I pulled the knife and went back to the landing to meet him. I felt crazed, hopped-up. “Stay right the fuck where you are, Julicher!”
He stopped at midstairs and laughed. “What did you come back for? I have a gun, you have a knife.”
“We had a deal. The murder weapon for my father’s life.”
“Oh yeah? You got a confirmation letter on that?”
Keep him talking, for the tape. “Why’d you do it? Why did you kill Patricia?”
“She wanted to drop the case. Said she didn’t want to go through with it, after what happened at the dep. I told her no, not when I had everything all lined up. Everybody in the loop, talking book deals. Even a TV movie, based on a true story. She told me I had the case of my career, then she tried to fuck with me.”
“So you killed her?”
He grew angry. “What was I supposed to do? Let the bitch make a fool of me in front of the goddamned country?”
Sirens sounded outside. “You framed the judge.”
“It was perfect. When life hands you a lemon, you know?” He took a step toward me and aimed the gun at my chest. I tried not to look at its lethal black barrel.
“Why’d you hurt my father? Why’d you kill LeVonne?”
“I wanted you out of commission. The nigger was just a fuck-up.”
Bile rose in my throat. “Why’d you plant the knife, you shit?”
He arched an eyebrow and smiled. “To stir the pot, keep the case in the headlines. Something new’s gotta happen every day. Nothing’s worse than old news.”
“And you got the Jag-”
“What is this, twenty questions? My cousin has one.” He laughed and cocked the gun.
Terrific. I swallowed hard at the mechanical sound.
“The way it worked out, it was better PR than winning the harassment case.” He laughed, then took a step nearer, so close I could almost grab the gun. “Tell me, Rita. What did these lab tests show? No fingerprints, I know. That knife was whistle clean.”
You gotta believe. “A general-purpose knife, used for hunting-”
“Fishing.”
Shit. I flashed on the weekend sunburn, the boat he mentioned at the deposition. My father, saying the knife could be used for fish. The sirens sounded louder, but nowhere near loud enough.
“Hey!” came a shout from below. The homeless man was waking up in a stupor. Julicher looked back to see what it was and in that split second I seized the only opening I’d get. I stabbed the hand with the gun, forcing the sharp knifepoint right between the bones, using the first grip my father ever taught me. The gun fell from his hand and clattered to the floor.
“You cut me, you bitch!” Julicher screamed in pain.
You’re goddamn right I did. Before he could react, I brought the knife down again, slicing clean at the first hunk of flesh I could find. His cheek split like a new pig.
“Aaah!” he screamed, and staggered back against the railing. Blood poured out onto his shirt and tie.
“Hey, baby!” shouted the homeless man, stoned out of his mind. “You callin’ me, sweet stuff?”
Shouting came from the first floor. Not the fire department, but cops. Three of them, with guns drawn, but too far away to do any good. I prayed some of them had taken the elevator. “Help, police! Eighth floor!” I yelled.
Julicher, his hand and face bloodied, reached for my neck. I stepped away, but he was quicker. Stronger. He squeezed me by the throat and slammed my head back into the glass door. Pain exploded in my skull. I couldn’t breathe. I slashed futilely with the knife. The staircase grew darker and darker.
Suddenly there was a terrific blast and the glass door behind me shattered. A round red bullet hole burst onto the middle of Julicher’s forehead. He fell backward, his face frozen in agony. Another gunshot came from behind. Julicher’s chest exploded into crimson and the force of the blast spun him around. Before I could reach him, he fell against the railing like a scarecrow and pitched over the side.
I whirled around to see who had saved my life.
It was Herman, standing behind a Luger, with a faraway look in his eye.
29
Sunlight streamed through the open window and fell in a large oblong on the hospital coverlet. My father was propped against some pillows. He looked drawn but was smiling. “So I guess you think I owe you,” he said to Herman, who stood at the foot of his bed.
Herman shook his head. “Did I say that? Did I say anything like that?”
I sat on the side of the bed. “No, I said it. You owe him, Dad. So do I. What kinda car you want, Herman?”
“Anything but a Jaguar,” Cam said, from the other side of the bed.
I laughed. “Come on, Herman, what do you want? Antique poker chips? I need a hundred pounds of kosher chicken. You don’t even have to split the breasts.”
He waved me off with a smile. “You already paid me back, Rita. You talked that district attorney out of charging me with murder.”
“It didn’t take much talking. It was a justifiable homicide and they knew it. Now what do I owe you?”
“You don’t owe me nuthin’. Nobody does.”
“Then send me a ton of Mindy’s business cards, will you do that at least? I’ll get one to every member of the Philadelphia bar. I’ll make her court reporter to the stars.”
“I’m just glad I was there, is all,” Herman said. “It was good I was there.”
What an understatement. I’d never forget seeing Herman behind the gun. I didn’t know he was going to bring one, but I was glad he did.
“Maybe you made a mistake, Herm,” Cam said. “Maybe you shoulda thought it over before you saved her. What’s one less lawyer? A public service?”
I took a swipe at him. “Listen to you. Big man. Kicking the shit out of a defenseless architect.” Not that I was entirely unhappy about Paul’s thrashing. It evened us up, almost.
Herman chuckled. “The poor zhlub. He was just tryin’ to protect you.”
“It’s not my fault,” Cam said. “How long was I supposed to wait, until he killed her? Whose money would I take on Tuesday nights?”
Now I really tried to hit him. “Bullshit! Next week I take your Social Security, Camille. You won’t have two hearing aids to rub together.”
“Nice talk, from my own goddaughter.” Cam waved at Herman. “Go for it, Herm. Ask her for a case of ivory chips. Ask her for two, they’re small.”
Herman shook his head. “It was just good I was there. It helped me, too.”
An odd thing to say. I looked at Herman, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Nuthin’.”
“It’s not nuthin’. Saving a life is not nuthin’, especially when it’s mine. What?”
Herman shoved his hands into his madras shorts. “Maybe that’s why, is all.”
“Why what?”
“Why I got out alive. Nobody else did in my company, except two of us. Maybe it was supposed to happen this way. I kept the gun all these years, maybe that’s why.” He shook his head in a way that said he didn’t want to talk about it anymore.
Suddenly the door opened and Uncle Sal came in. I took one look at him and my mouth dropped open. “Uncle Sal?”
“Sal?” Cam said. “You okay?”
Herman laughed. “Can you believe this guy?”
My father was in shock. “What the fuck are you supposed to be, Sallie?”
“What, you don’t like the way I look?” Uncle Sal asked. His thin gray hair was slicked back and he was wearing the black leather jacket and boots I’d bought for Herman. He looked like a septuagenarian Fonz. “Betty says I look real good. Handsome, like.”
“Betty?” I said.
“The tomato?” Cam said.
“The little one?” Herman said.
“With the red hair?” my father said.
Sal nodded. “You said fun is good, Ree. So I’m having fun. Look out the window.”
Cam and I got up and hustled to the window. Sucking on a cigarette in front of the hospital entrance was somebody’s grandmother, improbably red-headed, dressed like a nurse. Despite her age, she had a body to die for and eyeliner you could see from three floors up. “Betty?” I asked, incredulous.