Depraved Indifference

by Robert K. Tanenbaum

  “And after the danger from the Turks was past, they remained useful to the Germans. Croat troops crushed the revolution of 1848 in Vienna. As a reward, the Germans gave their country to Hungary. Another witty comment. The Croats fought the Hungarians, though, and later they fought the Serbs for the Austrian empire during the First World War. Why not? Fighting was all they knew.

  “And when at last, after so many centuries, the Slavs in the Balkans had a nation they could call their own, the Croats kept fighting against Yugoslavia. They did not want to share a nation with ignorant Serbians and dirty Bosnians. Perhaps they had learned too much about a certain kind of pride from living so long on the German leash. And perhaps they learned too much treachery from their German masters. So that they welcomed these masters when they returned in 1940 and crushed Yugoslavia. And then they had their precious Croatia, a fascist puppet state that the Nazis set up for them. And all the good Croat nationalists put on black uniforms and became ustashi, little Slav brothers of the S.S., and went out to massacre the Serbs, Jews, Moslems, and anyone else who polluted the precious soil of Croatia.

  “The ustashi. I do not think we have time for me to tell you about these people and what they did in those years. Perhaps, if you have the opportunity, you can ask Djordje Karavitch.”

  “Karavitch?”

  “Yes. In 1940 he was one of the first to sign up. A great Croat leader in those days, believe me. Ah, Mr. Karp, I think someone is trying to attract your attention.”

  Terzich pointed to the rear of the courtroom, where Marlene was making come-hither gestures. Karp got up and walked over to her. “What’s happening?” he asked.

  “It’s OK. They’re in the pens. A water main broke on Houston Street and the van from Riker’s had to make a big detour. Look, I can’t stay for this, I’m due to present to the grand jury in ten minutes. I’d like to talk to my witnesses before I go in.”

  “No problem. Hey, let’s do something tonight, dinner in the Village, movies?”

  “Like real people? Oh, be still my heart! OK, meet you after work.”

  Karp watched the big courtroom doors close behind her and then strode down the aisle to the prosecutor’s table. In a few minutes the door connecting the courtroom to the holding cells opened, and the guards brought in the five hijackers. They marched over and sat down at the defendants’ table, where they were joined by Terzich. The Croatian audience burst into cheers and clapping, which Judge Devine suppressed with vigorous poundings of his gavel. The clerk called the case.

  “Are all parties ready?” Devine asked. Both Karp and Evans murmured that they were. “Will counsel waive formal reading of the charges?”

  Evans stood up. “We will, Your Honor, and at this time we would like to interpose a plea of not guilty and make an argument for bail.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Evans cleared his throat. “Your Honor, I must confess that I fail to see the presumption under which these defendants were denied bail. Surely there is no question of these particular defendants appearing for trial. I would point out to you that they have no criminal records, that they all are employed, and that they have solid roots in their community. They enjoy the support of their community, the depth of which you can gauge yourself right here in your own courtroom. Fifty people at least have left their jobs and homes to come down here today. It strikes me as gross injustice to have people of this caliber languishing in jail for an incident that can be clearly traced to the incompetence of a group of police officers. Your Honor, we believe that setting these people at liberty on fifty thousand dollars’ bail for each defendant is more than justified by the present circumstances.”

  Evans sat down to murmurs and scattered applause. Devine banged his gavel angrily. “Another disturbance and I will order this courtroom cleared. Mr. Karp, do the People wish to be heard?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” said Karp, getting to his feet. “Counsel has asked for bail on the basis that the defendants have roots in the community. Certainly that is one premise for bail. But there is another condition: that is the nature and character of the crime itself, which counsel has seen fit to slough over. Let me address that omission. These well-rooted people hijacked an airliner and subjected over fifty innocent people to terror and torment. They planted a bomb that was specifically designed to explode in the face of anyone who tried to disarm it, a bomb that killed a young police officer who was attempting to do his sworn duty of protecting the people of this city. These crimes exhibit a callous disregard for human life and safety. That they were committed by well-established, educated people does not detract one whit from their heinousness. Indeed, it exacerbates it; it shows them to be not common criminals impulsively striking out for revenge or material gain, but malicious, merciless, and deadly conspirators.

