Hoax

by Robert K. Tanenbaum

  Several hours later, they’d made at least a cursory examination of all the files. That’s when she’d asked him to back off on pressing criminal charges. “I’m not talking about throwing these files away. But maybe you can go to the church council and use them to quietly have the predators removed. Force them to clean up their act.”

  “And ignore that crimes have been committed? Even murder?”

  “That’s Kane and Flanagan. Nail them with the police files. Prison walls look the same no matter what crime you’re in for.”

  “What about O’Callahan and Lichner?”

  “Some sort of quiet plea bargain that sends O’Callahan away for a long time. Extradite Lichner to New Mexico, let John put him away. Nobody in New York gives a rat’s ass what happens west of New Jersey.”

  “And the archbishop? The fact that sexual predators were allowed to prey on children again and again?”

  “Fey obviously looked the other way when this was going on. But that’s not his real signature on those papers, that’s a rubber stamp of his signature. You can bet O’Callahan’s behind it.”

  “Fey had to know,” Butch said. “Maybe not about Lichner, but the payoffs and St. Ignatius and the priests who reoffended. Nobody who rises to that position is that naive or stupid. He was in Kane’s hip pocket, consciously or because he didn’t want to know—he abused the trust that had been given to him.”

  “So you force him to quietly retire.”

  “That’s hardly justice for dead boys and ruined lives. It’s just compromising, taking the easy way out of this.”

  “Everybody compromises, Butch,” she said. “It’s how the world works.”

  “Maybe that’s the problem,” he retorted. “Everybody is so busy compromising that nobody knows where the standards are anymore. I’m sorry but you’re asking me to do something I cannot do.”

  “Why not?” she replied. “Why do you always have to be such a stickler for the rules? Why always the Boy Scout?”

  Butch was silent for a minute, staring out the window at the crowds on the sidewalk along Centre Street. At last he said, “Because of my mother.”

  “What? What’s your mother got to do with this?”

  “Everything,” he said. “Because she died of cancer, because this is like that, a cancer.”

  “You’re not making sense.”

  “Then let me tell you about my mother’s death,” he said. “I’ve never talked about it with anyone, but maybe it’s time I did with you.”

  “She was a wonderful woman,” he began. “And I know most boys think that of their moms, but she was so full of life, so caring for other people, and yet her death was so senseless, so pointless.

  “When she first got cancer, I went into full denial. What, are you kidding me? My mom’s never been sick a day in her life. She’ll be fine. Even when it was obvious that she was wasting away and not getting better, I wouldn’t believe it. I figured that if I just went on with my life, she’d be up and around in no time. There was nothing to worry about.

  “Then came that horrible night when my aunt, who’d been living with us to help care for her, called me into my mom’s room. I really didn’t want to; I was getting ready for a big game that night and didn’t want to be bothered with what was going on in the real world. But my aunt insisted.

  “Well, I got in there and my aunt handed me a syringe with morphine in it. She was crying and said, ‘I can’t do this anymore. You have to do it.’…I looked at her like, ‘You’ve got to be kidding, I’m not going to do that.’ It meant having to admit how sick my mom was; there was no way.”

  Karp leaned his head against the window. How many of those people down there are suffering? he wondered. How many had lost loved ones to some senseless, pointless death? “But my mom was in such pain, and I finally took the syringe. My aunt made me practice sticking it into an orange a few times first, but nothing prepared me for sticking a hypodermic needle into this woman I loved. Her skin was so warm and dry. I was afraid, but I gave her the shot. The needle went so deep into her arm, she moaned in pain. It shocked me, and all I could think was, My God, I hurt her so badly. Soon the morphine took effect, and she slowly closed her eyes. I then left for my game.”

  Karp turned and looked right at Marlene. “It’s strange where you find compassion sometimes, that touch of humanity at just the right moment that keeps you sane…. I got to the game late and expected that it would have already started, but nothing was going on yet. All the players on both teams were on the floor, so I hurried to the locker room to get changed.

