There was a reporter for the New Amsterdam News in the room that evening, who wrote a story that included these comments, and the Post picked up the story and played it large (“burn in hell!” rohbling juror says). The next day Waley was in Judge Peoples’ chambers with a motion for a mistrial and a repetition for a change of venue. Peoples assembled the jury and interviewed each member alone, after which he dismissed Harder, replacing him with an alternate, the retired professor, and, rather to Karp’s surprise, denied both the mistrial motion and the change of venue. It appeared that the judge wanted this case nearly as much as Karp did. The trial would therefore take place in the county of New York, commencing on the fifth of June.
During this medico-legal katzenjammer the rest of the world moved along its merry way. In the Karp household, the twins became toddlers, establishing the usual reign of terror but doubled. Posie proved less able to cope with the highly mobile and destructive beings than with cuddly lumps. The twins got into Lucy’s room. After she calmed down, Lucy bought, with her own money, a lock for her door and installed it herself. It opened with a shiny key that she wore around her neck. Marlene realized that her nanny was over her head and, not wishing to risk fratricide, cut back the time she spent at the security firm to three days a week and no weekends. She took on more night work to make up for it. Increasingly, she handled the pro bono rather than the big-shot side of the business, which was what she liked anyway.
Lucy, now nine, began to attend Chinese school in the afternoons with her friends, occasioning a certain amount of expostulation from the organization that ran it, which Marlene quashed with veiled threats of legal action. Lucy took up brush and ink stone and attacked the 214 radicals, and learned some Mandarin. Third grade continued in good form, Lucy having conquered not only long division but fractions under the tutelage of Mr. Tranh.
Beyond even this Tranh made himself indispensable around Bello amp; Ciampi. He cooked, he cleaned, he guarded, he took over the accounts and payroll and got Sym through her GED. He learned enough English to man the phone; surprisingly, he spoke it with a French rather than a Vietnamese accent. On three occasions during this period, Marlene asked him to cover a case where deadly violence had been credibly threatened by a sweetheart, and in all three cases the woman was never bothered again. Marlene did not ask how Tranh had accomplished this, nor did he volunteer the information. In any case, no bodies showed up, so Marlene told herself that he had used moral persuasion.
Harry was the only person in the firm who did not consider the Vietnamese an asset. Harry Bello was changing. He had successfully switched his addiction from alcohol to work. He met with the rich and celebrities. They treated him like a real person, and he found he liked that. He bought several expensive suits and good shoes. Dead Harry with a spit shine. New York is full of famous people who do not want to be the next John Lennon. The firm grew. Harry began making noises about getting a real office. It is often, sadly, the case that when we are rescued, no matter how much gratitude we feel toward our savior, the presence of that person necessarily reminds us of our former fallen state. So it was with Harry Bello. Marlene observed this happening and was both happy and sad.
Marlon Dane came back to work. He did not talk about machine guns anymore. The Heckler amp; Koch MP5 itself stayed in a plastic bag in the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet in Harry’s office.
Wolfe continued as Edie Wooten’s bodyguard.
Paul Menotti advanced his case against the St. Nicholas Medical Centers, Inc., by obtaining indictments on 167 counts of Medicare fraud from a federal grand jury. Dr. Vincent Robinson was also charged, but a federal judge dismissed these charges for lack of evidence. V.T. Newbury was unable to find any direct connection between Robinson and the sale of prescription drugs.
Clay Fulton observed Robinson for some weeks, off and on. He reported back to Karp that the man was a crazed rich sadist, whose medical practice consisted largely of shooting cocktails of dope and vitamins into the nicely toned buttocks of young society. This Karp already knew. Robinson seemed quite indifferent to being watched.
The Music Lover waited. He knew she was booked for a series of summer concerts at Tanglewood, Wolf Trap, and Westhampton. He assiduously clipped reviews and notices of her tour concerts and pasted them into his scrapbooks. He did not interfere in any way with the plans for her wedding. There would, of course, be no wedding. He had his own plans for Ms. Wooten’s future.
June arrived. Karp oiled his sword and shield and began to review the proceedings in Rohbling, feeling tense and a little anxious, like a soldier long away who is about to meet once more the girl he left behind him.
On the weekend before the trial was to start, there opened the Festival of St. Anthony of Padua, which in Little Italy marks the beginning of summer. Sullivan Street is decked along much of its length with green, red, and white bunting, and arches lit with those colors are thrown across the street, which is lined with booths selling pizzas, drinks, sausage sandwiches, zeppole, games of chance, and other items suggesting Italy. Nowadays it is largely a tourist affair run by professional festival operators, but Marlene had been going since infancy and she intended to keep up the tradition.
The family set out at seven, on foot, Karp pushing the twins in their duplex stroller, hand in hand with Marlene, Lucy and Posie trailing behind with the mastiff, Sweety, on a leash. The evening was fair and warm, with the air just thickening into the blueness of twilight. It was shirtsleeve weather, and the family were all lightly dressed, except for Marlene, who wore a cotton madras jacket to conceal her pistol. They walked west on Broome and north on Sullivan into the heart of the old Italian West Village. They walked slowly, joining an ever thickening throng. Posie and Lucy sang together, amid much giggling, that summer’s big song, the Diana Ross and Lionel Richie tune, “Endless Love.”
They could see the lights glowing italianately in the distance, and then could hear the sounds, music, and laughter, and the many-voiced, echoing noise of a large crowd in narrow streets. Closer still, they could smell it, hot grease, frying meat, onions, peppers, the overpowering sweetness of cotton candy, ices, spilled sodas. A pair of mounted police had stationed themselves just outside the entrance to the street fair, and Lucy dashed forward to caress their horses. They were chatting with two Franciscan friars in brown robes, which Marlene thought an appropriately medieval vignette. There was another man standing by the group, and as she came closer she saw that it was Father Dugan. He was wearing a dark sports shirt, blue jeans, and Nikes.
She greeted him and indicated the Franciscans. “It’s a religious festival, Father,” she said amiably. “I thought you’d be wearing the full regalia.”
“But the Jesuit tradition is to blend in. It’s why everyone thinks we’re sneaky. However, I still have a real soutane; perhaps I’ll wear it for you one day.” He looked at Karp, smiling.
She said, “Butch, this is Father Dugan. My confessor.”
The two men shook hands. Karp said lightly, “The confessor, huh? You must have your hands full.”
Father Dugan grinned and held his finger to his lips, and then knelt down and started goo-gooing Zik and Zak.
Lucy came back from the horses and demanded fair food, and Karp took this for an excuse to push off. He was always uncomfortable around priests, and especially so around one with whom his wife clearly had a special relationship.
“Nice family,” said the priest when it had moved off. “How about yourself? How are you feeling?”
“All right, I guess,” said Marlene with a harsh laugh. “About as well as the average unindicted violent felon.”