  “Moreover, I would call the court’s attention to one salient fact: the last time the defendants had their freedom, they chose to hijack an airliner on a one-way journey to a country of refuge. Counsel may be prepared to bet that they will not do so again if freed, but the People are not. The defendants should be remanded with no bail, and we are prepared to try this case forthwith.”

  Evans came out of his chair like a shot. “I expected this contentious bombast from someone with your reputation, Karp,” he said loudly. “This kind of cheap dramatics can only aggravate tensions in the community and lead to further violence.”

  Karp looked at Evans as if seeing him for the first time. “I’m sorry, are you talking to me?” he asked mildly, and was rewarded by the deep flush that rose up the defense lawyer’s pink cheeks.

  The courtroom was filled with rumblings and shouts of anger. Devine flailed away with the gavel, and when he could make himself heard again, he said sternly, “Mr. Evans, Mr. Karp, you can exercise your wit on each other on your own time. I don’t like private duels in my courtroom. Is that understood? Good. Bail is denied. Defendants are remanded until trial. Trial date is set six weeks from today.”

  In the van going back to Riker’s Island after the hearing, Karavitch observed the effect the judge’s refusal of bail had produced in his colleagues. Macek stared at his handcuffs, as if willing them to disappear. He had not looked Karavitch in the eye since they left Paris. Rukovina was trying to explain to Raditch, without notable success, what had just happened in court. Milo, at least, was positively enjoying captivity. Being in jail convinced him that he was one with the Croat martyrs of old. They were a bunch of clowns, Karavitch thought. Except for him. And the woman, of course. Nobody could call her a clown.

  Although they were in jail, Karavitch and his friends were far from forgotten. A torrent of mail had begun from the moment of their arrival, mail that included cakes, soups, locks of hair, plum brandy (confiscated) and enough religious material to outfit a seminary. The redoubtable Father Blic was a daily visitor. The man was in terror lest the federal government enter the case and start dredging up material from the war years. Only that week an elderly Lithuanian had lost a deportation appeal. He had been accused of working the night shift at Majdenek. Blic did not know the details of Karavitch’s war record, but he could guess.

  Karavitch would listen gravely to these appeals and counsel caution and patience. The last thing he wanted Blic to do was to stop the federal government from taking charge.

  Today, however, on his return he had received a phone call from one much higher in the ranks of the church than Father Blic.

  “It’s me.”

  “Yes, I recognize your voice,” Karavitch replied. “I observe that your influence does not extend to judges.”

  “That was unavoidable. You didn’t expect to be let off with a warning, did you? Are you comfortable? Do you need anything?”

  “Comfortable? I have been in worse places. It is like living in a barn, with animals.”

  “It won’t be for too much longer. Things are working.”

  “Oh? What things?”

  “Well, obviously, it’s not something I care to discuss on the phone. In fa
ct, it’s best that you have no direct knowledge.”

  “But, in general …”

  “In general, there are certain flaws in the case against you. If we push at the right vulnerable points, it will collapse.”

  “Yes? And this prosecutor, Karp, he will allow this to happen?”

  “What he wants is irrelevant. We are working many levels above Karp. He is no longer a factor in the case.”

  12

  THEY LEFT THE movie theater around eleven. The sky was pouring black ice onto the city. The film, a heartwarming French romance, had warmed their hearts as advertised, but their flesh was freezing. Neither Karp nor Marlene had an umbrella.

  “We better stay at my place,” Karp said.

  “I hate staying at your place. It’s like sleeping in the morgue. I get up in the morning, I feel like I’m at my own wake.”

