Marked Man (8 page)

There are about fifty
cases on the list each day in Courtroom 500 on South Eleventh Street, the city’s housing court, yet only about three of those cases ever get tried. Instead most business is conducted, as in all courthouses, in the hallways, which is where Beth and I stood before our hearing when we were approached by a man with blond hair and a snappy green suit. About my age, but you could tell he had climbed higher on the legal ladder, which meant that I disliked him right off.

“Victor Carl?” he said.

“That’s right.”

“I thought so. Funny, you look younger on TV.”

“And heavier, too, I suppose.”

“No,” he said. “Not really. Just younger and better dressed. Wait, please, I have something for you.”

He balanced his briefcase on his palm as he unsnapped it open and pulled out an envelope, which he handed to me.

“A notice of eviction for your client, ordering her to depart her premises at the expiration of her lease,” he said with a smile. “Personally delivered. Give it to Ms. Derringer for us, will you?”

I nodded and handed it over to Beth. “Here you go.”

“Ah, so you are the recalcitrant Ms. Derringer,” said the man. “My name is Eugene Franks, of the law firm of Talbott, Kittredge and Chase, and I represent your landlord.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” she said, her voice sounding neither charmed nor sure.

“I’m so sorry that your notice of eviction was only sent by mail and not personally delivered or nailed onto your door pursuant to the letter of the law, as your lawyer here pointed out in his rather voluminous brief. Actually, many of our tenants find mail delivery less embarrassing, not to mention less harsh on the front door, but from now on everything will be taken care of exactly by the book. We still expect you out when your lease expires.”

“I don’t think so, Eugene,” I said. “Her original lease was in excess of one year, so your notice has to give her at least ninety days. From the date of notice. Which, based on this, is today.”

“Aren’t you being a little technical, Victor?”

“We’re technicians, Eugene, you and I. Being nontechnical is akin to malpractice. When is construction scheduled to start at the building?”

“Next month.”

“Ooh,” I said as I winced dramatically. “That might be hard, with a tenant living in the building. Does your building permit allow knocking down walls and ripping up floors with a tenant still in residence? And the building is quite old. I wonder if there’s any asbestos in the walls and ceilings. That would mess up the schedule even more than you already have, don’t you think?”

He leaned toward me, lowered his voice. “Can we talk for a minute?”

“Sure,” I said. I waved Beth over to one of the benches and then stepped with Eugene Franks to the far side of the hallway.

“Nice brief,” he said.

“I try.”

“We all had quite the laugh at the firm. Do you really think that the Fourteenth and Sixteenth Amendments to the United States Constitution really have any relevance here in housing court?”

“Maybe you should keep laughing in front of the judge. I’m sure she finds the badges and incidents of slavery hilarious.”

“But your client isn’t even black.”

“Wait till you hear the argument.”

“I’m on pins and needles.” Eugene pursed his lips at me. “Weren’t you the one who took down William Prescott a couple years ago?”

“I might have been.”

“Prescott was the first lawyer at the firm I ever worked with. He was my mentor, he gave me my first big case, and you ruined his career.”

“Prescott ruined his own career,” I said. “I just pointed it out to the proper authorities.”

Eugene Franks looked hard at me for a long moment and then turned away. “I never liked the son of a bitch. What can we do to make this disappear, Victor?”

“She doesn’t want to move.”

“It’s just a move. She’ll find a better place. It’s no big deal.”

“Not to her.”

“We only want to spruce the place up, sell the new units, make some money. We’re not bad guys here.”

“I know.”

“How much money are we talking about to get her out within the month?”

“Money’s not the point. It never is with her.”

“I find that distressing.”

“Don’t get me started.”

“You know, Victor, it sounds a little Zen, but change happens. The building is going condo. Can you talk to her, please? Can you see what we can work out before we have to start arguing about the Sixteenth Amendment in front of the judge?”

“I’ll try,” I said.

Beth was sitting on a bench in a strangely passive position, hands on knees, head lolling slightly to the side. Normally before court she was a bundle of energy, sitting on the edge of her chair, her body in constant motion as she worked out the arguments in her head. But not today, not here, in the unusual position of litigant in the case of
Triad Investments, LP. v. Derringer
.

I sat down next to her. “I bought you some more time,” I said.

“Thank you.”

“I can try to string it out a little longer. I have some arguments for the judge.”

“I read the brief. Your arguments are hopeless.”

“I know, but I liked the way Franks there must have sputtered when he read them. And the judge can always take longer than
expected to make a ruling. I could talk to the clerk. I think I know his brother.”

