Robert Tanenbaum: Falsely Accused

He went to a public phone and called Marlene first. He spoke with her for five minutes, and then hung up and called a number in Washington, D.C. He spoke briefly, then terminated the call, and called a number in Miami, where he did the same. Then he returned Bloom’s call. As he dialed, he noted that the number was not that of the D.A.’s centrex board, but Bloom’s private number, the one his friends called, the one that rang on the special phone on his desk.

“Let’s talk,” said Bloom when he picked up and Karp announced himself.

“We’re talking.”

“Not on the phone. Come by this evening. Say six? We’ll have some privacy.”

Karp was about to say something violent and obscene, but stopped himself. The sentiment would be better expressed face to face. Besides, he was truly impressed with Bloom’s apparently inviolable chutzpah. He said, “Okay. Six,” and hung up.

Karp walked into the D.A.’s private office at a quarter past six. The outer office was deserted; Bloom had left word with the guard below to let him up. The D.A. was sitting behind his desk, with only the desk light on. The blinds were drawn. The scene was almost parodically noir; Karp idly wondered why Bloom had arranged it that way, and decided that he could not understand it, which was also true of nearly everything else the man did. Bloom’s face was in shadows, but did not appear to be dripping sweat, nor were the eyes wild and bulging with terror. Bloom looked as he always did, prosperous and comfortable. He was in shirtsleeves, with yellow suspenders. He had a long cigar in his hand.

“Sit down,” said Bloom, gesturing to one of his leather and steel sling chairs.

“What do you want?” said Karp, not sitting.

“I want to put this all behind me,” answered Bloom.

“What is this ‘all’? That you raped a child? That to conceal that you covered up two murders by the police? That you connived to have a decent man fired to cover that up?”

Bloom waved his cigar dismissively. “First of all, I didn’t rape anyone. And besides, the kid is dead and so is the man who killed her. For all we know, Jackson was the rapist. So we can cancel all that out. The Selig thing-I want to tell you I regret that. I was misinformed by my staff.”

“You didn’t do it to cover up Jackson’s murders, you’re saying.”

“Of course not!”

Karp was interested to note that Bloom’s famous imitation of moral outrage remained intact. “So why are we here?” Karp inquired.

Bloom essayed a smile, not a pleasant expression to see. “Why not? After the battle’s over, we’re all colleagues, right? Members of the bar? I won’t pretend that I like you personally, and I know you as sure as hell don’t like me, but we’ve always been able to work together. I’m thinking chief assistant district attorney. I’ll handle the politics, you run the office.”

“You’re going to jail,” said Karp.

A short barking laugh from Bloom. “Don’t be stupid! There’s not a shred of-”

Karp kept talking, to himself it seemed, but out loud. “You’re trying to distract me with this moronic offer. From what? There are only two people who can put you away. One is John Seaver, but I sense that you’ve already gotten to him. He’s a flexible man, Seaver. Why should he piss off the D.A., especially when there’s no confirmation of any accessory to murder charges and he can lay it all off on his dead partner? The other is Corazon Machado. Who knows what kind of physical evidence she kept? That’s probably part of what Jackson was looking for when he tossed her place, that and information about where the girl was. Well, he found that, all right, but he missed your apartment keys. Maybe he missed something else. So you got some of your friends in immigration to frog-march her out of the country. Even then it’ll take some time to process her, and you don’t want either me or Marlene to spend time looking for her, so you come up with this … scheme, offering me this job.”

Here he paused and rubbed his chin and gave Bloom a look of the type we bestow on the two-headed calf or the baby with scales and fins floating in murky fluids at the carnival side show. “I can’t figure you out,” Karp said, genuine puzzlement in his voice. “You really think this is just another peccadillo you can wiggle away from, and that I’ll sort of be party to it. Even though you tried to rape my wife.”

“I didn’t-”

“ Shut the fuck up ! And in a way, I don’t blame you. I’ve been covering your ass for years. Your corruption. Your incompetence. Your actual crimes. I guess I thought I was doing it for the office. I’m really a sort of good German, in a way, and you saw that, and used it. But now, now you’re going down. See, what I did, a couple of hours ago, is that I called another corrupt fuck I know, who happens to be a U.S. congressman who owes me a big one, and I got him to spring Corazon Machado, pending a full investigation of her case, and I called a P.I. I know down there to pick her up and take care of her. She’s flying back here in the company of a newspaper reporter who speaks fluent Spanish. I bet they’ll have a lot to talk about on the way up. The papers’ll be a real interesting read tomorrow morning. I can’t wait.”

Bloom said nothing. His face had started to twitch around the eyes.

Karp took a deep breath and looked around the office. He said, “They’ll have to fumigate this place with a flame thrower before they let the next guy in here,” and then he turned and walked out.

“What did he say then?” asked Marlene.

“He didn’t say anything,” said Karp. He shifted in bed, trying to ease the pain in his knee, the result of a day spent mostly on his feet. “I just walked out. To tell you the truth, I was getting nauseated just being in the same room with the bastard. I mean really, physically. My stomach was heaving, I wanted to hit him so bad. The worst thing was thinking it was partly my fault that he’s still in there. I should have knocked him out that first time, years ago.”

“Oh, wah! You’re not a plaster saint. I want a divorce.”

“Oh, yeah? You think you can do better?”

“Of course. They’re lining up out there for one-eyed, eight-fingered babes with three kids. They’ll have to use velvet ropes to control the crowds.”

Karp laughed, swooped his head under the covers, and lifted her nightgown. He nuzzled her swelling belly. “How’re Heckle and Jeckle doing in there?” he asked, and things might have developed in an interesting manner had not the sound of knocking, light and tentative, sounded on their bedroom door. Karp groaned. “Oh, Christ, not again!”

“What is it, honey?” Marlene called. Karp reluctantly emerged from the steamy cavern. Lucy entered, looking forlorn. “I’m too sad to sleep,” she said in a weak voice.

Marlene patted the bed and Lucy climbed up next to her. Nothing had been kept from Lucy about the events in Chester. It was Marlene’s firm belief that there was no enormity that would scar a child’s mind worse than a secret that could not be discussed in the family. Snuggling in next to her mother, Lucy asked, “Is Isabella in Heaven yet?”

“Yes,” said Marlene confidently. “She probably has one of the good seats too.”

“Is she an angel too?”

“Arguably,” said Marlene. Lucy sniffled and began to weep silent tears. Marlene hugged her closer and said, “Look, I know you miss her, Luce, and I miss her too, but she’s gone. You have to cry and remember her, which you did, and then it’s time to stop crying and just remember.”

“Hector isn’t crying. He just stares at the ceiling. He says he’s going to kill the soldiers.”

“It wasn’t soldiers who killed Isabella, Lucy. It was a policeman.”