Marlene and Lucy weren’t the only ones in his family who seemed to be feeling the tug of spirituality. Not long after the women of the household headed west, he had been invited (with Murrow’s fingerprints all over the offer) to speak at the synagogue about law and order in the city of New York, such as it was.
Although Murrow had insisted that he needed to curry the Jewish vote, Karp had been uncomfortable with the invitation. He wasn’t much of a regular at services. Ever since his mother’s illness and death, he and God had been on the outs. He thought that the Talmud was a wonderful set of rules to live by, but he felt like an imposter when he placed the yarmulke on his head to enter the synagogue with his sons, who’d asked to go.
Still, he’d delivered what he felt was a fairly germane lecture pointing out that the principles of the Judeo-Christian ethic were the foundation of western civilization, and in particular the U.S. system of justice. Civilized people could not steal, murder, lie, cheat, or covet what was not theirs to covet without the decay of their society. But he’d avoided talking about God’s role, preferring to leave such things to the rabbi and those who believed that God gave a fig about the day-to-day lives of human beings.
The next day, he didn’t think much about it when the twins spent part of the morning locked away in one of their private conferences, which were closed to all outsiders. So he was surprised when they emerged and announced that they had come to an important decision: they wanted to go through a bar mitzvah.
Considering that to accomplish this they would have to take Hebrew and religion classes, neither of which they’d shown any inclination for in the past, Karp thought he smelled a rat. He gave them a sideways look and asked, “Okay, so what’s the real reason?”
The boys were always up to some moneymaking scheme, such as Giancarlo panhandling on the sidewalk in front of the apartment building playing his accordion behind a sign painted by Zak that read Blind Musician. Please Help. “You two con men hear about the take?” he asked, referring to the gifts of cash traditionally doled out by relatives and friends at a boy’s bar mitzvah party.
The twins’ faces had contorted into expressions of aggrieved innocence as they replied indignantly to his assault on their integrity. Giancarlo noted that he had always shown an interest in the Catholic side of his ancestry, “and now I’d like to know the other half.” Zak said he simply thought it was a good idea to know what he was fighting for when he punched kids at school who called him a “dirty Jew…. Besides, the Old Testament has all that cool stuff with battles and lopping people’s heads off and begetting.”
An irregular at the synagogue, Karp wasn’t sure how to go about getting the boys signed up for the bar mitzvah classes they needed to take to pass the rabbi’s examination. So he called a young rabbi he’d met at the talk who mentioned that he worked with the synagogue’s youth. Karp admitted to the man that he had some reservations about entrusting his sons’ moral upbringing to a stranger. He figured there had been enough bad things done in the name of religion that he wanted to make sure there was a balance.
“Maybe you should consider teaching some of our classes,” the rabbi said.
“What?” Karp responded. “Sorry, rabbi, but you’ve got the wrong guy. My Hebrew is largely forgotten. And to be honest, I’m not sure where I stand with God these days.”
The rabbi just brushed it off. “I would not have suggested it, except that your reputation precedes you,” he said. “I’m told there is not a more honest and forthright man in this city than Roger Karp.”
Karp found himself blushing at the compliment. “Well, your sources should know that I’ve bent plenty of rules and wandered a few steps off the path of righteousness,” he said. For some reason, he thought of his folks at that moment, and added, “I was fortunate enough to have been raised by moral parents who provided great role models.”
“And that’s all we’re asking you to provide these boys and girls,” the rabbi replied. “They need role models. Even those who come from good families can use the reinforcement. We are trying to teach them how to live in today’s world as honorable individuals. Surely, you consider yourself an honorable man, Mr. Karp?”
“I try.” Karp shrugged.
“Then you would be perfect as one of our teachers,” the rabbi said. He went on to explain that the synagogue was “progressive” and tried to relate historical Judaism to the modern world by introducing its bar mitzvah candidates to the sorts of Jewish men they could model themselves after. And, he further emphasized, he’d be a good model for the girls who were studying for their bat mitzvah.
“But what about the Hebrew and the religious stuff?” Karp asked.
“Well, if you can work in the occasional story from the Talmud, that would be good,” the rabbi laughed. “But otherwise, we have other people for the language and ‘religious stuff.’ ”
So Roger “Butch” Karp, the district attorney for New York County, found himself agreeing to several appearances in front of a class of eleven-year-old boys, two of them his sons, as well as three girls studying for the female equivalent, bat mitzvah. On one hand, he found the idea more intimidating than arguing a tough case in front of a judge and jury; on the other, it was a chance to spend more time with his sons and a chance to impart some of his own values.
In that light, he chose “doing the right thing” for the subject of his first talk. Walking into the classroom after Giancarlo and Zak, who wanted to distance themselves from the teacher, Karp introduced himself and asked if there were any questions.
A wiry, wafer-thin little girl with waves of nearly black hair framing her rose-colored cheeks, upon which a pair of big, round tortoiseshell glasses was perched, raised her hand.
“Yes,” Karp said with a smile meant to put her at ease. “And your name is?”
“Rachel,” she said primly. “I was named after the wife of the prophet Abraham, who as I’m sure you’re aware is the father of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam.”
