooming on her face.

"And what about Lucy?" she asked.

"I would say she seems well, despite the burden she carries," said Tran after a moment's consideration. "She is pinched by always having me with her when she is not at home. She spends much of her time at the laboratory, and at home Mary Ma visits her often. Today, I am happy to say, she is off with her father. I would like to see her light again, as she was, but that will not happen until this business is resolved, or until she tells what she knows."

"They still haven't caught those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds?"

"No, only the one I interviewed. The Vo are elusive. I have my own inquiries out. But even if the Vo are taken off the board, Leung will still have an interest."

"Leung set up the kidnap?"

"Without question. I was able to overhear a conversation between Leung and Mr. Yee, the leader of the Hap Tai business a.s.sociation. He told Yee that the Italians had killed the Sings."

"Do you believe that, Tran?"

"Perhaps. But even if true, Leung was involved as an emissary or master of ceremonies, even if he did not pull the trigger. Then they spoke of Lucy and how she might compromise the silence of the Chen family in this matter. Leung is clearly very concerned to remain free of any taint of this a.s.sa.s.sination. Afterward, he made a phone call which, as I surmise now, could only have been to the Vo. But there are many other b.a.s.t.a.r.ds for hire besides the Vo. Leung seems to have disappeared, by the way."

"And this means . . . ?"

"Who can tell? Perhaps he went back to Hong Kong, where he belongs. Perhaps . . ."

This thought was lost as a rapid knock sounded on the door, and it opened to reveal Sophie Leontoff in a wheelchair, with Abe Lapidus behind her, pus.h.i.+ng.

Cries of amazement, commiserations, imprecations (Marlene, dolling, what are you, nuts?), introductions. When the old lady learned that Tran not only spoke French but had been a resident in Paris, she began to rattle away in that language with Tran, leaving Marlene to listen with one ear, while explaining choice bits to the bemused Abe.

"Sophie told me about that kid of yours with the languages-amazing, just unbelievable," he said, shaking his head.

Marlene acknowledged this and added, "It's funny, we were here last time talking about Jerry Fein, and now I'm in the hospital myself because of his daughter." She explained what had happened the other day at the shelter. "Small world, huh?"

"Yeah, that's some story. But I got news for you, honey: it's smaller than you think. Jerry Fein was also Morris Leontoff's attorney, may he rest in peace. You didn't know this? Of course, how could you? Sophie, you remember Jerry Fein?"

Sophie interrupted a description of what used to go on at a certain joint in Montparna.s.se, served up for comparison with Tran's description of same (not too different) and said, "Of course I remember Jerry Fein. He jumped off the Empire State, I should forget that?"

"I mean before, when he worked for Morris."

"Of course. Him and Ceil. We were at the beach together, also-years. What a nice man, so good-looking. And such a dresser! A tragedy he should go kill himself like that! How come you're asking?"

"Marlene has his daughter for a client," said Abe. "That momser she married attacked her, and Marlene got in the way."

"That girl," said Sophie darkly, and a look pa.s.sed from her to Abe, which Marlene saw, and which popped her curiosity up a gear.

"What about her?" Marlene asked.

"Nothing," replied Sophie, falsely bright. "A beautiful girl. All the boys were after her, at the beach, at school. She went to Erasmus. She was the queen of the, what is this, the dance . . . ?"

"The prom," supplied Marlene.

"Right, the prom queen. Gorgeous. Jerry was so proud of her . . ." Another of those looks. What was going on here? Marlene took a plunge.

"Aunt Sophie, why do you think Jerry Fein killed himself?"

But too great a plunge, it seemed. "Oh, listen, dolling, why do you want to talk about sad old stuff? Talk about the happy. I had too much sad old stuff, dolling, believe me."

There was a moment of embarra.s.sed silence, and then Tran, bless his heart, launched into an innocent question about old Paris, and the French chatter cranked up again.

Abe Lapidus looked at Marlene. There was a shadow in his eyes that hadn't been there before. He leaned over her and said, in the manner of a lawyer counseling a client at trial, "You want to know about Jerry? The whole megilla?"

"I think I have to, Abe."

"You don't believe let sleeping dogs lie?"

Marlene said, "You know, Abe, as a matter of fact, I do. Unfortunately, this dog is up, awake, and tearing around growling and biting. People have been hurt already, including me, and more people are going to get hurt. That's what I think. What do you think, Abe?"

