Marked Man (32 page)

“I’m bringing him home,
Mrs. Kalakos.”

In the scented darkness, she rose unsteadily from her deathbed, reached her palsied hand to my face. “You good boy,” she said as she brushed my cheek gently with her gnarled finger. “You good boy.” And then, abruptly, she slapped my face. Hard. It rang like a shepherd’s crook snapping over a knee.

“What was that for?” I said.

“A warning,” she said. “You no play fool and lead them to him like last time. You almost got him skewered like lamb.”

“I thought I had taken precautions.”

“I spit on your precautions. Precautions are for timid men with girls they can’t handle. You, you be certain.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Your best, it better be good enough, Victor.”

“Is that a threat, Mrs. Kalakos?”

“I am Greek, Victor. I don’t threaten. I slice. Thinly, you know? Makes the meat very tender.”

“Are we talking about lamb again?”

“Yes, of course. Thalassa makes very nice lamb, with garlic and coffee. Special recipe. You want see my slicing knife?”

“No thank you, the sight of your gun was enough.”

“That little thing?”

“I will be very careful, Mrs. Kalakos.”

“Good. I choose then to trust you, and also will my son, because I
tell him to. You’ll meet him where I say, and you bring him right here, to me.”

“Someplace more neutral might be more secure. I was thinking that it would be best if I met up with the police at—”

“Don’t tell me what is best for my son. His whole life I know what is best for my son. You bring him here, to me.”

“This is the one place they’ll be certain to be waiting, Mrs. Kalakos. It won’t be safe to bring him here.”

“You make it safe. You bring him here. I don’t know how many days I have left, how many hours. I waited long enough. You bring him straight to me.”

“I don’t think that’s a very wise—”

“Are we still discussing this? No more discussion, Victor. You do what I say.”

“Okay,” I said. “My client told me to let you call the shots. But on two conditions. First, this will clean our family’s debt to you. We are even, forever. No more favors.”

“As you say.”

“Speaking of which, I have a question. My grandmother, when you found her with that man, was she happy?”

“What is happy, Victor? Who is happy in this life?”

“Ballplayers,” I said. “Supermodels. Ballplayers married to supermodels. But my grandmother, before you dragged her back, was she happy?”

“You want truth?”

“Yes, I do.”

“She was crying every night in the small apartment of that strange man, your poor grandmother. She saw she made terrible mistake. But she was afraid her husband not accept her back. I didn’t take her home for your grandfather, I take her home because it was what she wanted.”

“And she was grateful?”

“For the rest of her life, my boys they never paid for shoes. ‘Give it to them for free,’ she told your grandfather.”

“I bet he hated that.”

“He was grateful, too. They had good life together. She thought she wanted more and ended up with nothing. Life can turn to tears when you want more, always more.”

“Speaking of more,” I said, “this brings me to the second condition. We need to talk about the final payment for my legal work on behalf of your son.”

“What you mean, final payment?”

“At our first meeting, I told you I needed a retainer. But a retainer is just enough for me to agree to take the case.”

“You want more.”

“Since that meeting I’ve done a significant amount of legal work.”

“Is that what you call it? What kind of legal work have you done, Victor Carl?”

“Meetings, negotiations, investigations. If you want, I can give you an itemized bill showing my work down to the last detail, in six-minute increments, and then you can pay me in cash. If you’re short of cash, I could find you a finance company that would be quite willing to take out another mortgage on the house. Thalassa wouldn’t mind, I’m sure.”

“It’s good you sure, Victor, because that makes one of us.”

“Or maybe, if you choose, we can work something else out.”

“You have idea, of course you do.”

“When you gave me those jewels and chains at our first meeting, I couldn’t help but notice there was more in the drawer.”

“And you want rest, is that it, Victor Carl?”

“That’s it,” I said.

“You would leave me with nothing? You would take the last bauble from an old, dying woman?”

“I’m a lawyer, Mrs. Kalakos.”

“You sure you not Greek?”

“Pretty sure, but to tell you the truth, I seem to be getting more Greek every day.”

“I’
M BRINGING
him home, Dad,” I said over the phone, “but I’m going to need some help.”

“What can I do?” said my father. “I can barely get up the stairs.”

“Not you. I want you to take a little trip out of town. Maybe down to the shore.”

“I hate the shore.”

“Get a little seaside rental for a week. Hit the beach.”

“I hate the beach.”

“Foot-long hot dogs, barefoot girls in bikinis, frozen custard.”

“Now I know you’re trying to kill me.”

“My treat.”

“Stop it, my heart can’t take the shock.”