“Okay. That might work.”

“But you know, Beth, this Eugene Franks, he’s not such a bad guy after all.”

“In that suit he looks like a frog.”

“And the people he represents are not evil. They’re just businesspeople.”

“They’re kicking me out of my home.”

“They’re allowed. By law. You’re eventually going to have to move.”

“So they say.”

“And fighting it isn’t really the answer.”

“But it sure feels good.”

“Beth, what’s going on, really?”

“I don’t know, Victor. I feel…paralyzed. It’s not that I even like my place so much. It’s just that I can’t face the idea of packing everything up, looking for a new apartment, moving, unpacking everything again, and it all being the same, the same bed, the same table, the same existence. Ever since that thing with François and the dredging up of the memories of my father, my life has taken on this weird momentum, just rolling along of its own accord toward nowhere. I don’t find it particularly satisfying, and I don’t seem to have the courage to direct it in any particular direction. But maybe, I think, if I can just stay in my stinking apartment for a few more stinking years, everything would be perfect.”

“Your logic is impressive. But things aren’t as bad as you make them out to be. Look at the firm. Business is better every day.”

“We’re getting by, and it seems like that’s all we’ve been doing for years now. Getting by.”

“We’re fighting the good fight. What about Theresa Wellman? We’re going to win her back her kid.”

“You’re going to win her back her kid. I feel like I’m just along for the ride. I need to do something, but I don’t know what.”

“What do you want to have happen here, today? How about getting some money?”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

“Sure. Money’s good. It would be fun to have a yacht, don’t you think? Blue blazers, white pants.”

“It’s a good look for you.”

“I should have been born a Pierpont.”

“It won’t be much, but I can get you something. Though you’ll have to move out by the end of the month.”

“All right.”

“Really? I’m surprised. It’s not like you to give in to the lure of easy cash.”

“I’m sorry, Victor. This whole thing is stupid. I should never have dragged you into it, especially with Theresa’s case coming to trial and you running around making a deal for Charlie Kalakos. I should have looked for a new place as soon as I got the notice. I guess I’m a little lost.”

“We’re lost together.”

“I don’t know, you’ve looked happier lately.”

“It’s because I’m in love. With a reporter.”

“Really?”

“At least today. Yesterday it was a girl on a bike.”

“I guess you’re looking for something, too.”

“Guess so. And remember when that dental hygienist tore up my apartment?”

“Sure.”

“I haven’t fixed it up yet.”

“Victor?”

“It’s still trashed.”

“Victor.” She laughed darkly. “That’s pretty bad.”

“Yeah.”

“All it would take is one visit to IKEA.”

“But I hate IKEA, all that blond wood and Swedish cheer. My name’s not Sven, I’m not still in college, I don’t even know what a loganberry is. An IKEA apartment would be the death of me.”

“My God, Victor, you’re in worse shape than I am.”

I pressed my chest, felt the sting of the new tattoo still on my flesh. “And you don’t know the half of it. Always remember, Beth, however
much trouble you’re in, I’m in more. Why don’t I go now and see what kind of money I can get for you?”

“Okay.”

I stood up and turned toward Eugene Franks, who was staring at us with hope on his face.

“How much are you looking for?” I said to her quietly.

“Whatever.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

I shook my head as I made my way over to Franks. He raised his eyebrows.

“No deal,” I said. “Sorry. She absolutely, positively could not be bought. She intends to stay in her apartment until the very last hour. It’s the principle of the thing, she said.”

“I hate principles,” said Franks. “They have no place in the practice of law.”

“Tell me about it,” I said. “But that’s the kind of woman she is.”

“There’s nothing you can say?”

“I tried,” I said. “I tried everything. Let’s go in and stand in line, tell the judge we’re going to trial. We’re somewhere at the end of the list, so we should get called by midafternoon.”

He looked at his watch. “I can’t be here all day waiting for this stupid case. I have a meeting with the managing partner and a new client.”

“Stanford Quick, right? The guy who represents the Randolph Trust.”

“That’s his pro bono client. The rest are all corporate giants.”

“What’s his story?”

“Typical bastard. Doesn’t like to be kept waiting by mere associates.”

“Sorry, Eugene, but she’s adamant. If you want a continuance, I’d have no objection—”

“Do you have any idea how much we’ll lose every day construction is delayed? I have to handle this today.”

“Okay, then. I guess we have no choice but to take this to the judge.”

