Sinner's Ball

by Ira Berkowitz

  “Anyone you recognize?”

  He gave me some names. A congressman. A couple of state senators. A judge. And my very own councilman, Terry Sloan. The asshole!

  “Very public-spirited gentlemen,” I said.

  “That’s one way of looking at it.”

  “Very cynical. What’s your take on what’s going on?”

  “There was a time when I would have been interested. Now all I want is to hang on to this job.”

  A cab pulled up.

  He ambled to the door. “I gotta get back to work.”

  As I followed him out, my gaze drifted to Martine’s brownstone across the street. Frank Ennis stood on the top of the stairs with his arms folded across his chest.

  Seems I was the object of his attention.

  13

  Terry Sloan looked up from his BlackBerry, saw me standing at his office door, and the blood drained from his face.

  He jammed the BlackBerry into his jacket pocket.

  “What in hell are you doing here?”

  I took that as an invitation to walk in.

  Councilman Terry Sloan and I had a spotty relationship. Actually, that was an understatement. We loathed each other.

  I had a problem with slimebags who rode political office to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. And he had a problem with me playing his Greek chorus. But Terry was a plugged-in guy, and there was little that went on in the city that escaped his attention. Especially if there was big money involved.

  Martine Toussaint nagged at me like a bad tooth. Maybe she really was doing the Lord’s work. Or maybe she was running a scam and didn’t want me gumming up the works. Or maybe the truth—an interesting word full of tricky shades and meanings—was far different, and had something to do with what I was after.

  So far, Terry was my best shot at narrowing the possibilities.

  “Trying to save Dave’s hash,” I said, “and figured you might be able to help.”

  “After what he did to me?”

  He had a point. Terry and my brother were once real close. But in a completely psychotic moment, Dave drove a fork into Sloan’s thigh for not showing me the proper respect.

  “Yeah, but think about what he’s done for you,” I said.

  “That doesn’t give him the right—”

  “Yeah, it does. Comes with the Faustian bargain of doing business with Dave.”

  “Bullshit! I still walk with a limp.”

  If he was looking for sympathy, I was fresh out.

  “Small price to pay, Terry. Let’s be honest. God gave you the brains of your average macaw. But thanks to Dave you’re living the lush life.”

  Terry jumped up from behind the desk, positively vibrating.

  “You don’t know shit about what I went through to get where I am. Now, get the fuck out of here, or I’ll have you thrown out.”

  “Why not start with the piece of the carting business Dave gave you? Or the kickbacks from the developers. Or the ridiculous interest on the hundred large you have on the street. Oh, and let’s not forget your sweetheart arrangement with the longshoreman’s union. Can’t have any of that getting out, can we?”

  Terry went white.

  “How do you …?”

  “I’m Dave’s brother, you moron.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Sure.”

  The air went out of him.

  “Whattya want?”

  “Martine Toussaint.”

  A fine sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead.

  “What do you want with her?”

  “I hear you know her.”

  “From who?”

  “One of your many admirers.”

  “Fuck you, Steeg!”

  “Let’s get back to Martine.”

  “Runs a charity for hookers,” he said.

  “She legit?”

  “Fucked if I know.”

  “Now, Terry, we both know better than that.”

  “Why’re you interested in her?”

  “Dave’s legal problems.”

  “You think she set the fire?”

  “No. But for now she’s a person of interest for the murders of the men in the basement.”

  “That’s not her business, Steeg.”

  “Then what is?”

  “Walk away. Best advice I can give.”

  He came around his desk, took my arm, and nudged me to the door.

  I held my ground.

  “Why?”

  “There’s a set of words that old mapmakers used for really dangerous spots on the ocean.”

  “And they would be?”

  “Here be dragons.”

  “You’re being very elliptical, Terry.”

  “Stay away from her,” he said. “I’m serious, Steeg, it’s the best advice I can give you.”

  “Can’t do that.”

  He shrugged. “Then it’s on you.”

  “What’s she running out of that brownstone?”

  He flashed me a cold smile.

  “You never learn, do you?” he said.

  “Actually, I did learn something. You’re more frightened of the lady than the tiger.”

  “Or maybe I’m just a piece of plankton at the end of the food chain.”

  “First time I’ve heard you admit that you’re smalltime,” I said.

  “When the elephants dance, you gotta be nimble.”

  Could be Terry was smarter than I’d thought.

  14

  The Hampstead was a no-star hotel near One Police Plaza. The price was right, the appointments minimal, and that made it the go-to place to stash witnesses and other people of interest to the NYPD.

  I was there because the girl who’d died in the fire had been identified. A runaway named Angela Klemper. Her parents had come to New York to identify her body and take her home.

  Luce was going to interview them and invited me along.

  She was wearing a dark pantsuit, low heels, and in a shocking departure, a few selected pieces of artful jewelry.

  “I see you’re in confidence-building mode,” I said.

  “More like I’m draped in widow’s weeds,” she said. “But nothing says trust better than your basic black.”

  “How’d you manage to arrange my presence?”