“Look, Dad, there’s a man in California who is going to do everything he can to stop me from bringing Charlie home, violence no object. I don’t want him to go after you to go after me.”

“Why me?”

“Because he knows you.”

“Who is this supposedly frightening man?”

“Teddy Pravitz.”

Pause. “I always liked Stone Harbor.”

“I know a Realtor. I’ll let her handle it. She’ll be in touch.”

“Make sure it’s on the first floor.”

“Will do. But there’s something else you have to do for me. To do what I need to do, I’m going to need some help.”

“What kind of help?”

“I’m going to need a driver.”

“I’
M BRINGING
him home,” I said. “But before I do, I need the deal in writing.”

We were in Slocum’s office, McDeiss, Slocum, Jenna Hathaway, and myself. The three were not happy with me right at that moment. With two murders and a host of questions, they had been trying to reach a material witness for days and were angry as hell that he had left the jurisdiction and couldn’t be reached. One of the great joys in life, I have found, is turning off the cell phone.

“You have the answers you were looking for?” said Hathaway.

“That I do.”

“You found her?”

“Not exactly, but I found him.”

“My God. Where?”

“I’ll let you know after the deal is signed and I bring my client in.”

“And Charlie is ready to testify against him?”

“When I show him the written deal, he’ll talk. And not just Charlie. Joey Pride, whom you’ve been looking for and haven’t been able to find? He’ll talk also, about the Ralph Ciulla killing and the events surrounding the Randolph Trust robbery, so long as you have a deal for him, too.”

“What kind of deal does Joey want?” said Jenna.

“Flat immunity.”

“Do you represent him?”

“By the time you get hold of him, I will.”

“And there is something we can prosecute after all this time?” said Slocum.

“Absolutely. You should be able to bang him away for the rest of his pathetic life. And trust me, Larry, your boss will be quite pleased with all the publicity.
Time
and
Newsweek
will be calling, and the bestselling book is being written as we speak.”

“This isn’t about publicity,” said Jenna.

“With politicians it’s always about publicity. And your father, Jenna, will finally be able to close that case.”

She turned her head, thought a moment, and then nodded.

“Sounds good,” said Slocum. “Where should we pick him up?”

“At his mother’s house.”

“Don’t be silly,” said McDeiss. “Too hot, too obvious, too damn dangerous.”

“It’s not negotiable,” I said. “His mother’s house. I’ll let you know the when. And he has to have the chance to spend some time with his mother, no interference, before you take him away.”

“You’re going to get him killed,” said McDeiss.

“No I won’t, Detective, because you’ll be there to protect him. I have total faith in your abilities.”

“Don’t even try to sweet-talk me,” said McDeiss. “And how are you going to get him there?”

“I’ll figure that out.” I nodded toward Slocum. “And when I do, I’ll call Larry on the cell with the exact time and day. He’ll relay it on.”

“So that’s it?” said Slocum. “Everything’s settled?”

“Well, almost everything,” I said.

“Here it comes,” said McDeiss.

“Why so cynical, Detective?” I said.

“I’ve dealt with you before, and I’m still looking for my wallet.”

“Remember that painting? The Rembrandt? Well, Charlie might have been a little mistaken about the painting. He did have it, once, but he’s not sure that he has it anymore. It might have up and disappeared on him. Bit of a mistake on my part there.”

“No painting,” said Slocum.

“Sorry.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Wish I was, but no. Too bad, really. I always like pictures of guys in funny hats, but it seems bringing up the painting was just Charlie’s way of getting attention.”

“But the Rembrandt was the point of the whole thing from the start,” said Slocum.

“Maybe at the start, but the key to this deal now is Charlie’s testimony about the Warrick gang and the missing girl. Best I can tell, none of you gives a damn about the painting, and neither do I. The Randolph Trust is just going to have to make do with its other five hundred masterworks.”

“You know it is a crime to sell a stolen artwork,” said Slocum.

“Maybe I missed the meaning of immunity.”

“We can’t countenance a crime.”

“Remember what I said about there being no painting.”

“And if we don’t agree?”

“The story’s going to come out anyway, I’m going to see to that. My client’s truest ally all along has been the press, and we’re going to use it this one last time. So after the story comes out, either you’ll have cooperative witnesses that can pretty much make your case or everyone will know about the murderer you let go free because of your abiding love of the fine arts.”

“I’
M BRINGING
him home, Lav,” I said into the phone.

“You silly wabbit,” said Lavender Hill. “You silly, silly wabbit.”

“I knew you’d be pleased. Did your client enjoy our visit?”

