Robert Tanenbaum - Act of Revenge

Nor was that the only favorable contrast with his wife. Mimi Vasquez was in her fifth year with the D.A. and her second in Homicide, and clearly a rising star, quite apart from her status as a Hispanic woman and thus an affirmative action two-fer. Karp had spotted her as a comer early on, and nudged her career helpfully when needed. Vasquez had the broad shoulders, solid build, and narrow hips of a distance swimmer, which she was, a neat round head, and short thick straight hair, cut close. With her round face, huge dark eyes, flat nose, and tawny skin, she presented the appearance of a not entirely terrestrial creature, a seal perhaps, recruited into the legal profession in exchange for those shiploads of lawyers the jokes are always drowning. She and Karp agreed perfectly on what was important; she was one of those who had instinctively understood his corny lecture and gone on to put principle to the test of action. Not in the least frightened of trials, she’d won a couple of nice ones recently, without becoming obnoxious about it as so many of her male peers did after similar victories. She reminded Karp strongly (and sadly) of his wife, when his wife had been a respectable colleague rather than a loose cannon with a short fuse.

For her part, Vasquez was always delighted when Karp took an interest in her work. Not only did he know a lot, but he was not, like Roland Hrcany, her immediate boss, trying tediously to get into her pants. As to that aspect, should anything unfortunate and permanent befall Mrs. Karp, Mimi Vasquez was perfectly willing to dispense entirely with pants in re: Butch Karp, a willingness she shared with any number of women at 10 °Centre Street, and of which the object was entirely oblivious.

Upon receiving Karp’s call, Vasquez had spent three minutes in front of the glass in the sixth-floor ladies’ getting herself into perfect court-appearance order and two minutes after that was sitting in Karp’s side chair, legs neatly crossed, ears perked, pad on lap.

“How’s the Sing double going?” asked Karp.

“Nothing new since the last time you asked,” replied Vasquez, and seeing his frown added, “I realize that’s not the right answer, but it’s always like that down there, especially in this case, where it looks like an out-of-town job. You know the story: a couple Ghost Shadows hit a Flying Dragon one night on Canal Street, at least there’s talk on the block, some history behind the crime, and we can bring in the snitches, not that Chinatown is full of snitches, but the cops hear stuff. Here. . it’s like it never happened. A couple out-of-towners with heavy triad connections in Hong Kong walk into a stockroom, followed by person or persons unknown, and wind up dead. Nobody the cops talked to will admit to seeing anything unusual.”

“Who caught it in the Five?”

“Phil Wu.”

He waited, but she did not elaborate. “And. .?”

“I never worked with him before, but Roland says he’s okay. Smart, speaks Cantonese and Mandarin. He had the collar on that pool hall shooting in ’81, Bayard Street. He seems to be doing the right things, but. .”

“Uh-huh. He talk to the Chen family, do you know?”

“They own the place? Yeah, in the original canvass at the crime scene.”

“But not afterward?”

“Not that I know of.” She gave him an interested look, scenting something. “Why? You think they’re connected?”

“The vics got in through the back door and so did the killer. That back door is always locked. Somebody opened it from the inside. Also, there are always people in and out of that stockroom. If nobody saw anything, then either they’re lying or they were pulled away from there.”

She was frankly staring at him now, as if he had just produced a live chicken out of thin air. “Jesus, Butch! How the hell do you know all that?”

Karp glanced away, as if embarrassed. “We’ve known the Chens for a long time. That door is on Howard Street right down from where we live. I’ve seen delivery guys ringing the bell back there or pounding on the door a million times. It’s never unlocked except when they’re taking in merchandise.”

Vasquez waited a moment and then asked, “So. . what? You want me to bring in the Chens or. .”

“Yeah, bring them in. Nothing heavy, but you need to find out whether there’ve been any threats, keep your mouth shut or else. Re-interview the whole staff there too. Explain to everyone that keeping information from the authorities is a serious crime, and so is threatening people who have information about a crime. Get Wu to explain things in Chinese just to make sure they understand.”

She wrote rapidly on her pad and then looked up again. He asked, “You ever hear of a Kenny Vo? Some kind of Vietnamese thug?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell. Is he involved in the Sing double?”

“It’s possible. Swear out a warrant and have him picked up. He’s got an associate with a busted face, so have them check the emergency rooms. The charges are kidnapping one and assault two. Here are the details.” He passed a sheet of yellow bond across the desk. She read it and gaped.

“Your daughter ?”

“Don’t ask, Vasquez,” he said. “Just do it, and when you’ve got the son of a bitch I want to see him. And make sure Roland’s in the loop on this. Go ahead,” he ordered, blocking the questions he could see forming in her eyes. “Do it now!”

After Vasquez left, he stared at the door that closed behind her, his ordinary impulse to action quite overcome by confusion and dull despair. Over the years he had become used to Marlene’s quasi-legal and perilous lifestyle and had even accepted that it might involve some danger to their children-Manhattan was in any case a risky place to raise kids. Karp was good at accepting things he couldn’t change. But the idea that Lucy was on her own hook getting into Marlene-style trouble had struck him like a clout on the ear. It was not to be borne. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve this.

Karp was several leagues into the sere and unfamilar country of self-pity when the phone rang. Listlessly he raised it to his face and spoke his name.

“Butch? It’s me. What’s so urgent?”

“Where are you?”

“At Mattie’s. What is it?”

“Oh, not much. Your daughter was kidnapped and beat up today while you were out solving everybody else’s problems.” He heard a quick gasp over the wires, and then Marlene asked in an over-controlled, even voice, “Is she all right?”

“Yeah, she got out of it with a shiner and a bloody nose. She’s home and I got a cop watching the place. Marlene, what the fuck is going on? Will you please tell me before you get our kid killed?”

“ I get. .? What the hell are you talking about? You think I was involved in getting her. .”

“No,” he shouted, “ I’m the one who’s modeling semi-criminal behavior, and sometimes not so semi either. Jesus, Marlene, she’s up to her little ears in a double murder, and those fucking Chinese pals of yours are in on it, too. You better tell me what the hell is going on, because if I don’t get some straight answers right away-”

“Oh, shut up ! How dare you accuse me of endangering my child!”

“No reason, except you’ve done it about a dozen times that I know of.”

“I’m not going to talk to you when you’re like this. I’m hanging up.”

“Marlene, don’t you dare put down that phone! Marlene. .?”

He heard a scream over the phone, coming as from far away, and then a loud bang, and then more screams, and a string of pops that sounded like firecrackers, but which Karp doubted very much were firecrackers.

“Marlene, what the hell. . ”