We stepped together toward the courtroom doors, swung them open. The noise and smell hit us all at once. Housing court that day was like the Emma Lazarus poem at the base of the Statue of Liberty
come alive: the tired, the poor, the huddled masses, the wretched refuse, homeless and tempest-tossed.

Franks sniffed and took one step back. “What about, Victor, if we come up with a figure that just out-and-out wows her?”

“Well, Eugene,” I said, shaking my head with a sad certainty, “I doubt that will do it, but we could always try.”

The candle and incense,
the darkness and thick, plague-infested air, the piled pillows at the head of the bed, the racking cough, the specter of death crouching like a gargoyle on the thin, aged chest.

“You want cup coffee, Victor?”

“No thank you, Mrs. Kalakos.”

“I’ll shout down to Thalassa, she brew pot. Insipid what she brews, more like spit than coffee, what with her using the grounds over and over, but still you can have.”

“Really, I am fine.”

“Come close, then. Sit. We need talk.”

I came close, I sat. She reached her hand to my cheek. I tried not to flinch at the feel of her oily skin, the waft of her breath.

“You been on TV. My Charlie, he’s become a celebrity because of painting. Which is funny, since my Charlie, he couldn’t draw a dog.”

“Someone else went to the press about the painting.”

“Not you, Victor? You seem to enjoy it so. Then who?”

“I don’t know, but once it was out, I thought giving the interviews was the best thing for Charlie. But it might not have worked out that way.”

“What’s matter, Victor? You have problem?”

“Charlie does, yes,” I said. “I need you to get him in touch with me.”

“Of course. But tell me first, what is trouble?”

“I really need to talk to Charlie about it,” I said. “He’s the client.”

“But he’s my son, Victor. I know what he needs. It always was such, and is no different now. None of us ever change, and Charlie, he changes less. You tell me his problem, I tell you how to solve.”

“I’m not sure I can do that, ma’am.”

She made some sort of hacking sound, and then the coughing began, great heaping coughs that brought her body into spasm. In the middle of it all, she raised her right hand, let it hover in the air for a moment, and then slapped my ear, hard.

“Ow.”

Her coughing subsided as quickly as it began. “Don’t tell me ‘can’t,’” she said. “You have obligation.”

As I rubbed the side of my head, I said softly, “What obligation?”

“Whether you know or not, it wraps round your neck like snake and it is alive. So don’t say ‘can’t’ to me, Victor. You have good Greek face, but you not Greek enough down there to say ‘can’t’ to me.”

“What favor did you do for my father?”

“Why you ask me? Ask him. Or are you afraid of him, too?”

“Not afraid, exactly.”

She barked out a laugh, bitter and understanding all at once. “I wouldn’t want to have to call your father again. It upsets him so to hear from me.”

“I bet it does.”

“So now that this nonsense is finished with, tell me about my Charlie.”

“There are a couple things. A reporter wants to interview Charlie. I thought it might help prod the government.”

“No. What else?”

“This reporter seems sincere, and I’m not sure how it can hurt.”

“It is reporter. They can always hurt. And remember what I tell you about my son? He’s fool. You think anything he say can help, maybe you fool, too. What else you got?”

“It’s not going to be as easy as we thought getting him home.”

“Tell me.”

“First, it appears, even after fifteen years, Charlie is still in danger. I received a visit from Charlie’s old gang. The visitors roughed me up a little and then said worse would come Charlie’s way if he came home.”

“Okay, no problem. Lean close. This is what we do. We don’t tell Charlie nothing about this.”

“I can’t do that, Mrs. Kalakos.”

“You can and you will. Charlie is coward. He was afraid of bath, he was afraid of girls, he shakes in terror from his own shadow. It is why he ran so long ago. We tell him this, he disappear for good. You no tell him. Better we protect him when he comes.”

“They’re going to kill him if he comes home, Mrs. Kalakos.”

“Pooh, Victor. They just talking. Big talkers, all of them. They want to come, they come to me, right? I’m reason for my Charlie to come home. And when they come, I show them something.”

She sat up, reached over to a table by her bed, opened a drawer, pulled out an obscenely huge gun that glittered gaily in the candlelight.

“Gad, Mrs. Kalakos. That’s a cannon.”

“Let them come. I blow holes in them size of grapefruits. You hungry, Victor? You want grapefruit? I’ll call down to Thalassa to bring you grapefruit.”

“No thank you, ma’am, no grapefruit. Do you have a license for that?”

“I’m eighty-nine years old, what I need piece paper for?”

“You should get a license for the gun.”

“Be like that, Victor, and I won’t tell you what else I have for those
skatofatses
.”

