Faye Kellerman - The Garden Of Eden And Other Criminal Delights

A Hebrew proverb came to Feinermann’s mind: From righteous deeds come righteous deeds. From sin comes sin.

The car ride lasted over an hour. Afterward, the Marx boys brought Feinermann indoors, eased him into a baby-smooth leather chair, and propped his feet up on an ottoman. Such service, the rabbi thought. After the boys had made him comfortable, they removed the blindfold, then left.

The old man found himself in a magnificent library. The room was about the size of the shul’s dining hall but much fancier. The paneling and bookcases were fashioned from rich, deep mahogany, so smooth and shiny the wood seemed to be plastic. The brass pulls on the cases gleamed-not a scratch dared mar the mirror polish. The furniture consisted of burnt-almond leather sofas and chairs, with a couple of tapestry wing-backs thrown in for color. The parquet floor was covered in several places by what looked to be genuine Persian rugs.

Directly in front of Feinermann was a U-shaped desk made out of rosewood with ebony trim. The man behind the desk appeared to be around thirty-five, of slight frame and bald except for a well-trimmed cocoa-colored fringe outlining his nude crown. Over his eyes sat an updated version of old-fashioned wire-rimmed round spectacles. Except these weren’t the heavy kind that left a red mark on the bridge of the nose. Mr. Baldy was attired in a black suit, his pocket handkerchief matching the mandarin ascot draped around his neck. He held a crystal highball glass filled with ice, a carbonated beverage, and two swizzle sticks.

“May I offer you something to drink, Rabbi?” The bald man stirred his drink. His voice was surprisingly deep. “I’m drinking KingCola-the only beverage considered worthy of Benton ’s finest imported Bavarian crystal. But we have a full bar-Chivas aged some twenty-five years-if you’re so inclined.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Feinermann, “but I shall be obliged to pass. Today is a fast day in my religion-the fast of Esther. Eating and drinking are prohibited until tonight’s holiday.”

The bald man stirred his KingCola. “Interesting. And what holiday is tonight, if I may ask?”

“You may ask, and I’ll tell you. Tonight is Purim-the Festival of Lots-when one righteous woman foiled the plans to annihilate the Jews of Persia.”

“And you fast on such a day?”

“First comes the fasting and praying, then comes the celebration. Makes more sense to feast when you’re really hungry. Not to mention it’s good for weight control.” Feinermann adjusted his hat. “Are you this Benton of the famous Benton ’s crystal?”

The bald man looked up and chuckled. “No, Rabbi, I am not Mr. Benton.”

The old man stroked his beard. “I am trying to figure out why his name rings a bell.”

The bald man said, “Perhaps you’d recognize the name in a different form. Benton Hall at the university. Or perhaps you’ve been to the Benton Civic Light Opera Company. Or read about the new Benton Library downtown.”

“Ah…”

“Mr. Patrick W. Benton is quite the philanthropist.”

“So why does a rich philanthropist need a rabbi with a herniated disk?”

“You are not just a rabbi, you are the rabbi.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I realize that. But before we begin, I want you to know that bringing you here was my idea, not Mr. Benton’s. I work for Mr. Benton, formulating his… covert operations.”

“Sounds mysterious. Perhaps you’re a student of the Zohar - our book of mystics?”

“What?”

“Not important. Nu, so do you have a name, Mr. Sharp Dresser?”

“Sharp dress… you’ve noticed my couture?”

“I like the touch of orange with the black suit.” Actually, Feinermann thought the man looked like a jack-o’-lantern. But hurling insults was not the old man’s style. And now was not the time for insults anyway.

The bald man nodded in approval. “Well, I thought it made rather a bold statement.”

The rabbi said nothing. To him, a bold statement was splitting the Red Sea. “So, Mr…”

“You may call me Philip.”

“Philip it is. Exactly what does your Mr. Benton want from me?”

“It is I who want something from you, Rabbi Feinermann. I want something not for myself but for Mr. Benton-for his good deeds. And you, Rabbi Feinermann, are the only one who can help Mr. Benton continue his course of philanthropy. Let me explain.”

The old man stroked his beard again. “I knew this wasn’t going to be simple. Kidnappings are never simple affairs.”

Again Philip let go with his pesky chuckle. “Come, come, Rabbi. Surely you don’t think we intend any harm to befall you.”

“ To tell you the truth, with a gun in my back, I wasn’t so sure, Philip. But proceed. Explain away.”

“Rabbi Feinermann, you may wonder why a man like me would go to such extreme… measures to help out Mr. Benton. It’s because I truly believe in his work.”

“And what does he do besides erect buildings with his name on them?”

“He cares, Rabbi. He has built his empire on caring. His multibillion-dollar corporation was one of the first to include the human side of business. One of the first to offer complete major medical and dental care. And if that was not enough, he included in his medical package-free of charge-optometry, orthodontia, and podiatry services. Do you know how many of his employees have availed themselves of braces, eyeglasses, and bunion removal at Mr. Benton’s expense?”

“I have no idea.”

“Thousands.”

“A lot of bunions, Philip.”

“Corns are no laughing matter, Rabbi.”

“Not at all, Philip.”

“It’s not just in medical services where Mr. Benton has taken the social lead. His was one of the first major corporations to provide on-site day care, flexible shifts for working mothers, and free turkeys on Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter.” Philip paused. “And kosher turkeys for our kosher-keeping workers, I might add.”

“Sounds like a thoughtful man, your Mr. Benton.”

“That he is, Rabbi.” Philip tensed his body and shook with gravity. “That’s why desperate times call for desperate measures. You being here… it was a desperate measure that I took. But one that I hope you will truly understand.”

“I’m all ears, Philip.”

“Do you know how Mr. Benton made his money, Rabbi?”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“I’m not surprised. He is not a grandstander, like your ordinary billionaire.”

“I’m not a maven on billionaires, Philip. I wouldn’t know an ordinary one from an unusual one.”

“Well, let me assure you that Mr. Benton is extraordinary.”

“I’m assured.”

“He made his money right here.” Philip held his highball tumbler aloft. “Right in the palm of my hand.”

“In Bavarian crystal?”

Philip frowned. “No. In the soft-drink industry. KingCola. A King, as it is affectionately known. ‘I’ll have a hamburger, french fries, and a King.’ How many times have you heard that, Rabbi?”

“Not too many. But don’t go by me. I don’t patronize fast-food places, because I keep kosher.”

“But even you, as insulated as you are from pop culture, have heard of KingCola.”

“Certainly.”

“But there’s so much more to Mr. Benton than KingCola.”

Feinermann noticed that Philip was shaking again. “We’ve been over the wonders of Mr. Benton. May I ask what does any of this have to do with me?”

“I can sum that up in two words. Cola Gold.”

“Cola Gold? Your chief competitor?”

“Our enemy, Rabbi!” Philip started foaming at the mouth. “Not just our enemy in the War of the Soft Drinks, oh no, Rabbi. It’s deeper than that. Much, much deeper. If it was only money, do you think Mr. Benton would waste his time on them?”