The Chinese Jars (11 page)

“That guy's a smart-ass Mexican,” he complained.

“He's a friend of mine,” said Samuel, “and Melba wants him out of jail. That's why she sent me here and why she retained you.”

“I'm only a lawyer, not a magician,” Hiram said. His jowls hung over the high, stiffly starched collar of his white shirt. His gold cufflinks matched the tie tack. Samuel felt a wave of dislike for him.

“It's hard to deal with smart-ass Mexicans. They make my job a lot harder even when they can afford me. This is a kiss-ass business. Melba paid me a lot of money to get this prick off, but he wants to know every fucking detail about what goes on around him, and I don't have time for that shit. You go and talk to that greaser and tell him how things are in this town. Mexicans are in last place, along with the queers. It's the Jews, the Irish, and the Italians that run it, in case you hadn't noticed.”

“Calm down,” Samuel interrupted. “He's a good kid. You know I won't be able to talk to him until court is over. Just get his bail reduced so we can get him out.”

“That's not going to be easy, not now. Don't you see, he's questioning the judge's authority, and he's not one of the boys. He may have fucked himself,” said Hiram.

“I'll straighten him out. You get him a bail hearing. We have good character witnesses. He's a hard-working citizen and not a flight risk,” said Samuel.

“I gotta go. See ya at eleven,” said Hiram, and he waddled down the hall.

Putting his hand on the swinging outer door, Samuel yelled at him, “How 'bout buying an ad in my paper? I'm busting my ass to sell slots. You look like a guy with a lot of dough!”

“Jesus Christ, man, you know lawyers can't advertise in this state,” replied Hiram, over his shoulder, as he disappeared into another courtroom, the door flapping behind him.

When Hiram returned at eleven, Rafael's bail hearing was set by the court for the following Thursday at two-thirty.

* * *

When court next convened in Rafael's case, Hiram Goldberg entered with a large entourage. There was Melba; her daughter, Blanche; Rafael's mother, brother, and his two sisters; Sofia; the parish priest; and Samuel. They were all prepared to testify what a good and reliable person he was, following Hiram's carefully scripted preparation of each of them.

The judge called the court to order, and the clerk called the case.

“Bail is presently set at five thousand dollars. Mr. Garcia is accused of having a stolen X-ray machine in his possession worth over ten thousand dollars. Why should the people reduce his bail?” asked the judge, squinting at the defendant.

“For several reasons,” answered Hiram, rising heavily to his feet. “In the first place, the state has absolutely no proof he stole the machine. The most the D.A. can say is that he was in the vicinity of the machine when the police arrived.”

“Your Honor,” interrupted the assistant district attorney, who stood up from his place at the table next to the podium where Hiram was lecturing the court. He had the gaunt look of the zealot, with sunken cheeks and deep shadows surrounding his eye sockets. “Mr. Goldberg will have a hard time disputing Mr. Garcia's involvement in this crime, since the X-ray machine was in a truck he rented in his own name. The only thing we don't know, and he won't tell us, is where he got it and where he was taking it. But we do know where it came from, and it certainly didn't come into Mr. Garcia's possession in an arm's length transaction.”

“Before I was interrupted, Your Honor,” said Hiram, “I was about to explain to the court that it wasn't my intention to try the case at this time. My idea was merely to present the flimsiness of the evidence against my client. But even more importantly, the record needs to reflect that Mr. Garcia has absolutely no criminal record. In fact, quite the contrary, he's a pillar of his community and is no flight risk whatsoever. He has a long-standing job with Melba Sundling, a well-known and respected saloonkeeper of Your Honor's Irish persuasion, and she is here to confirm that. He's heavily involved in the activities of his local Catholic Church, as his parish priest will attest. In addition, he helps support his mother and three siblings, which, by the way, he can't do if he's in jail.”

“Before we clutter the record with lengthy testimony,” said the judge, looking at the plethora of witnesses filling his courtroom and calculating the hours of testimony that he would have to listen to, “I want to see the lawyers in chambers, and bring the probation officer with you.”