The boys in the class groaned and rolled their eyes. But Karp ignored them and kept a smile glued to his face. “That’s right, Rachel,” he said. “And your question?”
“My mother is a lawyer and she says you have a lawsuit against the Lord,” Rachel said.
Bursts of laughter filled the room. Rather pointedly, Karp responded, “Was that a statement or a question, Rachel?” He laughed. The serious look on the girl’s face didn’t change so he went on. “Please assure your mom that no official papers have been filed but the statute of limitations has not yet run out.”
Sensing another question rising to the surface of Rachel’s tongue, he quickly announced that it was time to move on to the day’s lesson, for which he’d chosen a story from the Book of Daniel. “It’s the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-Nego,” he said.
Blank stares, except from Rachel. Giancarlo beamed happily behind his dark glasses. Zak kept his head down, stealing glances to the side to see how his classmates were buying the old man’s spiel.
Better jazz it up, Karp thought, or I’m gonna lose the jury. “It might interest you to know that this story happened in what is today called Iraq,” he said. A little more interest, but not much. “And Nebuchadnezzar was a lot like Saddam Hussein. He killed people he didn’t like…without a trial.” Better. Nothing like a little bloodshed to attract the average prepubescent eleven-year-old boy. “Lopped their heads off, dragged them around behind chariots…that sort of thing.” Got ’em right where I want ’em. Even Zak is paying attention.
“Anyway, the Jews were slaves and most of them had to do a lot of hard work,” Karp went on, presenting his case in chief. “But a few of the bright, good-looking guys, like these three fine fellows and their friend Daniel worked in the palace as scribes and scholars. They were good at their jobs and worked hard, advancing on merit, which made the other court workers, who were lazy and incompetent, jealous.
“So their enemies tried to think of something else that would get the Jews in trouble with
the king. These troublemakers went to the king and said that he should build a golden idol and that all the people should be forced to bow down and worship it…. Sort of like that statue Saddam Hussein had built for himself for the Iraqis to worship that we all saw pulled down on television…. Anyway, they got the king to agree that anyone who refused to worship the idol would be thrown into a furnace.”
The idea of people tossed into a furnace made the boys sit up a little. He was pretty sure that it was Zak who said, “Cool.” He went on. “The people who didn’t like the Jews knew that they wouldn’t worship a golden idol. Of course, some did because they didn’t want to die. But Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-Nego refused.
“When the king told them that the only other option was to be tossed into the furnace, they said that they believed that God would save them. BUT…,” Karp said the word loud enough to wake up the sleepier among them and raised what he thought was a prophetical finger, “and this is important, they said that even if God decided not to save them, they still weren’t going to bow down and worship a golden idol. They said they would rather DIE a horrible, painful death with their bodies bursting along the seams like ballpark hotdogs, and their hair catching fire, and their eyeballs popping like balloons from the heat, than do something they knew was wrong, just to save their lives. So the king had them dragged to the furnace and tossed in.”
Karp’s descriptions of the horrors of the furnace had the class hook, line, and sinker. Zak now had his head up and was proudly basking in the reflected glory of his father’s grisly dramatics.
As he’d done so many times in the past with juries after reaching the high point of a closing argument, Karp now lowered his voice to deliver the coup de grâce. “You know what the king and his men saw when they looked into the furnace?” he said. The boys wagged their heads no in unison, while Rachel bounced up and down in her seat with her hand raised. Karp nodded affirmatively toward her. “They saw the three young men sitting among the flames, not afraid,” Rachel stated. Karp smiled approvingly and continued. “They could have been playing pinochle. And you know what else?” More wagging heads. “There was a fourth man in the furnace because God had sent an angel to make sure they were okay.
“Well, the king told the three young men to come out of the furnace. When they emerged, there wasn’t a mark on them. They didn’t even smell like fire. The king was so impressed that he declared that the God of the Jews was the one true God.”
Seeing the look of disappointment at the lack of fiery deaths, Karp quickly added. “The king then had his soldiers grab the men who had been conspiring against the Jews and had them all tossed in the furnace where they burst into flames like Roman candles and melted like wax while their screams went on and on.” He had no idea if that last part was true, but it sure brought the jurors back…they were ready to convict. “So what do you think the moral of the story was?” he asked.
“Don’t fuck with Jews or your ass will get burned,” Zak piped up. He was pleased with his classmates’ reaction until he saw the scowl on his father’s face and looked back down at the floor.
“Anybody else?” Karp asked.
“Do the right thing, even if it means you might get hurt,” Giancarlo said.
“Yeah, but they believed that God was going to save them, so it was no big deal to them,” Zak sulked.
“They thought he would, but they didn’t know it for sure,” Rachel said, jumping into the debate and raising a few giggles from the boys, who whispered about Giancarlo’s new girlfriend.
Nevertheless, the mortified Giancarlo finished his—and her—point. “Remember, they said that even if God didn’t save them, they still weren’t going to do something they knew was wrong.”
At that moment, Karp could not have been prouder of his second son (by thirty seconds). Meanwhile, his older grumbled that it would have been a better story if God had fried Nebuchadnezzar with a bolt of lightning or cast him and all his friends into hell.