  “Then my coach walked in and asked how I was doing, which was kind of strange because he was old-school—in your face, give him 100 percent every time or don’t bother to show up. And here we’re in the locker room, and he’s asking how I’m feeling—of course, I never said a word about what was going on at home—but I found out later that my father had tipped him off. At the time, I didn’t know how to answer, so I asked him why the game hadn’t started yet. And you know what he said…”

  Karp paused as his eyes welled with tears. “He said he’d talked it over with the other coach and the refs and they’d agreed to let him use up all of our time outs at the beginning of the game to give me more time to show up. We looked at each other and then silently I started to lace my sneakers. But my hands started shaking so badly I froze, so he knelt and tied my sneakers for me. I don’t remember how I played that night, but for the rest of my life I will never forget that somebody cared enough about my suffering to go the extra mile for me.

  “When I got home after the game, I went to check on my mother and found that she’d fallen out of bed and was lying on the floor. I picked her up and was shocked by how little she weighed. I could feel her bones through her skin. I held her there in my arms like you would a small child and she looked me in the eyes. That’s when I finally let it sink in. She’s going to die soon, and there’s nothing I can do about it. It was so damn unfair, this monstrous, evil thing was going to happen to this beautiful, loving person.”

  Karp took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “She died the next morning, and I knew that evil had triumphed. And I swore that I would do everything I could for the rest of my life to fight evil wherever I found it. That’s why when I got out of law school, I applied to one place and one place only, the New York District Attorney’s Office so that I could work for the best DA in the country, with the best trial lawyers, and eventually I would volunteer to prosecute the most vicious, depraved murderers.

  “Maybe it doesn’t make sense to you, but I promised my mother’s memory that I would never compromise with evil. I would not look the other way for the sake of expediency or politics. Cancer destroys from within—for whatever his reasons, Kane understands that and so do I. You can cut cancers out, attack them with chemotherapy or the New York penal law, but they do not quietly retire without leaving some small part of the disease behind to grow large again when conditions are right.”

  He stood silently at the window, a big man mourning the loss of his mother, his leonine head bowed, slumping somewhat into his shoulders. And at last Marlene understood what drove the man she loved. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist and held on as his body tensed and his eyes welled with tears.

  When the private line on his desk rang, she picked it up so that he could compose himself. “Butch Karp’s office,” she said.

  “Hi, Marlene.”

  “Hi, Father Mike. How’s Alejandro?”

  “Just got out of surgery. The knife nicked his liver and he lost a lot of blood, but if he can get through the next twenty-four hours or so, he’s got a good chance…. He put it all on the line, Marlene. I want to know if it was worth it. What does Butch plan to do?”

  Marlene looked at her husband, the man who would go the extra mile for people who had no one else to speak for them. “Why he’ll do what he’s always done,” she said with pride. “He’s going to kick the shit out of the bad guys. Was there ever
any doubt?”

  Dugan was quiet for a moment before replying softly, “No. There was never any doubt.”

  • • •

  A half hour later, Marlene was still thinking about her husband when she arrived at Crosby and Grand, wanting to freshen up before heading down to the hospital where Lucy and Zak were waiting with Giancarlo. That’s probably why she was caught unprepared when the large young man came walking up behind her and stuck a gun in her ribs. “Get in the car or I’ll blow your fuckin’ heart out,” he said as a dark sedan screeched to a stop at the curb and the back door opened. He shoved her in next to another man and climbed in after her, tapping the driver on the shoulder and shouting, “Let’s go!”

  The whole thing happened in less than ten seconds, which did not give Tran and Jojola time to react. They’d been talking inside the restaurant supply store when a lookout at the window yelled. They ran out onto the sidewalk with their guns drawn, heedless of the screams of startled pedestrians who scuttled like frightened hens to get away.

  “Shit!” Jojola cursed. “Nice job we did of protecting her.”

  “No one stops the determined assassin,” Tran said.

  “Do you think they’ll kill her?” Jojola asked.