“Believe me, I don’t want to know. I’m going to have to tell your son about the threats, Mrs. Kalakos.”

She waved the gun a bit before shoving it back into the drawer. “Do what you must. But you tell him, too, that I take care of it for him, I protect him if police won’t. What next?”

“There’s a federal prosecutor who is causing problems. She’s the key in allowing Charlie to come home without being thrown in jail, but she is refusing to do anything unless Charlie gives her what she wants.”

“And what is it she wants?”

“She wants him to talk. To tell her everything.”

“No problem. I make him talk.”

“But she doesn’t want him to just talk about the Warrick Brothers Gang. She wants him to talk about before that, about what went down when that painting was stolen thirty years ago.”

She looked at me for a long moment, her moist eyes glittering in the sputtering candlelight. “Ah, yes,” she said finally. “That might be
problem. You have friends, Victor? Old friends, from when you were child, friends that are closer than brothers, closer than blood?”

“No, ma’am,” I said.

“Too bad for you. I had friends like that in old country, and Charlie, despite himself, he found such friends here. When they was just toddlers, they ran around with each other in the blow-up pools. Five closest friends in all the world. My Charlie, and Hugo, always running around like a crazy boy, all legs, he was, and Ralph Ciulla, big like man already at twelve, and little Joey Pride. And then, of course, Teddy, Teddy Pravitz, who was leader. Five neighborhood boys, always together, always. Once—and I tell you this so you know what it was—once a group from the Oxford Circle—you know this place?”

“Down Cottman?”

“Yes, exactly. Once a group boys came into our neighborhood looking for trouble. This was when my son Charles was in high school. The Oxford boys found little Joey Pride. Joey was a nice boy, but black and with a mouth on him, and they beat him bloody. Just for the sport of it, Victor. Animals. The police threw up their hands. What was to do? But Teddy, he knew what to do.”

“What was that, Mrs. Kalakos?”

“You want tea? I call down to Thalassa.”

“No thank you, ma’am. Really, I’m fine.”

“No, we need tea.” She opened her mouth wide and shrieked, “Thalassa. Come now.”

There was the sound of something dropping onto the floor below, a rustle, a sigh, weary footfalls rising up the stairs. The door creaked open, a withered face appeared.

“Victor, he wants tea,” said Mrs. Kalakos.

Thalassa turned her head to me, stared with unalloyed hatred.

“He likes sugar with his tea,” said Mrs. Kalakos. “And those round cookies.”

“Really, I’m fine,” I said.

The face slipped away, the door creaked closed.

“She good girl. Alas, her tea, it is thin like her blood. She saves her tea bags from cup to cup, as if tea were gold. We still have tea from
when Clinton was president. Ah, Clinton, he was part Greek, he didn’t know it, but I could tell.”

“What did Teddy do after the beating?”

“Teddy, he was such a beautiful boy. So clever. He came to me, asked for keys to my car. I knew what he wanted, and so I gave to him. That boy was Greek where it counted. Off they went into the night, even Joey with his arm in sling, the five of them with their blood hot and their baseball bats, off they went. And they took care of it, Victor. It didn’t even matter that he was wrong boy. Those animals from Oxford Circle, they not come round no more. The boys protected each other, you understand? Such bond survives the years.”

“And these were the guys who pulled off the theft?”

She patted my cheek. “You smart boy. You sure you don’t want to date my Thalassa?”

“No, ma’am. But this is what I don’t understand, Mrs. Kalakos. I heard it was a crack team of professional thieves that robbed the Randolph Trust, not five schmoes from the neighborhood. So how did they do it?”

“They were not simply five schmoes from neighborhood, Victor. They were four schmoes and Teddy. That is difference.”

Just then the door creaked open, and Thalassa, with gray body hunched and gray head bowed, brought in a tray. Mrs. Kalakos was right, the tea was weak, and musty, it tasted as old as Thalassa looked, but the cookies were surprisingly delicious. I was on my fourth cookie when my cell phone rang.

I stood up, slipped into the dark corner of the dark room, flipped it open. “Carl,” I said.

“You free tonight, mate?” said the unmistakable voice of Phil Skink.

I looked at Mrs. Kalakos, sitting up now, her pale face bowed toward a porcelain teacup, steam rising around her sunken eyes. “Sure,” I said. “I’m in a meeting, but it won’t last much longer. What’s up?”

“I gots someone I wants you to meet.”

My heart skipped a beat. I could feel myself blushing in the darkness. “Did you find her?” I said. “Did you find Chantal Adair?”

“That’s what I wants you to tell me.”