They all crowded into the judge's chambers. “Counting the number of witnesses in the courtroom, Mr. Goldberg is prepared to load the boat, counsel,” said the judge. “Why did you make the bail so high in the first place?”

“This is a serious crime,” said the gaunt attorney, starting again to give his prepared speech about the well-known evils of stealing from others.

“Hold on! This isn't the trial,” shouted Hiram. “We're here to talk about bail, just bail.”

“Where there's smoke, there's fire, Judge,” the attorney responded, his thin lips quivering with disdain for both Hiram and Rafael.

“Oh, bullshit. This is the crappiest case I've seen in years,” Hiram cut in. “You just want to hold Mr. Garcia's feet to the fire in the hopes you'll get some hot evidence of a big theft ring. It's not there. This guy was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. You'll see.”

“What does the probation department have to say?” asked the judge.

“He's definitely not a flight risk,” answered the probation officer. “He's a pretty stable guy, and he seems really close to his family.”

The prosecutor interrupted, “I didn't come here to hear this prisoner praised. He's a common thief who should have to stay behind bars. Remember, Judge, your job is to protect the citizens of this city, not to coddle the criminals.”

“That's enough!” shot back the judge. “You gentlemen wait outside. I want to think about this one. Mr. Probation Officer, leave your report with me. I'll file it after I've read it.”

The attorneys left the judge's office, and Hiram walked down the aisle toward the drinking fountain outside the flapping main doors. As he passed Samuel, he winked at him.

Alone in the quiet of his chambers, the judge quickly turned the pages of the document he had been handed. He didn't like greasers, the name he gave to Mexicans in private, but he decided to lower his bail to two thousand dollars. It remained to be seen if the prisoner could post it. In any event, he was sure Rafael would end up behind bars.

X
ING CHING
pushed hard on the doorbell of Virginia Dimitri's Grant Avenue apartment. His palms were sweaty and his muscular shoulders hunched as he concentrated on the button. He couldn't remember a time in his life when his nerves were so shot. He struggled to control his emotions. The carved wooden door looked immense to him in the sunlight. On the other six or seven occasions he'd visited Virginia, as he remembered, it was night. His encounters had become more intimate and pleasurable, but still formal. This was the first time that he'd broken the strict protocol that Virginia had laid down for his visits. It was clear that he shouldn't get involved with her. His life was too complicated and the last thing he should allow himself was a passionate love affair, but he had a lot in common with her. Both were sensual, refined, and ambitious. Virginia had never asked anything of him. What did that beautiful woman want from him? On his third visit, he'd brought her a crocodile purse that cost him a small fortune. She thanked him formally and later, after they'd made love, she begged him never to repeat the gesture. “I like you a lot Xsing, and you make me happy. I don't need anything from you except your presence. I prefer that you don't give me presents because that changes the tone of our relationship. It makes me feel like you're trying to pay me.”

At first he was insulted. But after he thought about it, he understood that she was right. From that moment on he viewed her differently.

On his third ring, the one-armed servant, Fu Fung Fat, opened the door a crack. “Is Miss Virginia in? I need to speak with her,” said Xsing in Mandarin.

Fu Fung Fat listened to his Chinese compatriot with a cold eye. “The mistress does not accept visitors without an appointment. Those are her instructions.”

“It's urgent. Tell her I'm here, and let her decide,” Xsing responded with such authority that the other couldn't ignore his request.

While he was waiting, Xsing continued his pacing. Was Virginia with another man? He felt ridiculous. She was free to do what she wanted, just as he was. Just the same, the agonies of jealousy left a sour taste in his mouth. He took out a white handkerchief and wiped his clammy hands and dabbed at the beads of sweat on his forehead.

Several minutes passed before Fu Fung Fat returned. Again he only partially opened the door. “The mistress says to come back at three o'clock,” and he closed the door before Xsing Ching could further plead his case.

Xsing Ching walked the streets in a daze until it was time; at exactly three, he reappeared at Virginia's door and heavily pushed the bell. He was more composed than he had been on his morning visit, but the undershirt he wore beneath his expensive suit was soaking wet from perspiration.

