Robert Tanenbaum - Fury

Louis had appeared at Karp's office in a more conciliatory mood. "Listen, Mr. Lindahl and I had reached a settlement…pretty much everything except the signatures," he said. "We were willing to accept a flat $100 million-"

"No," Karp said flatly.

"However, considering things have changed, I believe my clients would consider $40 million-that's only $10 million each-to have this little matter go away."

"No."

"Now, look here, Karp, you're going to be running for office next year, and I don't think you want the black and Hispanic communities pegging you for a racist-"

"No. Not one red cent," Karp said, trying to keep his voice level and to resist the urge to stand up and kick the shit out of Louis. "I'm busy. I think you can show yourself out."

"Enjoy the year, Karp," Louis said as he stood up. "It's the last one you'll spend in the NY DAO."

Karp had then thrown another brick at Louis at a pretrial hearing a few days later when he didn't ask for a continuance. "We're happy with the current trial date, your honor," he said to Klinger. "In fact, if you'd like to move it up that would be fine with us."

The tumblers were all falling into place. The day after Louis's visit, Police Captain Tim Carney's lawyer called and left a message with Mrs. Milquetost asking for a meeting. He had Newbury call with his response. "Come on down. We'll listen to what he has to say."

"What about a deal?" the lawyer said. "What can I go back to him with?"

"Nothing," Newbury shot back. "We'll hear him out and decide where to go from there."

Carney showed up with his young lawyer, Christopher P. Ferguson III, a cheap ambulance chaser in a Sears coat, who immediately began making demands. "He gets complete immunity or we walk."

"Walk," Karp said and pointed at the door. "You know the way."

The lawyer started to bluster, but Carney said, "Sit down, Chris, and shut up. They got us bent over a barrel." He turned to Karp and Newbury. "Sorry, my wife's sister's kid, just out of law school. Okay, here's the part you get for free; you don't have to give me a deal to listen. But if you think it's worth something to you and would like me to testify, then let's talk. And I'll throw in something you'll like a whole lot on an unrelated but very big case."

Carney then laid out how Lindahl had been steering the big-enchilada cases alleging police malfeasance and corruption to a few big law firms for years-"mostly Louis, Zulu, and Radinskaya."

Newbury shrugged. "We already have that."

"Yeah, but do you have proof that Lindahl was taking kickbacks for his kindnesses, as well as when he signed off on the payments and forwarded the No Prosecution files to your office?"

"We're listening," Karp said. He could almost feel the excitement boiling out of Newbury, though his old friend hadn't moved or said a word. The smoking gun is a friggin' cannon, he thought.

Carney smiled and said, "Yeah, I bet you are. There's more. Shakira Zulu was also paying some of her fellow city councilmen to sign off on the settlement payments, which, as you know, is required by law."

"So where do you and the esteemed union boss, Ewen, fit in?" Newbury asked.

"I'd advise you not to answer that," Ferguson said. "Not until we have a deal."

"Shut up, Christopher, you got a mouth on you like your mother," Carney said. "Essentially, I was paid to look the other way and make sure that Internal Affairs didn't poke our noses into certain cases and rubber-stamped whatever these law firms said. Some bad cops got off, the 'victims' got big settlements-part of which would also go to these firms that were supposed to be representing the cops. So they were double-dipping right there."

"And Ewen?" Karp asked, thinking he'd never liked the toad-like man.

"He kept the PBA membership in line if they started asking questions about the bad apples and made sure they were protected and kept on the force. No matter what anybody thinks, good cops don't like dirty cops."

"Dirty cops like you," Newbury said.

Carney looked down at his hands. "Yeah," he said, his voice breaking, "like me. I ain't got no good excuse, but I guess I was looking at the end of the line for my career, and what did I have except mortgage payments and college tuitions for five kids. I wanted more for my family…and, yeah, more for a dirty cop like me."

Karp felt sorry for the man. He knew Carney had a half-dozen medals for heroism, and Newbury's research seemed to indicate that he'd come to this point only within the past five years. Still, you agree to accept the pay when you sign up, he thought. You want to make more money, sell real estate. "It was still a crime," he said.

Carney nodded. Ferguson cleared his throat, and, when no one told him to shut up, proceeded. "I think now would be a good time to talk about a deal if you want my client to testify to what he just told you, as well as supply you with a sizable amount of documentation to back up these allegations."

"What do you want?" Karp said, looking at Carney, whose eyes were glued to the floor.

"No prison time-I wouldn't last two minutes in the general population. Whatever else you may think of me, most of my career was spent putting bad guys behind bars. A lot of them are still there."

"What else?"

Carney cleared his throat but at first couldn't speak, then muttered. "I'll sell the place in the Keys and give the money, and everything else I got through these deals, back to the city."

"That would happen whether you said so or not," Karp said.

"I'd like…I'm begging to be allowed to retire from the force, the way I imagined when I first went to the academy," he said. "I'll need my pension to support my family and make sure my wife can stay in our little place in the Bronx. She's a good woman who doesn't deserve to be hurt because I fucked up-pardon my French."

"You'll be required to testify at the trials," Newbury said, "which means the press is going to be all over you. You're not going to be able to protect her from what comes out."

"Yeah, I know," Carney croaked, tears running down his face. "I figure if it gets bad, we can sell the place and move to Seattle, where our oldest daughter is living. She's been after us to move out there. Says it's safer."

Karp had already made up his mind to agree to the deal, but he wanted the information on the other "big case." Feeling like a hard-ass, he said, "The price is too steep."

"That's outrageous!" Ferguson sputtered. "Uncle Tim is a good man. He made a mistake… I guess this is why they refer to you in the public defender's office as Saint Karp."

Karp ignored the young lawyer and kept his eyes fixed on Carney. "I think you know as well as I do that holding back for a deal is not going to help relieve the guilt that's sitting on your shoulders."

"I'll never be out from under it," Carney said, "but you're right, I have to tell you. It's about the Coney Island case. Some of the guys on the force who are getting screwed by Breman are old friends. I wasn't sure what I was going to do about it. We were going to make a bundle from our share of whatever those fuckers won. But it didn't feel right, so I had some of my specialists plant a bug in Breman's office. I got her on tape telling that pile of crap Hugh Louis about some letter a guy named Kaminsky sent her from prison. It said Villalobos was lying about being the only one there who raped that woman."

"So, we got a deal?" Ferguson asked.

"Shut up, Christopher," Carney and Karp said at the same time. The two looked at each other for a long moment until Karp at last spoke. "I hear it rains a lot in Seattle."

"Don't I know it," Carney replied. "It'll be hell on the arthritis."

"There are worse things."

"Don't I know it."

A week later, Karp whistled as he entered the courtroom and saw Murrow and Kipman sitting in the row behind the table where he'd be sitting. Behind them were Robin Repass, Pam Russell, and Dick Torrisi. He exchanged little nods as he walked past and placed his briefcase on the defense table.