Sinner's Ball

by Ira Berkowitz

  Anthony smiled. “The way it’s going, I’ll be punch drunk long before that day ever comes.”

  All this bonding stuff was giving me a dizzy spell. But I went with it.

  “Your uncle Jake could show you a thing or two,” Dave said. “Golden Gloves champ. Middleweight.”

  “I fought in the Gloves,” Sal said with a twitch of his mustache. “Never made it past the prelims. I’m impressed, Steeg.”

  “Don’t be. The guy I was supposed to fight in the finals got busted and didn’t show up.”

  “Come on,” Dave said. “You’re selling yourself short. You could’ve made it as a pro.”

  “Right. I could’ve been a contender. Come on! Fighting three-rounders and winding up as a tomato can was more like it.”

  Anthony got up.

  “Be right back,” he said. “Going to the john.”

  I waited until he was out of earshot.

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Anthony? Thanks to me, not so hot.”

  “Contrition fits you well, Dave.”

  He flashed me a lopsided grin.

  “Working on it, Jake,” he said. “Are we square?”

  “No. Not even close.”

  He put his hand over mine.

  “But we’re talking,” he said. “It’s a start.”

  Nick wandered over.

  “Everything OK here?” he said.

  “Hunky-dory,” Dave said.

  “That’s what I like to hear. There’re two broads over at the bar asking about you, Steeg.”

  I looked up.

  Wanda and Tiffany were in the house.

  “Tell them to come over,” I said.

  Nick walked over to them.

  “You sure do hang with some interesting people, Jake,” Dave said.

  “Wanda hooked for Martine. It was her sister who died in the fire at your warehouse. Now it’s her turn.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Terminal cancer.”

  “Life’s a lottery. Winners and losers.”

  “Which one are we, Dave?”

  “Too soon to tell. Still playing the game.”

  Wanda looked weaker and more pallid than the last time I had seen her. Just walking to our table was an effort.

  I made the introductions.

  “You don’t have to worry about Martine and Ennis anymore, Wanda,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  I glanced at Dave. “They’re not gonna bother you anymore.”

  “See, honey,” Tiffany said. “I told you Steeg would take care of it.”

  “What happened?” Wanda said.

  “All you need to know is they’re out of the picture,” Dave said.

  “People like them always come back,” Wanda said.

  Dave smirked. “Only if they’re Christ.”

  “Join us for lunch?” I asked.

  “Appreciate the offer,” Tiffany said. “But we’re on our way. Just dropped by to thank you, and say good-bye.”

  “So it’s off to Rochester,” I said. “And the house with the white picket fence. I’m really happy for you.”

  “Rochester’s gonna have to wait a few days. Wanda wants to make a stop in a little town outside Des Moines first.”

  “I really would rethink that if I were you, Wanda,” I said.

  “No,” she said. “I think Daddy needs to see what’s become of his little girl. Mommy, too.”

  I thought of what Luce said about decisions that came from the head or the heart. I could give the Klempers a heads-up that Wanda was on the way. But my heart said no. The statute of limitations ran out a long time ago for Jonas and Adele. And since I didn’t put much stock in eternal damnation, this was the only way they’d get what was coming to them. Could she pull it off? Given the shape she was in, I was betting against. But if her want kept her going a little while longer, who was I to argue?

  I got up and threw my arms around her.

  “You take care now,” I said.

  “I—”

  Her body stiffened. Then sagged against mine.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “My God!” she whispered. “It’s him. The man I saw outside the warehouse. The one who looked like Death.”

  I turned and saw Anthony walking toward us.

  41

  To avoid a scene, I hustled Wanda and Tiffany out of Feeney’s with assurances that I would handle things.

  It turned out to be an empty promise.

  “What was that all about?” Anthony said.

  “Just some friends. One of them is real sick. Put them in a cab and sent them home.”

  “From the look of her it’s a wonder she can stay upright,” Dave said.

  “Anthony,” I said. “Would you excuse us? I’d like to talk to your father alone.”

  “You want me to go too?” Sal said.

  “No,” Dave said. “Stay.”

  “No problem,” Anthony said. “I’ll check in with you later, Pop.”

  I waited until Anthony was out the door.

  “What’s going on, Jake?” Dave said.

  “There’s a problem.”

  “I’m not up for this.”

  “I know who burned down your warehouse. Wanda just told me.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Your son.”

  “Get the fuck outta here!”

  Expecting a reaction, I looked over at Sal but his face betrayed nothing.

  “It’s true,” I said.

  “Because some two-buck whore said so?”

  “Because she was there, and saw him.”

  He ran his hand through his hair.

  “She saw him?” he repeated.

  “Clear view of his face. Scared the hell out her. Said she’d never forget what he looked like.”

  “So if Anthony hadn’t gone to the john, and the two hookers didn’t just happen to stop by, Anthony would have skated. Hell of a coincidence.”

  “Or maybe magical forces in the universe interested in balancing the scales.”

  He leaned back and the color drained from his face.