  “You’re a special consultant working with the police department to help find the people who murdered their daughter.”

  “Never been a consultant before. How much does it pay?”

  That drew a loud snort.

  “And here I was hoping to make a killing,” I said.

  “Bad choice of words. These people have been through the mill today, Jackson, they’re kind of skittish. So go easy.”

  “What’re they like?”

  “Jonas and Adele. Mother’s mousy and doesn’t say much. Jonas seems to run the show. Major piece of work.”

  “How so?”

  “His daughter was reduced to a cinder, and he’s the aggrieved party.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  The hotel room was about as I’d expected—queen-sized bed, two end tables, couple of chairs, a non-widescreen TV bolted to a dresser made out of pressboard, and a print of a bucolic glen over the bed. Days Inn without the charm.

  The Kemplers sat on the bed with their backs to each other. An interesting bit of body language. But, given the circumstances, understandable. Grief tends to strip the gears of life.

  Adele Klemper was a big-boned woman in a shapeless dark dress. She had dull, bovine eyes, and picked at a scab on her cheek with a fingernail. Jonas wore rumpled beige corduroy slacks and a bulky brown sweater. His face was fleshy and unshaven, and his close-cropped black hair was peppered with gray.

  The television was on. An infomercial promoting a set of knives that could, with a mere few swipes, reduce two-inch-thick steel plate to a pile of shavings seemed to have Jonas’s attention. It had mine, too. I made a mental note to check it out the next time I needed to saw a bowling ball in half.<
br />
  Luce made the introductions.

  From then on, things pretty much went downhill.

  Jonas Klemper turned his attention away from the TV and on to me.

  “Had enough bullshit today,” he said. “Don’t need more from you.”

  “Mr. Klemper, I’m truly sorry for your loss. And I promise I’m not going to take up more than a few minutes of your time.”

  “You gonna bring my baby back?”

  “I wish I could. But I’ll do my level best to find the person who did this to her. Just a few questions and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Screw your questions. I want answers. And so far all I’m getting is bullshit from you people.”

  “Jonas,” Adele said. “He means well, just—”

  He whirled around.

  “Damn it, Adele. Don’t you go telling me what to do. Weren’t for you, none of this would have happened.”

  Adele’s eyes briefly registered a spark of fear. And then went blank. I had the feeling she had been through this before. She lowered her head and turned her attention back to the scab.

  The combination of Jonas’s posturing and Adele’s retreat told me that nothing useful would come of this. It was time to separate them.

  I put a friendly hand on Jonas’s shoulder and nudged him toward the door.

  “Luce, Jonas and I are heading down to the bar. Why don’t you stay with Adele until we get back. Won’t be long. That OK with you, Jonas?”

  Luce gave me a slight nod and sat down next to Adele and took her hand.

  Jonas threw his wife an angry look. “Why not? Being cooped up here with her is making me buggy anyway.”

  The bar was empty. We settled in at a corner table. I ordered a Diet Coke. Jonas went for a beer.

  “Not normally a drinking man,” he said. “But you lose your two girls, it kinda does something to you.”

  Two daughters? I was confused.

  “You lost two girls?”

  “First, Wanda. And now Angela.”

  “How did Wanda die?”

  “Didn’t die. Least as far as I know. She ran.”

  I filed that away for later.

  “What do you do for a living, Jonas?”

  “Trucker. Farm some a little on the side. Work my ass off for my family.”

  “Bet you do. Not easy working two jobs.”

  He tipped the glass to his mouth and drained it, using the sleeve of his sweater to blot the foam off his lips.

  “Damn straight,” he said. “Thankless. Thankless as a son of a bitch.”

  “Adele work too?”

  “No sir. I believe in old-fashioned values.”

  I flashed him a smile. “You don’t see much of that anymore.”

  “And it’s a shame,” Jonas said. “Woman’s place is in the home. Raising the kids. Making sure there’s a hot supper waiting when you come home. There can only be one master of the house.”

  “Right from the Good Book. Read it every day,” I said. “Keep it right on my bedside table.”

  I was fully expecting lightning to strike. But not before Jonas had fully warmed up.

  “World would be better for it, if more people followed your example. All the wisdom you ever need.”

  “Couldn’t agree with you more. So, tell me about Angela.”

  He tapped the empty glass. “You think I can get a refill?”

  “No problem,” I said, signaling the waiter.

  Less than a minute passed before his beer arrived. When it did, he knocked it right back the same as the first.

  “Where were we?” he said.

  “Angela.”

  “Right. My baby started off just fine. Not like her sister.”

  “How so?”

  “Wanda was willful. Headstrong. Didn’t mind her daddy.”

  “But Angela was different.”

  “Oh yeah. Sweet little thing. Did what she was supposed to. Never gave me a moment’s trouble.”

  “What changed her?”

  “Wanda,” he said. “Set a bad example. Pretty soon, Angela was acting like her sister.”

  “And what was Wanda doing?”

  “Boys were sniffing around her like dogs in heat. And she was Johnny-on-the-spot. You know how that goes.”