  “Thanks a lot, Marlene. And after I went out and got you a TV—”

  “Yeah, that TV. A fourteen-inch black-and-white from Sri Lanka, and you’ve been bringing it up for two years. Let me ask you, have you maybe purchased a table to put the TV on, or do I still have to balance it on my ankles lying in bed? And how about the fridge? This seems like a good night to suck on some instant iced tea. Really cozy. Besides, I’ve got to get to work tomorrow, which means I’ve got to go back to my place, wash, feed the cats, change clothes, and fight traffic both ways. Which is going to be a Chinese whorehouse tomorrow with this weather. No thanks.” She rooted around in her oversize bag and extracted a crumpled package of Marlboros.

  “Marlene, why are you being like this?”

  “Like what, Butch? It’s a pain in the ass, that’s all.” She looked up from under the shelter of the marquee. “Looks like it might be letting up. Let’s walk over to Sixth. We can start walking downtown. Maybe we can pick up a gypsy cab.” She strode off, puffing blobs of white smoke like a switch engine. He sighed and followed her, moving carefully over the rain-slick paving.

  At the corner of Waverly and Sixth Avenue, she produced a piercing whistle between two fingers, then a stream of violent curses when the yellow taxi failed to stop. He touched her arm and said, “Marlene, it’s one-way north here. These guys are all going back to the barns.”

  “Shit! OK, let’s walk over to Seventh.”

  “Dammit, Marlene! I don’t feel like walking!” This statement was so uncharacteristic and said with such vehemence that it brought her up short. She looked into his face. Even by streetlamp light she could see that his face had a gray, unhealthy look. There were tiny, glittering beads of sweat on his upper lip. “God, Butch, you’re sick,” she exclaimed. “What is it?”

  “Nothing. I’m not sick.”

  “Yes, you are. You look like you’re in pain.”

  In fact, Karp was in agony. The first shot of wintry weather always caught him unawares; during the intervening year he made himself forget what cold and damp did to his injured knee. He was walking on what felt like a mass of hot razor blades.

  “Come on, let’s get out of the rain,” said Marlene, pulling him under a shop awning. As he followed, she saw he was limping. “It’s your knee, isn’t it?”

  “No. It’s OK,” said Karp automatically, grimacing in pain.

  “Bullshit, Butch. If you’re hurting, we’ll go back to your place. Why didn’t you just say so?”

  “No, it’s OK, I can walk.”

  “I can’t believe this! Now, look, I’m in charge. We will go to your place. On the way we will stop off and get some tea, some honey, a lemon, and a flat pint of Christian Brothers. I will put you in bed, tuck you in, and feed you hot tea and brandy.”

  “And? And?” said Karp, rolling his eyes and pretending to pant like a Newfoundland dog.

  She giggled. “We’ll see. If you’re good.”

  They walked slowly up Sixth to Eighth Street, sticking close to the buildings to avoid the freezing rain. After stopping at a liquor store and a mini-mart, they entered the recessed doorway of Karp’s apartment house; a large man emerged from the shadows and blocked their way. Marlene gasped and stumbled back against Karp, who felt the jolt of adrenaline, the fight or flight syndrome that is as characteristic of a stroll through Manhattan as dog shit. The man stepped into range of the streetlight’s glow and Karp immediately relaxed. He was no mugger but a middle-aged, well-dressed white man. He was also soaked and thoroughly distraught.

  “Excuse me, please, but could you help me?” he asked, smiling. He was stocky and had a face like hundreds of others in the garment district or diamond district. Karp had a couple of uncles with the same look. The slight accent clinched it. “I am sorry to bother you, but I have locked myself out of my car.” He smiled in embarrassment. “It’s a rental. I was driving out to the airport. I have a seven o’clock flight tomorrow morning, so I make a plan to turn the car in, stay at the Sheraton, get a good night’s sleep—”

  “Where’s the car?” Marlene said.

  “Please, all I want, you should be so kind, just call for me Avis, they’ll send a man.”

  “Nah, that’ll take hours. Is that it?” Marlene pointed to a beige Galaxy parked in the no-parking zone in front of the building. Its parking lights glowed yellow in the rain. “OK, here’s what we’ll do. Butch, let me have the keys. You guys watch the car so somebody doesn’t boost it. I’ll be right back.”

