Robert Tanenbaum - Malice

About the same time that Karp was walking into the hospital lobby, Dean Newbury was attending to his nephew, who lay in the hospital bed looking somewhat like a beaten raccoon, with two black eyes, a splint on his nose, and a bandage around his head.

"I can't believe those-excuse the expression and you know I don't usually use such vulgar language-niggers did this to you," Dean Newbury seethed. "If I wasn't so angry, I'd find great irony in the fact that a man who has devoted his entire life to putting this sort of trash behind bars to protect the rest of us was so cruelly manhandled by inferiors who probably have a fifth-grade education and three or four children by as many mothers."

V. T. Newbury reached out and grabbed his uncle's hand. "It's okay. I have to admit that I've been rethinking some of my beliefs since this happened. I was scared to death that they were going to kill me, and I hated them for it. I blamed it on their race, and hated them for that, too."

Dean Newbury nodded grimly. "What's the saying? A Democrat is really just a Republican who hasn't been mugged yet." He laughed but saw the look on his nephew's face and quickly added, "Sorry, I didn't mean to make fun of what happened to you, my boy. I'm sure it was terribly frightening, and your reactions are most understandable."

"Don't worry about it, Uncle Dean. I'd have laughed with you at that old saw, except it would hurt too much."

Dean gave his nephew's hand a squeeze and dropped it. "So, perhaps this could be taken as a sign that you might be considering my offer to join the firm? I know it would have thrilled your father."

At the mention of his dad, V.T. fingered the ring on his hand, looking down at the triskele. A few days before he was beaten, Lucy Karp had noticed the ring during a visit to the Karp family loft. "Where'd you get that?" she'd asked. She was smiling but there was something odd about her face, as if she was trying to control her mouth.

"This?" V.T. replied. "It was my cousin's. He died in Vietnam. My uncle, his father, gave it to me recently. The emblem is sort of like a family coat of arms. Why?"

Lucy shrugged and mumbled, "Nothing. Just, uh…just wondering." But he'd caught the look she shot her mother, who'd quickly changed the subject.

A few days later, he'd gone to a park in Morningside Heights on the northwest end of Manhattan to meet with a source regarding one of the "No Prosecution" cases. But he'd been attacked in the park by two black men, who'd beaten him unconscious and taken his wallet and watch, but not the ring.

He woke up in the hospital, and to his surprise, it was his uncle who was standing next to his bed. And afterward, the old man had insisted on calling in the best specialists-plastic surgeons for his nose and cheek fracture, and brain specialists with their expensive tests to make sure that the concussion had left him with no permanent damage.

When V.T. tried to thank him, his uncle had waved it off. "We're family, and family take care of each other," he said a little gruffly, but he was making an effort. The old man had hesitated and V.T. even thought he caught the glint of a tear in his eyes when he said, "I know I'm not the warmest person on earth. In fact, you might even think of me as cold and hard-hearted for the way I reacted publicly to the death of my son…of my son, Quilliam…and again at the death of your father, my little brother. It's just that I handle grief privately; it may not be the best way, but it's what works for me. However, I can assure you that I grieved, and still do."

"I understand," V.T. replied. "Everybody deals in their own way. I do appreciate you saying that, though; I know it wasn't easy." He was quiet for a moment; then, choosing his words carefully, he added, "You know, even before you brought it up, I'd been thinking that maybe it was time I gave the family firm a shot. My father accomplished a lot there. And Butch doesn't need me. He has some great young assistant district attorneys down at the DAO, and my assistant chief is more than capable of filling my shoes."

"Of course he is." Dean Newbury beamed. "Time to let fresh blood have at, eh? And for you to enjoy the fruits of so much experience in the courtroom. You'll make a fine partner and, if things work out well, a great judge who can have a lot of influence on our society, especially if we can get you all the way to the Supreme Court. Of course, you might also consider finding some proper young woman and settling down, even having a son to carry on the Newbury name. It's not too late, you know. You've given it a great run, but you can't be a carefree bachelor all of your life." He chuckled.

"Who can't be a carefree bachelor?" asked the voice at the door, which turned out to belong to Butch Karp, who stiffened when he entered and saw V.T.'s uncle. "Mr. Newbury," he said, and nodded.

"Karp," Dean Newbury replied.

Ignoring the slight, Karp turned to his friend. "So what's this? You thinking about leaving me?" he asked with a smile, but his eyes were concerned.

"As a matter of fact, my nephew is seriously considering joining his family's firm," his uncle interjected before V.T. could answer. "He's put in more than enough time as a 'public servant.'" The old man said the last two words as if cursing.

Karp looked at V.T. Now the concern was all over Karp's face. "So you're thinking it's time to go over to the dark side." He tried to laugh at the old joke, but it came out strained.

V.T.'s reply was unexpected. "What makes it the 'dark side'? Our judicial system isn't just about prosecutors; there's another side for a reason. And my dad accomplished a lot for all sorts of people working at the firm. Meanwhile, what does it matter if I put a few lowlifes in prison; they're out before I can store their files. If I decide I've had enough, then I think I've done enough to deserve it without any smart-assed comments from you."

"Hey, V.T., I didn't mean…" Karp tried to apologize.

"That's right," Dean Newbury said before Karp could finish his thought. "Why wallow in the pits with the swine, and for nothing, when he could help mold decisions that could affect thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of peoples' lives."

"By protecting oil interests and unscrupulous CEOs who loot employees' retirement accounts before jumping ship with a golden parachute?" Karp responded.

"I thought you were the one who said I should consider going with the money," V.T. retorted.

"I was kidding," Karp replied.

"Well, I'm not," V.T. shot back.

The silence that followed was uncomfortable. Karp couldn't remember ever reaching such a point in a conversation-even during heated debate over courtroom strategy or topics of the day-with the normally unflappable V. T. Newbury. "I understand you're under stress," he said, trying to defuse the situation. "Who could blame you? Just remember that if you need someone to talk to, I'm always there for you."

"I think we can do better than that," Dean Newbury said.

Karp ignored the uncle and patted his friend on the shoulder. "Just take it easy," he said. "Give it some thought, and we'll talk about it when you get back to the office." He looked at Dean Newbury, whose eyes were boring into him.

V.T. didn't say anything, but his body language spoke volumes when he rolled away from Karp on the hospital bed. "I'm tired," he said. "I think I'll go to sleep now."

Karp stopped himself from saying anything more. Now, obviously, wasn't the right time. He looked at his watch again. "That's okay," he said. "I was just stopping by to say hello. I'm on my way to a memorial service for Lucy's friend Cian Magee."

"Fellow who burned in that arson, right?" Dean Newbury said. "Too bad. They ever figure it out?"

Karp didn't want to reply. He found the old man loathsome, but for the sake of his friend he shook his head. "No," he said. "It's still a mystery."