  Tran thought about it. “No, not yet. If they wanted to kill her, she’d be dead. She’s bait to catch a bigger fish.”

  “Butch.”

  “Yes, the district attorney. And once they have him, they will kill them both. They will have to if they want to have any chance of getting away with this.”

  “Any suggestions?”

  “Yes, if I may be so bold as to suggest that you keep an eye on Mr. Karp. I have a feeling that they will be contacting him next.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Wait by the telephone,” Tran said, “and hope I get a call before it’s too late.” He gave a sharp whistle and a cab that had been sitting down the block pulled forward. “This is my cousin Minh, he’ll take you to the courthouse and wherever you need to go from there.”

  Jojola started to get in and then asked, “Why a taxi?”

  Tran smiled. “In case you have not noticed, taxis in this city pretty much do whatever they want. They follow no laws except that of the Great Yellow Cab Company. Good-bye, Mr. Jojola, we may not meet again, but I wish you luck. It is always good to meet an old enemy and realize he was not really the devil.”

  32

  BUTCH KARP ARRIVED AT RAY GUMA’S LOFT BUILDING IN Little Italy about 9:00 PM wheeling a dolly on which two boxes of No Prosecution files sat. He was taking no chances on another break-in at the courthouse, and his friend’s building was a cross between Fort Knox and Alcatraz.

  He’d meant to arrive earlier, but Stupenagel walked into the office as he was about to leave and wanted to chat. He didn’t want to arouse her curiosity by leaving with the boxes—he wasn’t ready for that part of the story to come out yet—so he’d excused himself and quickly walked next door to Murrow’s office.

  “I want you to go ask Stupenagel out to dinner,” he told his assistant. “She’s in my office.”

  “Why?” Murrow asked. “This may be above and beyond the call of duty.”

  “Just do it,” Karp replied. “Anyplace you want to go. It’s on me. Just do whatever it takes to keep her out of my hair tonight.”

  They walked back into the office together. Karp stifled a fake yawn. “Well, guess I’ll wrap it up and get my ass out of here. What are you kids up to?” He looked pointedly at Murrow.

  “Oh…yeah, hey, Ariadne, want to go grab a bite to eat?” Murrow asked.

  Stupenagel squinted her eyes and looked from Murrow to Karp. “Something’s going on here,” she said. “And I don’t like it.” Then she brightened. “However, since I’m unlikely to find out anyway, and a girl never knows where her next expensive meal with a handsome young man is going to come from, sure, sweet cakes.”

  Murrow gave him a dirty look, and Stupenagel gave him a wink and left. He waited for the coast to clear, then loaded the boxes on the dolly. Chip McIntyre stopped in as he was leaving. “You need me anymore tonight?” he said.

  “Nah,” Karp replied. “Going to go drop some old files off at a friend’s house and then head to the hospital. My son’s having surgery tomorrow.”

  McIntyre said good-night and left, with Karp following a few minutes later. He cursed when he discovered that it had started to drizzle and tried to keep the files dry by shielding them with his body. He pressed the buzzer for Guma’s apartment and looked up at the security camera.

  “Who is it?” Guma asked innocently.

  “Let me in, asshole,” Karp growled. He was in a hurry to drop off the boxes and get to the hospital. He was surprised that Marlene wasn’t there yet when he called the kids, nor had she answered at the loft. Probably stopped to pick up something for Giancarlo, he thought.

  “I don’t know anyone named LetMeInAsshole.”

  “Guma!”

  “All right already. But I was hoping you were the pizza delivery boy.” The door buzzed and several locks clicked, allowing him to back his way inside, hauling the dolly in after him.

  When he got to Guma’s apartment the door was held open with a video tape, College Coeds Gone Wild. He rolled his eyes and entered, finding Guma on the telephone.

  “Hey, make yourself at home,” Guma said, pointing to the apartment, which looked as though it hadn’t been cleaned or even picked up in years. Laundry—dirty, clean, who could tell—lay strewn about, as were various boxes, bags, and plates that had once contained food and were now collecting dust, mold, and mouse droppings. “Just chatting to Deep Priest.”