“Jews don’t believe in hell,” Rachel informed him. “That’s a Christian invention.”
“Well, they should,” Zak said turning so his father wouldn’t see the face he made at her. “Why else would anybody want to do the right thing ALL the time, like some little Goody Two-shoes brother I know.”
Giancarlo stuck his tongue out at Zak, who nearly died of frustration when he realized that Giancarlo couldn’t see him retaliate. The class was threatening to disintegrate into a tongue-and-giggle fest, when Karp cleared his throat. “I think what the story says to me is that there are times in all of our lives where it would be easier, and maybe safer, to give in rather than to stick by our principles. It’s not about whether we get thrown into a burning furnace or are cast into the depths of hell if we don’t, but whether we will be able to live with ourselves. I think it’s about being able to get up in the morning, look in the mirror, and be proud of who you see standing there.”
More blank stares. “And, of course, if you mess with Jews, your ass will get burned.” Good to leave ’em laughing.
• • •
It had been only two weeks since that first class, but Karp was impressed with how seriously the boys were taking their studies. He had to respect turning down his offer of a Yankee game that Friday so that they could keep their study date. The next day before heading off to the archbishop’s fund-raiser, he thought he should encourage them by showing that he was interested in their spiritual pursuits. “So how did studying go last night?” he asked.
“What?” Zak stuttered, looking quickly at his brother, who smiled beneath his dark glasses and bobbed his head like Stevie Wonder but offered no reply.
“I asked, ‘How was studying for your bar mitzvah?’ ” Karp repeated.
“Oh, fine.” “Great.” “Learned a lot.” The boys double-teamed him with rapid-fire superlatives. Something nagged at him about their reaction, but before he could question them further, Fulton buzzed the apartment from the ground level and said that Murrow and Stupenagel had arrived.
• • •
Thinking about his boys put him in a good mood on the way to the fund-raiser, so he didn’t object when Stupenagel dragged out her tape recorder and said she needed to ask him a few questions for her story. “Why do you want to be district attorney?” she asked.
“Who says I want to be district attorney?” he said.
Stupenagel gave him a pained look. “Okay, just suppose that you decide to run for office,” she said, “why would you want to be district attorney?”
Karp shrugged. “I could tell you the truth, but you cynical bastards in the press would just snort and think it was all bullshit,” he said.
“One, in case your sight is going with your hair into old age, I’m a cynical bitch,” she retorted. “Two, try me.”
“Okay, then,” Karp said, “how about I was raised with the notion that we should try to accomplish something worthwhile during our time on this rock. And I happen to believe that protecting the citizens of Manhattan from criminals is worthwhile. It also happens to be something that I am good at.”
“Fair enough,” the reporter said. “But considering everything your family has been through—the abductions, the assassination attempts, the Felix Tighes of this world—why would you put them even more in the spotlight?”
There’s the real question, Karp thought. Good technique, would work in any courtroom—set them up with the soft pitch, then throw something hard and fast right down the pipe. “This is what I do,” he said. “Does that mean I’m not supposed to have a family? And what about the guy who would step into my place? Should someone else be expected to put his family in harm’s way because I wouldn’t?
“Some jobs are more hazardous than others. What about the firefighter’s family? Every time he goes on a call, there’s a decent chance he won’t be back. Granted, he’s the one who dies, but is his family unaffected? I know my family has been through a lot because of my job…” now there’s the understatement of the century “�
��but we’ve talked it over, and they have all said they support whatever decision I make on this.” Well, all but maybe one.
At the fund-raiser, Karp allowed Murow to steer him around to the various important people “you have to meet.” He had done his best to be sociable and politely answered their questions about truth, justice, and the American way until he noticed their eyes glazing over.
They don’t really want to know, he thought. As long as we’re coming down hard on the riffraff, keeping them out of sight, away from the tourists, away from their lofts and penthouses…locking them up and throwing away the key if that’s what it takes…that’s all these people want to know about the justice system.
Just before midnight, Karp was beginning to hope that Murrow had run out of fresh faces to lead him to like a dog on a leash. But then his assistant spotted the archbishop and Andrew Kane and began to steer him in their direction. But Kane saw them at the same time and glided over to introduce himself.
Karp had disliked the presumed next mayor of New York the moment the man opened his mouth. He was too slick, too friendly.
I wonder what he’s really like when he turns the switch to off, Karp thought after Kane introduced himself. He’d seen the evening news before leaving for the fund-raiser and caught Kane’s press conference in which he’d declared his war on gangs. It was exactly the sort of meaningless platitude that made Karp dislike politicians. And it had made his skin crawl when the little weasel, as Stupenagel insisted, put his hand on his shoulder for the photograph. I hope the paper doesn’t use it, he thought. I know it will come back to bite me in the ass.
At his signal, Fulton went out to get the car from the valet. He was gone longer than Karp expected, and when he returned, his big tough face was frowning. He motioned Karp away from the others.
“I just heard something over the scanner about a shooting and called in to see what was up,” Fulton said when they were out of earshot.
The old fire horse raring to go at the smell of smoke, Karp thought with amusement.
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