Robert Tanenbaum - Enemy within

"Really? He seems to be fairly liberal with your mom's antics."

"Oh, Mom's just a common criminal. It's okay to be charitable to those." She fell silent, thinking: Mike Dugan thinks I lust after David is what it is, and that I'm going to get myself in trouble. And I do lust after him, but it's stupid schoolgirl lust, and I'm in no great danger from it; pathetic, really. Still, Mike should know that, so… what if it's something else? Something he knows, or senses? He's so damn smart, Father Mike, I can't believe he's behaving like some Irish parish priest like we joke about, but for real. So what could it be? And as she mused in this way, she recalled the odd things she had noticed about Grale and ignored or excused. That remark about why God lets them live. About the slasher being an instrument of mercy. Those scary blank moments when he suddenly wasn't there. She felt a chill and shuddered. Her father noticed and asked what was wrong, and she said nothing, but it wasn't nothing.

The phone rang. Giancarlo struck like a snake and snatched it up. "Mr. Karp's office," he said; then, handing over the instrument, "It's for you, Daddy."

"I should hope so," said Karp. It was Vasquez.

"Was that a secretary?"

"My kid. What's up?"

"I did Paxton. If he's making it up, he's real good. I took him through it half a dozen times, from every angle I could think of. Raney did him, too. Basically, he says they were cooping in the garage. They have like a route in that area, they dive in trash cans for high-end magazines, and also they pick over things that people leave out on the streets. There's a little blind corner in that garage they use to stash stuff."

"There's no guard?"

"Hey, it's the low-end economy. They slip the poor guy a tax-free twenty and no questions asked. They're merchants. Anyway, they were there, checking over their finds, and Ramsey spots a woman walking by, going over to a Lexus. He was high, Paxton says, wine, and he'd smoked some dust. And he says, 'Look at that rich white bitch. We should take her off.'"

"Sorry, Ramsey or Paxton says this?"

"Ramsey does. And he pulls out his knife and accosts the woman, Marshak as it turns out, and she pulls a gun. Paxton didn't see the gun, but he hears the shot and sees Ramsey go down. Marshak gets in the car and books. He goes over to Ramsey, and he sees he's gone. She got him right through the pump, by the way, according to the autopsy, one shot right on the money. He grabs up the knife and takes off. That's his story."

"And how did Paxton come to contact Solotoff? A sudden spasm of civic responsibility?"

"No, Solotoff had the various homeless hangouts and shelters plastered with handbills. If you know anything about this crime, come see me: reward, five grand for useful information."

"That's a nice reward. A reward like that can powerfully stimulate the imagination. Did you suggest to him that he was making up the whole thing to get the cash?"

"Of course, and I outlined to him the penalties for perjury and assured him that if we did find him perjurious, we would go after him to the full extent, et cetera, but he sticks to his story. Ramsey attacked with a knife, was slain in self-defense."

"What's the knife look like?"

"Oh, the knife is good, too. Solotoff brought it in in a plastic bag. Cheapo six-inch hunting knife, a Taiwan product. It's got prints on it. Obviously, forensics has it while we speak, but a good assumption would be that some of the prints are Ramsey's. It doesn't look that great for the good guys, boss."

"No." He paused. "And the watch?"

"Zilch on the watch. He never saw the watch, never knew Ramsey had it. He affected surprise and outrage when I told him that Ramsey had died with a gold Rolex in hand. He was pissed off because they were supposed to split everything down the middle. Ramsey was holding out on him. He says."

"Yeah. So he wants us to believe that a street merchant with no recent record of violence, and with a six-thousand-dollar watch in his pocket, which he doesn't tell his partner about, and which we have no idea where he got it, all of a sudden decides to mug this woman and gets killed with a knife in his hand, after which his partner takes the murder weapon and keeps it safe until prompted to come forward by a reward."

"The mugging is explained by the dope. The knife being taken is explained by panic."

"Oh, please!"

He heard her sigh over the line. "Hey, what can I tell you? That's his story. Raney thinks it's bullshit, too. So… what do you want me to do now?"

"Not sure. Need to think about this some more, but I can't right now."

He replaced the phone. Lucy looked inquiringly at him. "You were talking about Desmondo and Ralphie, Desmondo's murder and all, weren't you?"

"Yeah. Ralphie came in and told his story. He said Ramsey was doped up and attacked Ms. Marshak with a knife, and she shot him."

"Do you believe him? Ralphie?"

"I don't think so, but he's sticking pretty hard to the story. What do you think? You knew both of them, didn't you?"

"I guess. I thought I did. But you never know about people. I always thought Des was pretty straight-up. He drank wine and smoked a little, but he wasn't a dealer."

"My guy says Ralphie says Ramsey was dusted when he went after this woman."

Lucy shook her head. "No way. Des didn't do hard drugs that I ever saw or heard about. Ralphie might've. Ralphie was sort of a slimeball, and the two of them were, you know, the way a kind of straight-up guy will let a slimer hang out with him because he's sort of half-sorry for them and also because it like makes him feel good to have a follower? That was them."

The twins came in then, ravenous and sugar-stoked, having consumed all the candy in the secretary's little disk, and demanded junk food for their supper. Karp obliged, being an old junk-food glutton himself. Lucy feigned enthusiastic agreement, although, like her mother, she found American fast food faintly nauseating. Unteenlike, she found herself unexpectedly solicitous of her family's grosser tastes, peace being at a premium this particular evening. Karp accepted this pose unawares, and Lucy reflected upon the ease with which we can fool people who love us.

They went to the McDonald's on Canal. Lucy nibbled one of their waxy salads while the men pigged out on meat and cheese. She amused them by translating the Chinese characters for the food. A hamburger was han wu mei guo, or "harmonious American thing"; a sandwich was san ming zhi, or "three bright managing," a good name, Lucy pointed out, because not only did it sound right, but it adverted to the brilliance of the food's design, enabling the eater to handle two breads and a filling at once.

Thus sated, the four made their way home in a good mood, much skipping about among the crowded, scented streets of Chinatown, capped by a breathless run up the five short flights to the loft. Karp thought he knew what he would find there: Marlene soaking in the hot tub, a couple of empties scattered around, the smell of wine and rose petals. He would hold her, she would cling to him and wail. He had done it all before, and while it was not his favorite part of the relationship, it was one he knew pretty well and accepted.

But this was not what he found. Marlene was dressed in pajamas made of heavy black-figured silk and a soft-looking tan robe, neither of which he recalled seeing before. She was watching television and sipping cognac. Lucy took one look at her mother and retreated to her room. The twins did their usual scramble and competition to tell her the news of the day, but she seemed impatient with them, snappish. She indicated by a number of signs that she did not wish to play just now, and Karp took the hint and diverted the boys to their own room, where, God knew, there was enough stuff to keep them busy for a decade.