“He was entranced.”

“He’s going down.”

“Not without a fight, I assure you.”

“And you, Lav, are you his designated champion?”

“All I am is a procurer.”

“It’s good that you found your rightful place in the universe. So he’s got someone else to do the hard work, is that it?”

“The way you run around like a fatted goose without its head, it will not be so hard. Is this still about that girl whose photograph you showed me?”

“Yes it is.”

“Did you discover the truth?”

“Yes I did, and let me assure you, he’s going down. What were your financial arrangements with your client?”

“None of your sweet business, darling.”

“I assume he paid you something up front, because an operative of your caliber doesn’t work on credit. But has he, as of yet, paid for the object in question?”

“Arrangements have been made.”

“Escrow?”

“Not exactly. Why?”

“What would happen if, as a condition of procuring this little doodle, I insisted it not go to your client in L.A.?”

“Are the negotiations back on track?”

“With my added condition.”

“You are a font of surprises, aren’t you? I am not an idle man, Victor. I anticipated possible financial problems with my original client and I have made arrangements with other collectors whom I have worked for in the past.”

“So even if the painting doesn’t go to L.A., payments would be forthcoming.”

“That would be correct.”

“Tell your other collectors to get out their checkbooks. Maybe we’ll open it up to bids, boost those commissions.”

“What a delicious possibility.”

“Be available.”

“Oh, Victor, trust me on this, I will be more than available. But let me ask, are we getting a tad greedy, dear boy?”

“Lav, let’s just say it’s about time I took the leap.”

“And what exactly do
you want from me?” said Beth as we walked toward a small row house in an old neighborhood just off the Cobbs Creek Parkway in West Philly.

“I need you to test the security arrangements put in place by McDeiss, maybe direct them away from where I intend to go.”

“So I’ll be your decoy.”

“Decoy is such a loaded term.”

“Not as loaded as their guns will be.”

“You can stay out of it if you want.”

“No, Victor. Of course I want to help. It’s just that you studiously kept me out of everything involving the Kalakos case, including the boondoggle to L.A. that left you all fat and sunburned, and suddenly you want me to run around with a target on my back.”

“I kept you out to protect you.”

“And I feel so safe now as your decoy. When are you going?”

“Tomorrow.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Stay by your cell and be ready to ride when I call.”

“Okay.”

“You might have to rent a car. I’ll let you know the model as soon as I know.”

“Okay.”

“You’re fabulous.”

“I’m a fool.”

“That, too. Do we have to stay long?”

“No,” she said as we reached the right address. “Just go in, get a few congratulatory hurrahs, drink a beer or two.”

“I hate these things.”

“It was a big victory for Theresa. She got her daughter back in her life. Now she wants to celebrate and thank us.”

“If it wasn’t for the honor, I’d just as soon drink alone.”

We were heading up the stoop to Theresa Wellman’s new place. There was music coming through the open door, loud and rhythmic, there were people hanging out on the porch. We edged our way through the small crowd and inside.

“Hello, both of you,” said an exuberant Theresa Wellman over the pounding of the music. She was wearing a print dress and a bit too much jewelry, and she had a drink in her hand. “Thank you so much for coming. You’re the heroes of the hour.”

“Oh, we just put on the evidence,” said Beth. “The hero of the hour is you.”

“Don’t be slighting yourselves. You saved my life, got me my girl back. Thank you. Both of you.”

“What’s that you’re drinking?” I said.

She looked down at the glass, back up at me. “Ginger ale. There’s more soda in the kitchen and a cooler of beer in the dining room. Loosen up, Victor. Why are you wearing a suit to a party anyway?”

“I wear a suit to the beach,” I said.

“We’ll find the cooler, Theresa,” said Beth. “Thanks.”

“Victor, Beth. Really, I’m so glad you came. Thank you. For everything.”

She gave Beth a hug, gave me a smile. Sometimes the job almost seems worth it. Maybe clerks at 7-Eleven get paid better, but no one hugs you when you get them that pack of cigarettes from behind the counter.

It was a pretty loud and happening party. The music was ripe, there was laughter and dancing, women enough to loosen my tie. I pushed through a crowd to find the cooler. While I checked out the beers, picking out a Rolling Rock, Beth checked out the wainscoting.

“Nice,” she said. “Maybe I should get some.”

“I think wainscoting becomes you.”

“I think so, too. And look at these floors.”

“Yep, they’re floors, all right.”

“No, the wood, the finish. I think the first thing after closing on my house I’ll get the floors done. Sand them smooth, lighten them up. Maybe a nice blond.”