  “I get indicted,” Dave said. “And almost wind up in the slam for the rest of my life. You go looking for the torch. And it turns out he lives in my own house. Can you beat it?”

  “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

  “What do you expect me to do?”

  “The fire took a lot of people, Dave.”

  “So, what’s it to me? Who gives a shit about a couple or three dead street people?”

  “You sound like the roaches are crawling over your brainpan again.”

  He considered that for a few seconds.

  “Fucking kid,” he said. “What was in his head?”

  “Want me to play armchair psychiatrist?”

  “Your nickel. Give it a go.”

  “His way of making you pay for fucking up his family, and his life. You drove his mother away. He loves you and tries to be like you, and all you do is ridicule him. Tell him he’s a moron. What the hell do you expect?”

  “So we’re back to the sins of the father.”

  “Looks that way. But let’s get back to my question. How’re you going to square this thing?”

  “That’s easy. Give them the torch.”

  42

  “We got us a problem, Jackson,” Luce said.

  For the first time all winter my apartment was toasty warm. I was settling in to an evening of Willie Nelson CDs when she called.

  “This hasn’t been a great day, Luce.”

  “Well, it’s about to get worse.”

  “How worse?”

  “DeeDee’s boyfriend Justin was busted. I’ll meet you at Midtown North.”

  Luce met me in the lobby.

  “What happened?” I said.

  “He beat up a kid.”

  “No way. He reads Scientific American to let steam off.”

  “Not today. Got into it with some other kid at a baske
tball court. Someone called the cops. Got him on an assault.”

  “What were they fighting about?”

  “Wouldn’t say. Neither would the other kid. But Justin was doing most of the punching when the cops got there. So he won the lottery and got to wear the bracelets.”

  “What’s the other kid’s name?”

  “Matt Gershon. Attends Devereaux Academy.”

  “So does Justin.”

  “What’s the world coming to?” Luce said. “Probably arguing over osmosis or something.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “Far as I can see.”

  “Where is he?”

  “In a holding cell.”

  When a kid like Justin gets penned in with men who have been through the system several times, he immediately becomes a target.

  “Anybody else in there with him?”

  “Give me some credit, Jackson,” Luce said. “Had to combine a couple of cells, but he’s got an empty one. For now.”

  “Does his father know?”

  “Doubt it. He refused his courtesy phone call.”

  “I assume DeeDee doesn’t know either,” I said. “She’d be here if she did. Can I see him?”

  The first thing that hits you in the holding cell area is the smell. A combination of unwashed bodies, puke, and some other malodorous stuff I couldn’t even begin to put a name to. The second thing that hits you is the bleakness.

  Justin stood in the corner with his head hanging down. As I approached, he lifted his head and walked up to the bars.

  “How’re you doing, Justin?” Luce said.

  “OK.”

  “Want to call your dad?”

  He shook his head.

  “Fine. I’ll leave you two to talk. Jackson, you know where to find me.”

  “What’s this all about, kiddo?” I said.

  He refused to make eye contact.

  “Nothing.”

  “You keep that attitude up and you’re going to take a ride through the system. I’m talking the back of a police van downtown to the holding pens, arraignment, followed by a world of woe. You’re going to be with people you truly don’t want to spend a minute with. You up for that, son?”

  “We were fooling around,” he said. “And things just got out of hand.”

  “Things getting out of hand usually means pushing and shouting. Not beating the living shit out of someone.”

  “Can I just go home?”

  “Only shot is by leveling with me, Justin. Then maybe I can make this go away.”

  His chin dropped to his chest.

  “Nothing to talk about,” he said. “We were shooting hoops, and things just got out of control. I didn’t mean to hit him. It just kind of happened.”

  “And that’s all you’re gonna tell me.”

  “Nothing more to say. Look, my father needs me. I can’t stay here. He’s expecting me home.”

  “OK, Justin. I’ll see what I can do. Anything I can get you?”

  “Yeah. Out of here.”

  Luce was waiting for me at her desk.

  “What did he have to say?” she said.

  “About what you’d expect. Just horsing around, and things sort of spun out of control.”

  “You believe him?”

  “No reason not to. At least until I talk to the vic.”

  “Isn’t the first time for Justin,” Luce said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “From what I’ve been able to find out, he’s had some other brushes with the police.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “Fighting mostly. Shrinks call it acting out. And the cops have always cut him a break and turned him loose with warnings. The fact that he goes to Devereaux Academy carries some weight.”

  “The kid has plenty to act out about,” I said. “Mother’s dead. Father’s paralyzed from the waist down. I met him. Depends on Justin for pretty much everything.”

  “Doesn’t excuse him, Jackson. Hard lives is something this city does real well.”

  “I know.”

  “But you’re going to ask for a favor anyway.”

  “I am. Any chance you can give Justin a desk appearance ticket and cut him loose? I promise I’ll get to the bottom of this. The kid doesn’t belong here.”

  “Under normal circumstances, no. But for you, Jackson …”

  “Appreciate it.”