  “I can see where that would be a problem.”

  “Was. And Adele just coddled them.”

  “And you had to lay down the law.”

  “Sure did. Spare the rod, spoil the child.”

  “Did Adele need disciplining too?”

  Jonas signaled for another beer.

  He nodded. “She had to learn to do right.”

  I could feel a bubble of heat rising from down deep inside of me.

  “Has Adele figured it out yet?”

  He smirked. “She’s learning.”

  “What kind of discipline are we talking about here? Curfews? Time-outs? That kind of stuff?”

  “Little beyond that.”

  “How did Wanda react?”

  “The slut went off to cavort with the Devil. And Angela wasn’t far behind.”

  The skin on my face went tight as the friendliness flaked right off.

  “Use your belt, or just your hands?”

  Jonas read my eyes and scooched his chair back a few inches.

  “Whoa,” he said. “I just did what any father would do raising up two wild ones. Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Did you get that from the Good Book too?”

  He jumped to his feet.

  “I’m a good father. And don’t need to take this from you.”

  Memories of Dominic danced in my head. But at least he hadn’t used God’s word as an excuse.

  “You son of a bitch.”

  “No reason to talk to me like that. I did right.”

  “Angela is dead. And who in hell knows where Wanda is. And you honestly believe you did right?”

  Jonas headed for the door “I’m out of here,” he said. “Can’t blame me for what happened.”

  I let him go. Another minute and I’d have taken him apart.

  I walked out to the street and waited for Luce.

  Overhead, purple-bellied clouds fringed with gray the color of smoke drifted like an armada of ghost ships.

  A few minutes later she joined me.

  “How did it go with Adele?” I asked.

  “I got an earful. Old Jonas is quite the taskmaster. She said it wasn’t his fault. The kids needed it. And she needed it too.”

  “All-American family,” I said.

  “Pollutants is more like it. And she’s as bad as he is. She enabled him. Probably encouraged him to whack the kids around so he’d lay off her.”

  “They deserve each other.”

  “That they do.”

  “People like that need to have their pilot light put out.”

  “Not your job, Jackson. Remember, you’re a consultant.”

  “You ought to try it sometime,” I said. “It’s actually quite freeing.”

  “I notice,” she said.

  “I need another favor.”

  “I’m about fresh out, Jackson.”

  “Run Wanda Klemper through the system.”

  “Why not,” she said with a sigh.

  In the Inferno, Dante said that each of hell’s flames was a sinner. If he was right, Jonas and Adele would soon help light the lower reaches of hell.

  But the image was small comfort.

  They’d driven one daughter into the streets and the other to a fiery death in a Hell’s Kitchen warehouse. No charges would ever be brought. There would be no final reckoning. At least not in this world. And Jonas and Adele would spend the rest of their truly twisted lives playing the grieving parents to anyone who would listen.

  15

  Allie sculpted geometric shapes in the orzo with her fork, DeeDee’s attention was hovering somewhere in the ether, and my snappy repartee was greeted with sublime indifference.

  The dinner was supposed to be a celebration, but it had al
l the trappings of a wake.

  Allie and I had been together for a year. To mark the occasion, I’d made reservations at Bird, a trendy SoHo bistro where the lights were dim, the portions fit for gnomes, and the waitstaff annoyingly cheerful. I’d neglected the ladies in my life and expected some time in the penalty box. But this was purgatory.

  I threw my napkin on the table.

  “What’s going on?”

  Allie set the fork down and looked at me. “I have a new boss,” she said.

  “But you run the creative department. Hell, you were their first hire when they started the agency.”

  “Business stinks, Steeg. The economy is in a sludge pit and client budgets are cut to the bone.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a creative problem.”

  “It’s not. But the imbeciles who run my crazy house think that change has a revivifying power. So they create a new title. Creative executive. Catchy, huh?”

  “Who’s the lucky man … or woman?”

  “Remember the guy who had his caricature nailed to the wall at Café Buffo?”

  DeeDee snapped out of her reverie. I noticed the mascara was gone.

  “You mean the chinless Brit?” she said.

  “Mr. Fly-Front Adult Diaper himself.”

  “Assholes!” DeeDee said.

  “What are you going to do?” I said.

  “Spoke to a headhunter. Told me to suck it up. Too many people chasing too few jobs these days. Especially at my level.”

  “If you decide to quit, there’s always my disability pension to keep us going until you land somewhere.”

  She leaned over and planted a chaste peck on my lips. “A very sweet and comforting thought. But that assumes we eat every third day.”

  “And not too much, at that,” I said.

  “For now, I’ll take the headhunter’s advice and wait it out. If I can’t write rings around that joker, I don’t deserve the job.”

  “I’m really sorry, Allie.”

  “Don’t be,” she said. “Besides, you’re right, we should be celebrating tonight. You’ve given me the happiest and most interesting year of my life.”

  I got all warm inside.

  “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  I looked at DeeDee.

  “Your turn to say something really sweet about me,” I said.

  She brushed a hair off her forehead and pasted an approximation of a smile on her face.