Jake Needham - Killing Plato

I had to admit I had never really thought of Karsarkis before as a guy who worried about his children’s future. Maybe I had judged him too harshly. On the other hand, maybe this was all just a load of crap he was shoveling out to make him sound like a decent guy and I hadn’t judged him harshly enough. Either way, I was growing somewhat curious about this man now and decided it wouldn’t hurt anything to keep the conversation going.

“Did you go to Columbia yourself?” I asked him.

“No. Georgetown.”

“Really? So did I. Georgetown Law.”

“Those Jesuits were tough little bastards, weren’t they?” Karsarkis smiled. “I learned a lot from them.”

“Like what for instance?”

Karsarkis seemed to be taken mildly off balance by the question, which was my whole reason for having asked it, of course. To his credit, however, he paused before he answered and I sensed he was thinking seriously about it.

“A sense of good grace,” he said after a moment, “and a perspective on life. You know: this too shall pass.”

I was pretty sure if Karsarkis was applying that lesson to his present circumstances, he was dreaming.

“What year did you graduate from Georgetown?” I asked.

“1969.”

I did the math as subtly as I could. That would make Karsarkis about sixty.

“The law school?” I asked.

“No, undergraduate. I had no interest in law school. I figured I could always rent all the lawyers I needed, so why bother going to law school myself?”

The image of a For Rent sign hanging around my neck wasn’t particularly appealing, but I let Karsarkis’ observation pass without starting a pointless argument over it. Instead I walked over to a lounge chair, sat down, and watched Karsarkis out of the corner of my eye while I smoked my cigar and wondered exactly what in the hell was going on. Here I was sitting around chewing the fat with the world’s most famous fugitive and what were we talking about? His children and the good old days back when we were both Georgetown Hoyas.

I had the feeling none of this was just idle chatter. Karsarkis was trying too hard to sound congenial. He was working up to something and I wondered what it would turn out to be.

Then I found out.

“Before I forget, Jack, there’s something I wanted to ask you,” Karsarkis said, breaking the silence. “One of our local companies is thinking about making a bid for a broken-down hotel chain they think they can do something with. I was wondering if you could look at the deal for me, just tell me what you think about it before they go any further.”

“I don’t have a private practice anymore, Mr. Karsarkis. I just teach. I already told you that.”

“Yeah, you did, but…” Karsarkis took another pull on his cigar. “I was hoping perhaps you would do this as a favor for a friend.”

“I already told you that, too. We’re not friends.”

“I don’t expect anybody to work for free, Jack. Whether they’re a friend or not. Nothing for nothing. I’ve always believed that.”

“Look, I really don’t-”

“I had in mind a fee of $100,000.”

“I’m sorry?”

“$100,000. To look over the deal and give me your opinion.”

I wasn’t sure what Karsarkis expected me to say to that-it was too silly an offer for me to take it seriously-but he was standing there looking at me and obviously expected me to say something so eventually I did.

“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Surely it wouldn’t take more than a few hours to go over whatever you ha catet amp;rsquove. Nobody pays that kind of money for a few hours’ work.”

“I’m not proposing to pay you for your time, Jack. I’m proposing to pay you for your opinion. I could make a hell of a lot of money from this or I could lose a hell of a lot. You’re a smart guy and you know the territory out here. What you think about the deal and the way it’s structured is easily worth $100,000 to me.”

“Look, I’m very flattered, but-”

“Just think about it, will you?”

“I don’t need to think about it, Mr. Karsarkis. Even if I wanted to do it, I couldn’t. The school wouldn’t be happy about it.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning they don’t mind me doing some consulting work on the side, but they want me to keep it low profile.”

“We could keep this low profile. That’s no problem.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Yes, it is. I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

“That’s not what I meant. Look, what I’m trying to say is the school…”

I trailed off. I was trying to be polite and I didn’t want to flat-out insult the man, but I decided there was nothing wrong with telling Karsarkis the simple truth.

“Let me put it this way. What I’m saying here is this: I really do not want to work for you, Mr. Karsarkis. Not even if you’re willing to pay me $100,000 for a few hours work. And I’m sure you understand exactly why that is.”

The highway was nearly empty when Anita and I drove back to the hotel from Karsarkis’ house. The heavy wetness of the night was so dense the air felt almost like fog. We crossed the hills at the central core of the island in silence, both of us watching our headlights as the bobbing beams splintered in the moisture and made the thick vegetation lining the road glitter as if it were covered with fireflies.

“Be careful, Jack.”

I looked around, but didn’t immediately see what Anita was concerned about.

“I’m sorry?”

“I said be careful,” Anita repeated.

“Of what?”

“Of this man.”

I grunted. “Greeks bearing gifts? Something like that?”

“Be serious, Jack, and listen to me. Are you listening to me?”

I glanced quickly across at Anita. When I saw the set of her jaw, I knew there was only one possible answer to her question.

“Yes, Anita. I’m listening to you.”

“I am only going to say this once.”

“Okay.”

“People who live in the darkness are very seductive to you, Jack. So whatever you think you’re doing with this man, be very, very careful.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Anita, I not doing anything with him.”

“You’re about to take a huge chance here. I can feel it. You’re walking straight into something horrible, and you don’t even have the sense to be afraid.”

I didn’t reply.

It was a gorgeous night, quiet and very dark. The road was a divided four-lane arched here and there by concrete pedestrian bridges with a rank of tall aluminum streetlights marching down the grassy divider in the middle. The streetlights glowed a sulfurous yellow and the water vapor hanging in the air caught the butter-colored radiance and shaped it into luminous globes. It made me think of a line of huge yellow snow cones impaled on stainless steel sticks.

We drove in silence for a while and it was a few minutes before I realized Anita had slipped off to sleep, her head tilted against the back of the seat with her face turned away from me. I watched jack-o’-lantern houses drifting past the windows of our Suzuki, their waxy lights flicking through tiny openings. I smiled as a Buddhist temple loomed up briefly out of a grove of rubber trees, its fanciful, brightly painted towers sparkling fiercely, even in the darkness.

Moving into the left lane I passed a slow-moving Isuzu pickup. It had been converted into a primitive bus with rough wooden benches rigged down both sides of the bed, but that night it was empty. The stillness of the night in Thailand is always an illusion. It is never really empty. There is always something moving out there in the darkness: a car, a bus, a motorbike, a truck. Once I got myself lost near the airport in Bangkok very late at night, rounded a curve, and found myself face-to-face with an elephant somebody was riding right down the middle of the highway.