“Funny, I’m looking for the same thing. But I find this new-homeowner thing you have going on a bit disturbing.”

“You’re just jealous that I’m joining a club you’re not a part of.”

“The world is filled with clubs I’m not a part of. The homeowner club is the least of my worries.”

“I’m just excited. It’s like I’m ready to open a new chapter in my life.”

“We’ll entitle it ‘Thirty Years of Indebtedness for a Glimpse of Morning Light.’”

“Can’t you be excited for me?”

“Oh, I am. Really. Really.”

“I want a soda,” said Beth.

The kitchen was narrow and utilitarian but clean.
Spacious and modern,
would say Sheila the Realtor.
Ergonomically laid out, but with an old-fashioned charm.
Lined up on the small table were bottles of soda, bottles of liquor, a large ice bucket, highball glasses. Beth poured herself a diet soda. I took a long draft of my beer and looked around. People were crowding the doorway, leaning on the countertops. I wondered where all these people came from. Theresa Wellman seemed to have more friends than she let on in our discussions, but that’s the way of it, I suppose.

“Let’s go upstairs,” said Beth. “I wonder how many bedrooms and baths this place has.”

It’s a disease, I thought as I climbed the stairs behind Beth, this real-estate thing. Owning a house is worse than owning a boat. There’s always a boat out there that’s bigger and shinier and faster. There’s always a house with more modern appliances. That’s why I rent, to stay out of the whole thing. And I was feeling both miserable and self-satisfied when I smelled it.

Something burning, sweet and musty all at once, the scent of a college dorm on a Thursday night.

“What’s that?” I said to Beth.

“What?” she said.

“That?”

“Oh,” she said.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Is it really?”

“Yeah.”

“What should we do?”

“As much as I’d like to flee, I don’t think we can.”

“It’s not her, I’m sure of it,” said Beth.

“As sure as her ginger ale was just a ginger ale?”

“We can’t just snoop around, can we?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “but I think maybe we ought to look into the bedrooms just to satisfy our real-estate lust.”

“That we can do,” said Beth.

The scent grew stronger as we climbed the stairs. There were four doors on the upper hallway, all closed. One had a sign that said Bathroom. Beside the bathroom was another door. I looked around, leaned into the wood, heard nothing. I turned the knob, peeked in. Linen closet.

“Nice storage space,” I said.

“Oh, storage space is very important.”

I leaned close to another door, listened in. There was a conversation going on, animated. An animated television conversation. I slowly twisted the knob, opened the door. No cloud of smoke billowed out. I peeked in, saw the television tuned in to some cartoon, and then the bed, and then, when I opened the door wider, a huge pair of pretty brown eyes.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hello,” said the girl.

“You must be Belle,” I said.

“That’s right.”

“What’s on?”

“Cartoon Network. Do you want to watch?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“As long as you don’t talk too much.”

“I promise,” I said.

“That’ll be a first,” said Beth.

“I have an idea,” I said to Beth. “Why don’t you check out those other bedrooms and look for Theresa. I think maybe we ought to have a talk.”

After Beth closed the door behind her, I turned to Belle and put out my hand.

“I’m Victor,” I said.

“Ssshhh.”

“Okay,” I said.

Isn’t it fun how clever we lawyers can be, with our clever questions and our clever tricks? We use our cleverness to spin everything on its head for the benefit of our clients, and the clever lawyer on the other side does the same, and the judge, in the middle, simply makes the decision. It’s such a clever system, because it cleanses all responsibility from the participants. We are merely cogs in the great wheel of justice. Be as clever as you can and hope for the best, that’s the job description. And just then, sitting next to Belle, now in the custody and care of her mother, I felt oh, so clever.

Two cartoon kids were being chased by some skeleton in a big black cape, and they were all singing a fun jazzy song. I had never seen it before. These are the kinds of things you miss when you don’t have cable, which was a shame, really. Although you also miss Pat Burrell swinging and missing at sliders down and away, so it evens out. I couldn’t tell if Belle was enjoying herself—she had the fixed, blank expression on her face of someone who was trying very hard not to cry. I wanted to ask her how long she’d been there, or if she missed her daddy, or what she thought about clever lawyers, but I had promised her I wouldn’t talk too much, and that was one promise I was going to keep.

About ten minutes later, Beth opened the door. She had grown suddenly pale, her jaw was locked as if some sad specter had risen from the blond wooden floors, grabbed her arms, and shaken her until her faith came loose.

“Do you know Bradley Hewitt’s telephone number?” she said.

“I can get it.”

“Then maybe you ought to give him a call.”