Abe sighed and said, "You get out of here, you call me. We'll have lunch, I'll give you some names."

Chapter 13.

THEY KEPT MARLENE IN THE HOSPITAL for eight days, which in her opinion was at least three days too long. She felt fine, she told them, but they continued to probe her with the wonderful and expensive machinery of the modern neurological suite until they were satisfied that they were more or less tort proof, should she begin to imagine herself the Empress Josephine upon her release.

Karp came to take her home, and found her in her room, sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in the clothes he had brought in the previous day, a black cotton s.h.i.+rt and trousers and a long, smoky silk scarf, which she had made into a turban around her cropped head. Marlene did not look good in a turban, or in the yellowing bruises that covered one side of her face, and, as her false eye was no longer s.h.i.+elded by a strategic fall of hair, her glance was curiously lopsided. And glum. It tormented Karp's heart to contemplate what he was about to do, but he chilled it down and said, "We have to talk about this business, Marlene."

"What, now?" she asked, scowling.

"Yeah, now." He drew a deep breath, released it, as before taking an important foul shot. "I need you to give me the whole story. On Vivian Bollano. And on whatever's happening out there in connection with the Chinatown murders. Whatever you know."

She stared angrily at him, but his glance didn't falter, and after a moment her eyes fell and she asked coldly, "To whom am I speaking now? My husband, or the chief a.s.sistant district attorney?"

"Well, Marlene, the answer to that is 'both,' and the fact that this creates problems for us is not my doing."

"What are you going to do? Interrogate me? Maybe I should have my attorney present."

In one part of his mind, Karp saw himself pointing to the telephone and heard himself saying, "Maybe you should," but what he did instead was to slump into a chair, catch her eye with his again, and say, "Marlene! Look at me! Listen to me! This is tearing me up. It's breaking my heart. I've already compromised myself six ways to Sunday getting you in here instead of the lock-up ward at Bellevue, but I can't just give you a free ride if I think you have knowledge constructive to three homicides. Which I do. G.o.d, I don't want to put legal pressure on you. Legal pressure! We're married, for crying out loud! I want you to tell me because you love me, because you trust me, and because I'm worried nauseous about our daughter, who's in danger because of something I think she saw and won't tell me about. Now, come on, Marlene! Talk to me!"

"And if not, what?" she asked, her voice neutral.

"Oh, s.h.i.+t! That's not the right answer, Marlene."

She repeated it. He looked at her, closed his eyes, shook his head, sighed, and said, "Okay, if not, then there are a pair of cops down the hall who will take you in and process you just like any other person charged with a.s.sault. I'm out of the loop officially in any case; Tim Sullivan will handle the whole thing out of Felony. He's going to ask Roland what the story is, and Roland is going to say, because it's the truth, that you're hiding something, and Tim's people will bring that to the attention of the judge. Roland could also buy, or pretend to buy, the story that Bollano's people are putting out, that it was an a.s.sa.s.sination attempt on him-"

"Do you believe that?"

"Oh, c.r.a.p, of course I don't believe that, Marlene. That's the point, it doesn't matter what I believe. I'm supposed to be out of it."

"But if I spill my guts here, then you're in it again, you smooth the way, get me through arraignment and bail, and I'm home all cozy and safe. Is that the deal?"

She was perfectly right. The thing stunk, a spaghetti tangle of legal and domestic business, an archetypal Karp family katzenjammer. Flat-voiced, he said, "Yeah, that's the deal."

She nodded. "Okay, then here's my response to that deal. About Vivian Fein Bollano, I will say absolutely nothing. Everything that has pa.s.sed between us is protected by attorney-client privilege, and I will so maintain to a judge when the time comes. About the other thing: you've probably come to the same conclusion I have, that either Lucy witnessed the Asia Mall killings or some of her friends did, or they all did. Lucy was out of circulation for a couple, three hours that afternoon at just the right time. You know about Lucy and Janice getting rousted by a couple of gangsters. Then she gets s.n.a.t.c.hed last week. Tran believes that on both occasions the people involved were mainly interested in finding out what the girls knew and whether they'd told anyone else about it. He's turned up a name, Leung, a local hard boy, but clearly just a go-between-"

"Why? Why just a go-between?"

"Because the Sings were big shots, triad guys. Somebody wanted them hit would have to have some serious muscle to back up the play. Leung's a small-timer. Tran says." She summarized Tran's information about the Yee-Leung connection.