  Karp gave him a puzzled look, and Guma added, “Father Mike.” His conversation was interrupted again by another buzzing at the security door.

  Glancing at the monitor mounted on the wall next to the door, Karp saw a teenager with a pizza box standing in the dark on the sidewalk. “Domino’s?” he asked with disgust. “In New York?”

  Guma shrugged. “It’s fast and it’s cheap. I figured you might want a bite before heading to the hospital.” He punched the door unlock button on his desk.

  There was a sound outside the door and Karp got up, figuring Guma had arranged the delivery and telephone call perfectly so that he would have to pay for the pizza. He pulled out his wallet and looked up, directly into the silencer attached to what appeared to be a .380 pistol in the hand of Detective Michael Flanagan.

  “Back up,” Flanagan said.

  Guma started to reach into his desk, but Flanagan warned him. “Hands in the air now or your friend’s brains will be all over the wall. Now get over here and the two of you sit down on the couch.” He looked at the couch and made a face. “If you can find a place. What a mess.”

  Guma shrugged as he stood, replacing the receiver but touching the conference call button. He and Karp took a seat. “I wasn’t expecting company, Detective Flanagan.”

  Flanagan ignored him and addressed Karp. “First, we have your wife,” he said and pulled out a small tape recorder and hit the play button. A woman’s voice was heard: “Go fuck yourself you piece of shit. Give me a chance and I’m going to put a hot one up your asshole, asshole.” He grimaced and turned off the tape recorder. “She really should watch the cursing,” he said.

  “Sure sounds like Marlene,” Guma admitted. “But could you play it again, I liked the part about putting a hot one up your asshole.”

  Karp rolled his eyes. “What do you want?” he asked the detective.

  “The files,” Flanagan said, glaring at Guma, who smiled back at him. “But we’re all going to sit tight for a couple of hours. Then we’re all going to take a ride to meet up with some people. If you want to see your wife again, you won’t give me any trouble.”

  Karp was about to say something when he noticed a shadow pass across the opening of the apartment door, which was still held ajar with the videotape. A brown face glanced in and was gone. Need a distraction, he thought and played a
hunch.

  “You do know what’s in the files, don’t you, Flanagan?” he said. Everything he’d been told about Flanagan was that he was such a straight arrow, Karp was hoping he was also an ignorant one who still thought he was working for the church. “They’re cases about priests who sexually abuse little boys.”

  “Shut your mouth,” the detective responded. “I know all about how you Jews are trying to destroy the church by infiltrating the priesthood with perverts. Now you plan to go to the press, like that sweet little story in that filthy rag the Voice.”

  Karp laughed and didn’t even have to fake it, the idea was so ludicrous. “Is that what Kane told you? And you believed him? Go ahead, peek at a few of the files and check out all the Jewish names of the priests who’ve been accused. You know, Fathers Finnegan, Esperanza, O’Toole…all straight out of the Old Testament for sure. Oh, and I almost forgot, Hans Lichner, a real Aryan dirtbag who screws and then slices up little boys. I’m sure you saw the news about the two children found in Central Park?”

  “Shut your yap,” Flanagan demanded, pointing the gun at Karp’s head. “You kikes lie as easily as you breathe.”

  “Well, don’t take my word for it, ask the guy behind you.”

  Flanagan laughed. “You expect me to fall for that old trick. You watch too much television.”

  “Boo,” Jojola said as he came up behind the detective, who whirled and snapped off a shot. But the Indian had blocked his arm so that the bullet zinged harmlessly into the wall. There were no more shots because Jojola had then dislocated the detective’s elbow and the gun clattered to the ground.

  Flanagan screamed in pain and rage but reached with his good hand for a second gun he kept in a back holster. Instead, he ended up reaching for the side of his head as Jojola’s knife flew up and sliced off one of his ears, which fluttered to the ground like a wounded butterfly. He screamed again.

  “Where’s Marlene Ciampi?”