  “No problem,” she said. “But DeeDee sure has a lot to learn about men.”

  “That she does,” I said.

  “I’ll get the paperwork going. Justin should be out of here in an hour or so.”

  “One other thing.”

  She gave an exasperated sigh.

  “You’re using up all your chits, Jackson. What now?”

  “DeeDee is as close to a daughter as I’ll probably ever have. And Justin’s acting out bothers me. I just wonder if there’s anything else that I don’t know.”

  “And you want me to run him through our computers.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt,” I said.

  Justin was released forty-five minutes later. I put him in a cab and sent him home. He asked me not to tell DeeDee what had happened. It was a promise I couldn’t make. I needed her to point out the kid he’d sparred with, Matt Gershon.

  That evening I took DeeDee out to dinner and broke the news.

  “I don’t believe it, Steeg,” she said. “Not Justin. He’s the kindest, most gentle person I’ve ever known.” She pulled out her cell phone. “I’ve got to call him.”

  “Not a good idea. He’s been through a lot, and has a lot more to think about.”

  “But I care about him. And I want him to know.”

  “Believe me, kiddo, he knows. But there is something you can do for me that would help Justin.”

  “Anything. Just name it.”

  “I want to talk to Matt Gershon. Can you point him out to me?”

  “Matt? That’s who Justin was fighting with? And they were playing basketball in this weather?”

  “Seems so.”

  “How dumb is that?”

  “Way dumb.”

  “Matt’s a jerk. No one likes him.”

  “And I’m sure with good reason. But I still need to talk to him.”

  “He’s in my English class. First period tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be there,” I said.

  The next morning DeeDee and I hopped a cab down to Devereaux Academy. We got to the school fifteen minutes before first period and waited out front.

  Five minutes later Matt Gershon showed up.

  “That’s him,” DeeDee said.

  Turns out I didn’t need DeeDee. Matt, a thin, little guy with really long hair, sported a major-league black eye, and a sizable bruise up near his right cheekbone.

  I stopped him at the door.

  “Matt?” I said, flashing my card. “My name is Steeg. I need to talk to you about Justin Hapner.”

  He seemed annoyed.

  “I told you people everything I know,” he said.

  “Which was nothing. Justin may go to jail. Do you want that on your conscience?”

  He put his hand to face. “Do you see what he did to me?”

  “Doesn’t look like it was fun.”

  “Anything but,” Matt said. “But I don’t want to talk about it. It’s over and done with.”

  “Not quite. I just have one question.”

  “I’m late for a test.”

  He tried to brush past me.

  Fat chance.

  “Matt, my friend,” I said. “You’re going to be subpoenaed as a witness. That means testifying at Justin’s trial. And his defense attorney will pull out all the stops to impeach you and your testimony. That means going through your life with a fine-tooth comb looking for anything that casts a shadow on your credibility. You wouldn’t believe the stuff they can find. Maybe your weed stash. Maybe something else. It’s the way things work in the real world. Do you really want that?”

  “I have rights too.” T
he words were right, but the self-assurance was beginning to crack.

  “Sure you do. You’re a smart kid who seems to know how things work. And you know you can make life really easy if you just answer one question.”

  He looked at his watch.

  “I’m late for class.”

  “Just one question, Matt.”

  He checked his watch again.

  “Fine,” he said.

  “What provoked Justin into throwing a punch?”

  “The whole thing was stupid. He drove for a layup and missed.”

  “And?”

  “I said it was a faggy shot.”

  43

  I was tired of dancing at the Sinners’ Ball. Anthony takes down Dave’s warehouse because he can’t take his father down. Angela dead, and Wanda right behind her because the Klempers put them there. Justin goes off on a classmate and winds up in jail because he can’t maintain an erection. And the murderer of at least nine men still on the loose. It put me in mind of spending the rest of my life in a closet.

  And then my cell phone chirped. I had dumped the George Jones ring days earlier. Too depressing.

  It was Luce.

  “What’s up?” I said.

  “You asked me to check on Justin. Remember?”

  “For the sake of my sanity, please tell me you found nothing.”

  “All right. I found nothing.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yeah. Absolutely nothing.”

  “Why don’t you sound happy about it?”

  “Jackson, you’re not following me here. There are no records. No birth certificate. Nothing.”

  “How can that be?”

  “I don’t know. He either arose spontaneously or his records fell through the bureaucratic cracks somewhere along the way, or someone’s lying. Damndest thing I ever saw.”

  I tried calling Justin several times, but no one answered.

  To jump-start my happy place, I had dinner with Allie at a quaint little French/Vietnamese restaurant in the village. But this time I was the one picking at the food.

  “You look like you need a friend, Steeg,” she said.

  I reached over and took her hand.

  “You’re my friend,” I said.

  “Don’t ever doubt it.”

  “Then cheer me with stories of the advertising whirl. Fill my heart with laughter, and snap me out of this damned blue funk I’m hopelessly mired in.”

  “The last few months have been bad, haven’t they?”