Fury

21

Ithad been a productive afternoon. most everyone at the office had gone home at noon for an early start on Christmas Eve, which had allowed him to sit down with Repass and Russell to discuss the case. He'd hoped Guma would be there, too, but his old friend had called to say he had good news but would have to tell him later at a dinner party Marlene was throwing.

So it was only the two assistant DAs who had sat in stunned silence when he told them what Marlene had learned about Kaminsky and Klinger.

"I can't believe a federal judge would do this," Russell said.

"Why not? It's a corrupt world." Repass added, "But how do we prove this little bit of corruption?"

"Let's not worry about it now," Karp said. "The letter would be nice, and I'd like to be able to get that judge removed because of it. But we need to concentrate on winning this case. We still have an advantage. They think this thing is going to be settled without a fight. I heard that Lindahl has even drafted a proposed agreement."

"What!" the women exclaimed. "If he does that, we're on our own," Russell said.

Karp held up his hand. "But I've been assured by Denton that there'll be no deal. The city council would have to approve, which could happen, but it would take some time. Then the mayor has to sign off on it. It ain't going to happen between Christmas and New Year's, after which Denton will be sworn in. He's been doing a bang-up acting job with Lindahl, giving all the signs that he's willing to go along just to not have it hanging over his head at the start of his administration. So the opposition's been in no hurry. So let's just get our own ducks in order and give them a little surprise come January 24 and our opening statements."

The rest of the afternoon had been spent formulating their strategy, looking for holes and filling them. They'd knocked off at five and Karp had hurried home, looking forward to a little time with the kids and Marlene before the guests arrived.

He walked in through the front door of the loft and froze at the sight of the young man with the gun in his hand. The gunman was wearing blue jeans and cowboy boots, a holster slung from his thin hips like a gunfighter in a Western movie. He was facing away from Karp, who thought he might just be able to take him out before he was noticed. Then he heard the twins shout.

"Cool! Do it again! Do it again!"

As Karp hesitated, the gunman holstered his weapon, then after a brief pause drew the gun and "fired" in the proverbial blink of an eye. The sound of applause and more delighted shouts from his sons convinced him that no one was in any danger. Which meant that someone was playing with guns in his home.

"What the hell?" he said, walking into the loft, where he saw that the twins, Lucy, Marlene, Jojola, and Gilgamesh were all smiling at the man with the gun.

"What the hell," he repeated himself just in case he hadn't been heard the first time. The gunman turned as he holstered his.45 Colt-the very pistol that a young Butch Karp had dreamed of owning someday as he'd watched the Saturday afternoon matinees with his buddies, dreaming of being a cowboy-and stuck out his hand as he walked across the floor.

"Mr. Karp, sir," the young man with the tan, thin face and piercing blue eyes said. "Ned Blanchett, I'm…a friend of your daughter. Sorry if I startled you."

"He's my boyfriend, Daddy," Lucy said, jumping into Karp's arms. "You be nice."

"I'm always nice," Karp groused and tried not to wince when Ned shook his hand. He was no slouch and regularly hit the weights, but damn if the kid doesn't have a grip that could crush a two-by-four. "I just don't like guns."

Ned's smile disappeared. His face crumbled into that of the boyfriend who knows that he's made a bad first impression on his girlfriend's father and might never recover. He hurriedly fumbled at the gunbelt buckle. "I'm sorry, sir. You're absolutely right, sir. I should have asked your permission. I'll put it away, sir."

Sir? Karp thought. Next thing I know, he'll be asking for permission to marry my daughter.

"No reason to apologize to Mr. Grumpy," Marlene said, who joined her daughter in hugging Karp. "We asked you to demonstrate. Or, more accurately, if you include the twins, begged you to demonstrate."

"Ned's in the Wild West Exposition at the Garden, Daddy," Lucy said. "He's going for the national title in the quick-draw contest."

"He's really fast," Zak chimed in. "Less than a second to clear the holster and fire."

"Ned won the regional contest in Denver last month," Lucy added. "There's a hundred-thousand-dollar purse and a sponsorship contract as a motivational speaker with Colt if he wins."

Ned was turning beet red from all the praise. "I've just practiced a lot," he said. "Some days there ain't much else to do as a ranch hand."

Lucy detached herself from her father and reattached herself to Ned. "He's being modest," she said, and let go the kind of sigh only a young woman in love can give. "My very own cowboy."

"Ranch hand," Ned corrected her.

Karp used the moment to study his daughter as if he were seeing her in an entirely new light. She'd never had many boyfriends, not until young Dan Heeney from West Virginia, but even that was a sort of puppy love. This was different and, he realized with a pang, part of the change he'd seen in her. It wasn't just that she'd gained weight and filled out; she was a woman. He made a mental note to ask Marlene if…he hated to even consider it and forced any images out of his mind…she'd asked Lucy "the question." Not my daughter, he prayed. Not yet. She's too young.