  “Marlene, what … ?” Karp began, but she just smiled, unlocked the lobby door, and vanished.

  “What is she doing, the young lady?” the man asked.

  “Don’t ask me, mister. I’m usually the last to know. You from out of town?”

  “Me? No, from New York, West End Avenue. Oh, excuse me—Abe Leventhal.” He stuck out his hand and Karp shook it. “How come you ask? Oh, the rental. Listen, I bought a Chrysler, new last year. So I’m a schmuck, I believe you should buy American. Five times it’s in the shop, if you can believe it. The brakes go down to the floor. I’m driving along, the door comes open by itself. No wonder they’re going broke. My brother-in-law tells me, ‘Buy a Mercedes, buy a BMW, they never break down.’ Listen, if they last forever I wouldn’t touch them, from those momsers. God forbid I should buy a German car! So I’m renting two days a Ford. It didn’t break down yet, I figure I’m lucky. Ah, what is this?”

  Marlene had emerged from the lobby holding a wire coat hanger. “Right, let’s get this gentleman into his car,” she said briskly, and went past them into the street. Bending the hanger double, she pushed it down between the window gasket and the glass. It took her about ninety seconds to spring the locking mechanism and open the door.

  “This is marvelous!” exclaimed Leventhal, beaming. “You saved my life. Who would believe in New York strangers would help you out like this? I wouldn’t believe if my own family would go out of their way like this. Listen, I got to do something nice for you. You got a stereo?”

  “He doesn’t,” Marlene said.

  “Okey-dokey, I tell you what. Here’s my card.” He reached into his back pocket, yanked out a wallet the size of a softball, and handed Marlene a card. It bore a crowned loudspeaker and the legend, “ABE LEVENTHAL, THE STEREO KING.”

  “Come by the store anytime, pick out anything you want: loudspeakers, tuner, turntable, whatever. You can have it at cost.” He shook hands with both of them, repeating his thanks, got in the Galaxy, and drove off.

  “What do you think of that!” Marlene said with wonder. “We did a favor for somebody and we didn’t get shot or otherwise abused. Call the networks. And you’re going to get a stereo practically for free. New York must be changing.”

  “Yeah, could be. And maybe Edmund Gwenn will be Santa in Macy’s this year. Marlene, where did you learn to jimmy a car like that?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know. God, I’m freezing. Let’s go in and make some hot drinks. Oh, no! You don’t have any pots.”

  “I have a pot. It was in the stove when I moved in.”

  “Terrific! We’ll chase out the spiders and make some toddies and think
about our new stereo. Gosh, Butch, this could be the beginning of a whole new era. Next year, a table!”

  The following morning, Connie Trask observed the big smile on Butch Karp’s face and flashed one in return. “My, my, don’t you look happy. Your horse come in?”

  “Oh, much more spiritual than that, Connie. What’s on for this morning?”

  She frowned. “Well, I hate to do this to a happy man, but you’re loaded.” She consulted her desk calendar. “There’s a Paul Flanagan, a detective sergeant, waiting to see you right now. He wouldn’t say about what. Then at ten-thirty you got to be uptown to see Father Keene. I got Brenner to pick you up at ten. Then one o’clock, you got the monthly report with Wharton. Tony Harris is working on the report, he says he’ll have it by noon. Two o’clock is the Weaver arraignment, you said you wanted to be there when Harris does it. Then V.T. wants to see you. I put him in for three-thirty, and Ray Guma at four. Is that OK?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Can’t Pelso go to the meeting with Wharton?”

  “He could if he wasn’t in Bermuda. Some big-time international event. When you going to get some of those free travel goodies, Butch?”

  “Soon. I’m scheduled for a trip to North Dakota when Hell freezes over.”

  Karp strode toward his office, his good mood diminished but not entirely gone. Marlene was incomparable when she made her mind up to delight, as she had last night with her erotic nurse routine … Of course, she could just as easily transmute into an abusive monster, for causes that were beyond his competence to divine. He had decided long since that his only choice was to hang in there and take it, and hope that Marlene would work things out herself.