The manservant opened the front door, unlocked the chain, and ushered him inside with a smile. Now he was a welcome guest: he had an appointment. Walking down the hallway, Xsing reexamined the giant vases; he noticed details on them that had escaped him in the evening light. Sun from a skylight illuminated a collection of jade statues in niches of the wall. Even though he was an expert in antiques, he didn't bother to examine them. His mind was on something else.

The servant showed him a seat and went to call Virginia. Half a minute later she came out of the bedroom with the fresh air of an innocent girl. If she was with another lover during the time he was wandering the streets, there was no evidence of it. She was dressed in black toreador pants that came to her knees, a gray silk belt around her waist, ballet slippers on her feet, and a man's white shirt. She didn't have on any jewelry or noticeable makeup. Xsing Ching got up quickly to greet her. For an instant he thought of making her his mistress and taking her to New York and installing her in an apartment facing Central Park, like a queen, and loving her the way both deserved to be loved. But his immediate concern was the urgent matter that brought him there.

“I'm very sorry I couldn't see you this morning, Xsing. Why didn't you call me first?” asked Virginia.

He came to her and kissed her on the forehead. “Thank you for seeing me, Virginia.”

“Fu Fung Fat told me it was something urgent,” she said, taking him by the arm to the sofa, where they sat down together.

“Yes, I have to talk with you.” He was so nervous his hands were shaking. “Thank you for seeing me, Virginia. My son is here in San Francisco. I brought him because he suffered another relapse of his leukemia, and the doctors in New York told me that California is the only place where they can do a bone marrow transplant. We didn't expect this because lately he seemed to be getting better and his condition was in remission. But now I'm afraid he is gravely ill.”

“Oh, Xsing! How can I help you?” exclaimed Virginia. “Where is the boy? What's his name?”

“His name is Ren Shen Ching. He's in the Children's Hospital on California Street. I remember that you offered to put me in contact with some doctors from here…,” and his voice broke.

Virginia caressed his neck. Xsing saw she was as moved as he was.

“I'll take care of this immediately,” she said. “Just give me a few moments.”

She retired to her bedroom and closed the door. The minutes she was gone seemed like an eternity for Xsing Ching. When she returned, she found him on the sofa with his legs apart, his elbows on his knees, and his head cradled in his hands—the image of total desperation. She kneeled at his side and embraced him.

“Xsing, I've just spoken to Dr. Stephen Roland. You are to meet him at Children's Hospital at four thirty. That's in about half an hour from now. He's one of the foremost authorities on leukemia. I explained the case to him, and he promised me that he would do everything in his power to help your son. He'll meet with his treating doctor to see if he is a good candidate for a transplant. He did tell me that this treatment is still in the experimental stage.”

“I understand, Virginia, but we must try it. It's the last recourse.”

As disconcerted as Xsing Ching was, he noticed that Virginia was crying. The tears rolled down her cheeks and fell onto her shirt. Could his misfortune have moved this apparently cold woman?

“What's the matter? Do you think Ren will die?”

“No, it's not that, Xsing. He'll be in the best hands, and I think they'll save him. There are cases of miraculous recovery with the transplant.”

“Then why do you cry?”

“You see, I lost my only child some years ago from an illness. This brings back many painful memories. I know exactly how you feel. That's why I'm so happy to help you.”

“I don't know how to thank you, Virginia,” and he hugged her tightly, as they cried together.

* * *

A few days later Mathew went to the apartment. When he saw Virginia, he grabbed her around the waist and picked her up and kissed her on the mouth. She pushed him away and smoothed her clothes. She didn't like displays of exuberance.

“We've got this guy in the palm of our hands,” said Mathew, taking off his jacket and loosening his tie. “He's ready to do business on my terms. He's insinuated that he won't divide the shipment of art, he'll give me priority, and I'll be able to have all I want before he offers any to the rest of his clients. This is formidable! How did you do it? He seemed as cold as a crab and you made him lose his head. Is he in love with you?”