Then his gaze shifted to Ned, who was looking down into Lucy's eyes with adoration. Something passed between them, and Karp knew then that he was no longer the most important man in Lucy's life. He fought off the jealousy by being overly friendly.

"Well, Ned, I'm glad to finally meet you. From everything I've heard, you're practically the reincarnation of every matinee idol of my childhood." The boy turned beet red again. Oh, man, ten bucks he says Aw shucks, Karp thought.

"Shucks."

Close enough.

"I'm just a ranch hand," Blanchet said, then wondered if that sounded too unmotivated for the father of the woman he hoped to marry someday. He quickly added, "If I win the contest, I'm hoping to use the money to go to college."

Good recovery, son, Karp thought. It's pretty tough to dance around the old man. He smiled, thinking about how he'd had to do a similar waltz with Marlene's father, a good Italian Catholic who'd resisted the idea of her marrying a divorced Jewish lawyer whose only ambition was to remain a poorly paid prosecutor for the New York District Attorney's Office.

Marlene had finally sat Mariano down and told him, like it or not, she intended to marry Karp, bear his children, grow old with him, and die in his arms. After twenty-five years, three grandchildren, and a lot of pushing by Concetta, Mariano had pretty much come around, though he couldn't help but occasionally grouse-loud enough for all to hear-that it just wasn't going to be right when the family met in heaven and his son-in-law wasn't there because he didn't convert, confess his sins, and accept Jesus Christ as his savior and the Catholic faith as the one true church.

"Well, I should warn you that carrying a gun without a license for it in New York City is a felony," Karp said, wondering why he felt like the school tattletale.

"But he does have a permit, Daddy," Lucy said. "I already talked to Clay Fulton and it was here when Ned arrived."

"Clay did what?" Never much of a drinker, Karp decided he needed an eggnog with plenty of rum.

"I suggested it," Marlene said. "Ned's awfully good with that thing and this family-your daughter-tends to need protecting."

"Well, I don't know how much use I'd really be, ma'am," Ned said. "I've never had to shoot anything except targets and bottles. And to be honest, I'd just as soon I never had to, neither."

"I need a drink," Karp said, heading for the kitchen. He saw Jojola standing off to one side grinning at him.

"What are you smiling at?" Karp scowled. "What's next, now that Buffalo Bill's Wild West show has come to town with a cowboy and an Indian. Knife throwing? Scalping lessons?"

"That's easy," Jojola said, grabbing Zak and pulling his long curly hair up in a fist. "You just make a cut across the front and yank it off."

"Cool," Zak squealed.

Karp blinked twice and continued on to the kitchen, where he poured himself that eggnog with rum. Nothing like discussions about shooting people and scalping lessons to bring out the holiday spirit, he thought. I wonder what normal families talk about on Christmas Eve. He gulped the first drink down and just managed to pour another before he was dragged off to the bedroom by Marlene.

"I know that was a little bit of a shock, but now we need to get ready," she said. "People will be here soon."

"Couldn't we close the blinds and turn off the lights, then not answer the door?"

"Come on, Scrooge. Quit with the bah humbug and lighten up." She draped her arms around his neck and kissed him. "And if you're nice, I'll let you open your Christmas present early."

"I'm always nice," he said but was distracted by trying to imagine what his present might be. He chugged the second eggnog, then dutifully climbed into the dark gray turtleneck and khaki slacks his wife laid out for him.

One and a half more eggnogs later, he was feeling in the Christmas/Hanukkah spirit when the first guests, Murrow and Stupenagel, arrived. Murrow was wearing a red silk shirt with a green bow tie with red plastic holly berries attached, and a red-and-green-checkered vest. Stupenagel was dressed to kill in a slinky green satin dress cut almost to her navel to expose as much of her milk-white breasts as legally possible and a slit up the side to expose her mile-long legs.

Stupenagel walked over to Karp and held up a piece of mistletoe she was carrying in her hand. He tried to duck but was too late and she planted a long, firm kiss with just a hint of tongue on him. "I'm Jewish and that's not a Jewish tradition," he complained.

"Yeah, but you're at a Christmas party, Butch, so get used to it," the journalist said and held the plant up again, which sent him scurrying back to the kitchen.

Clay Fulton and his wife, Helen, showed up next, but Marlene had not even closed the door before V.T. Newbury and his blue-blooded girlfriend, Katrina Hairsmith-Dupont, "of the Massachusetts Duponts, of course," stepped out of the elevator across the hall.

