Karp chuckled. "Sorry, was just reliving tonight's bar mitzvah class…all this talk about spirituality. Let me ask you something."
"Shoot."
"So I take it you don't like leaving the res either," Karp said.
"Nope."
"Then why are you here?"
Jojola pursed his lips and looked at the ceiling. When he looked back down, his dark eyes were glittering like black opals. "Are you ready for another long answer to a short question?"
An hour later, Karp was still sitting in his chair in the dark with only a little light from the streetlamps illuminating the living room. Jojola had gone off to bed in the boys' room; they'd insisted he take the bottom bunk while they shared the top.
Then Lucy had come bouncing in from whatever adventure she'd been on. He would have liked to remind her that this wasn't Taos, New Mexico, it was Gotham City, and young women did not flit around its streets unaccompanied at night. But she'd kissed him and said, "I'm going to bed. We can talk in the morning."
He was thinking about going off to bed himself when he heard a key being inserted in the dead bolt of the front door. Gilgamesh picked up his head and whined. The door swung open, revealing a small, dark figure silhouetted against the light in the entryway.
"Aren't you getting home a little past your curfew, young lady?" he asked. He looked at the clock in the kitchen; it was ten minutes after midnight.
"You waiting up for me, Pops?" Marlene giggled.
"Yeah, come over here, I want to see if I can smell alcohol on your breath," he replied, patting his lap.
Marlene kicked off her shoes and in a few quick steps had crossed the room and was straddling him on the chair. She planted a long, warm kiss full of promises on his lips. "What do you think?" she asked.
"Merlot…perhaps masking an earlier cabernet," he said as she snuggled against his chest. "Glad you weren't driving. So, what was the very important mystery…or do I dare ask?"
Marlene sat up and put her arms around his neck. "Well, it was kind of a sneaky way to get me together with Robin Repass and Pam Russell," she said and waited for the reaction. She was almost disappointed that all she got was an arched brow.
"Anyway, they wanted to ask if I would do a little digging around," she said.
"And?"
Marlene searched his eyes as best she could to see if he was angry. She decided that now was the time to fit as many words as she could into as small a space as possible.
"I think there's a big injustice coming down on a lot of people, including Robin, Pam, the cops, and the victim," she said quickly. "I told them that I would consider their request, but I wanted to run it by you first."
The last was sort of a lie. She'd pretty much agreed to their request. When her husband didn't answer, she finally asked, "Well?"
"Well what? Since when have you listened to me?" He'd meant it as a teasing remark and immediately regretted it when she tensed up.
"That's not true," she complained. "Yes, I do what I feel is right, and we all know that it nearly destroyed me, and nearly destroyed us. But I've always listened to you, and even when I didn't follow your advice, I knew that you were usually right. It's not fair; after all, I'm not the only one in this family who does what he thinks is right, even if it gets him in trouble."
Karp raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, it's okay, I didn't mean it in a bad way," he said. "I agree it sounds like Robin and Pam are getting a bum rap."
Marlene was surprised. He almost sounded as if he wasn't bothered by the thought of her "poking around." She decided to press her advantage. "You know, Stupe thought that maybe if you made a public statement, maybe wrote an op-ed piece for the New York Times, it might counteract all the negative publicity stirred up by Hugh Louis."
"It's not the business of the New York district attorney to be critiquing the decisions made by the Kings County district attorney," he said to see how she'd react.
It was with anger. "What's the matter, afraid it might hurt you politically?"
"No," he said, refusing to take the bait. "But it would be highly irregular."
Marlene caught the tone of pseudo-pomposity. She cocked her head to see him better with her good eye. "Okay, Butch, what's up?"
"Nothing," he said. Delighted, he received her kiss, but then she bit into his tongue and held on. "Ow…'at 'urts," he complained. "O'ay, o'ay, I'll 'ell 'ou."
Marlene released his tongue. "Give it up, buster."
He told her about the real reason for his meeting with the mayor and then his talk that day with Liz Tyler. "I think I'm going to take the case, but I wanted to run it past you first. You mad?"
Marlene smiled and kissed him again. This time there were no painful bites, but he became aware of the increased pressure she was exerting from her groin to his. She reached down and began fumbling with his belt.
"What about the twins? Lucy? John?" he asked huskily.
"Whatsa matter Big-and I do mean BIG-Boy," she said as she unzipped his pants. "Afraid of getting caught?"
As an answer, his hands dived beneath her sweater and turtleneck shirt and in one motion removed them all.
"I guess not," she murmured.
Later as they lay in bed, having decided that prudence was the better part of valor for the second round, Marlene sleepily asked if he'd found out the reason behind Jojola's unexpected visit.
"Hmmm?" Karp mumbled. "Uh, yeah, a dream."
"I know that," she said, nibbling on an earlobe. "What dream? Come on, tell me, I'll give you a reward."
"Thought you already did," he said and pulled her over and onto his chest. But he started to breathe deeply, his prelude to snoring.
"Dream," she said. "What about the dream?"
"Noth…nothing," he said. "Impossible."
"What's impossible? Karp, don't you go to sleep and leave me wondering all night."
"Grale."
Marlene tensed. Was Butch the one dreaming? "What about Grale?"
Karp patted her on the back in the way he did when it was time for her to leave him alone and go to sleep. "John thinks he's alive."
"What!"
"His dream…he needs to find him, or we're all going to die. Now…time to sleep."
"Karp?" Marlene said. "Karp, dammit." But all she got back was a deep, rumbling snore.
13
In another part of the city that night, Ahman Zakir caught up to "Mr. Mustafa" in the hall outside the meeting room of the mosque. "It was a warning. Someone knows your plans," he said. "I think we better call this off…tonight's event, anyway."
"Nonsense," Al-Sistani said. "It was nothing more than stupid American racists getting even for our brothers' righteous execution of the Crusaders and their lackeys in Iraq. As if this is some tit-for-tat game of revenge. Their inability to see the, as they say, 'big picture,' is why we will win."
Al-Sistani spoke the words with conviction. His Oxford-educated English was clipped and cultivated, his manners in polite company impeccable-on the outside, just another spoiled oil prince, perfect for a mujahideen cell leader. True, he'd initially been shocked and momentarily unnerved when he heard that his bodyguard who'd disappeared that night outside the mosque had been butchered and his head stuck on a spike in Central Park. For that one moment, he felt panic start to rise in his throat like bile, wondering if he'd been betrayed and his plan ruined.
However, the more he thought about it, the more he was sure that he and his men were safe. The American police and even their intelligence agencies were too weak willed, too emasculated by their politicians and civil libertarians, to make such a dramatic statement as killing a wanted terrorist and displaying his head for all to see. Maybe in Saudi Arabia but not here in America with its silly rules against torture and "cruel and unusual punishment." How could they expect to win?