Katrina sniffed twice and hurried past Marlene, muttering something about "some people." Marlene then learned that "some people" were Ray Guma and a boozy blonde half his age who emerged from where they'd been making out against a wall of the elevator, unseen at first.

Guma saw Marlene and grinned. "Marlene Ciampi, I'd like to introduce you to my date and possibly the next Mrs. Ray Guma…Crystal ummm…Crystal, what is your last name?"

"Vase," she said, and giggled. "Crystal Vase, you big dummy. Of course, dat's my stage name. Sort of catchy don't ya tink?" She stuck out her hand to Marlene. "My real name's Breanna Buchowski, but I don't like it much. Pleased ta meet ya, I'm sure."

Crystal Vase, aka Breanna Buchowski, wiggled into the apartment, stripping her coat off and handing it to Karp. She was wearing a blouse that exposed cleavage that had Stupenagel turning green with envy, and her skirt was so short that Karp wondered if she could even sit down without revealing the color-or even presence-of her panties.

She looked up at Karp. "Oh, my, you are certainly one tall drink of wadda," she giggled. "Now you'll have to excuse me, I have ta find the liddle girl's room ta tinkle. Ray's been pouring drinks down me all afternoon, and I'm about to pee on your floor."

"Down the hall, first door on the left," Marlene said hastily.

As soon as she was out of sight, Marlene and Karp turned and looked at Guma.

"What? What?" he said. "She's an actress."

"Off-Broadway I take it," Stupenagel said, walking up. "Any show I might have seen?"

Guma stuck his tongue out at Stupenagel, a former lover and longtime mutual antagonist. "Well, she's not really an actress. She's more of a dancer." He looked around at all the raised eyebrows. "Hey, she once tried out for the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall." There were more raised eyebrows. "Okay, okay, I met her last night at the Manhattan Gentleman's Club on Forty-second. You wouldn't believe what she can do with a-"

"Guma!" Marlene hissed, nodding at the twins who had joined the group. "Young ears."

"Aw, Mom," Zak complained. "Uncle Ray's already told us about the three Bs."

"Three Bs?"

"Yeah, the birds, bees, and broads," Giancarlo said innocently.

Ducking Marlene's glare, Guma headed back "to check on my future ex-wife."

By now everyone was listening to the conversation at the door and laughing except for Hairsmith-Dupont, who had maneuvered herself over to the bookshelf, where she pretended to be vastly interested in the Karp-Ciampi collection. V.T. joined her with two glasses of wine.

Last to arrive was Harry Kipman. His wife had died of ovarian cancer five years earlier. They'd been sweethearts since their high school days, and he'd still not gone out with anyone after her death, to Karp's knowledge. He'd initially turned down this invitation until Marlene called and begged him to come.

"Well, okay, but don't be trying to set me up with anybody," he said. "I'm not ready."

Two hours later, well lubricated on a half-dozen bottles of red wine and eggnog and fueled by Marlene's famous veal parmesan, roasted Italian sausage with sauteed red and green peppers with onion, and gnocchi, as well as several loaves of bread, the conversation was roaring right along. Even Katrina had loosened up to the point of asking Crystal, who, when not dancing for folded dollar bills, was a hair colorist, what she recommended as far as putting highlights in her blond-going-to-gray hair.

"Oh, honey, let me do you in copper-with those green eyes, you'll have every man in New York wanting a go at that cute little chassis of yours," Crystal promised.

Katrina, whose "chassis" resembled a surfboard with two peas on it about breast high, blushed but looked pleased. "Well, I don't know," she said. "I've never been a redhead."

The twins had been ordered off to their room a half hour earlier. They'd gone under protest and only after their dad, who'd had a couple more than his usual, had very nearly given his permission for them to hold Ned's Peacemaker in the morning. To their delight, John Jojola had gone with them. "Come on guys, I'll tell you some stories about Christmas at my pueblo," he said.

When Marlene tried to get him to stay, he shook his head. "It's really not a good idea for me to be around alcohol," he said. "It's not that I'd take a drink. But I don't like the feeling of wishing I could have one."

"We've had enough," Marlene said. "We'll stop. Just stay." She reached for his arm.

Jojola smiled and patted her hand. She sensed the almost electric bond that there'd been between them from the first time they met. It wasn't a man-woman thing. It was more like two old souls who recognized each other.

"Go back to the party," he said. "I need my rest anyway." He hesitated, then added, "I have something I need to do. So if I disappear for a couple of days, don't worry about me."

"This have to do with your dream about David Grale?" She shivered saying the name.

Jojola nodded. "It may be nothing. But I can't ignore the spirits."

"What if it's more than a couple of days?" she said and tried to smile but just managed a small one.

"Send the cavalry." Jojola smiled. "Or better yet, send the Sioux."

When Marlene walked back into the living room, Lucy and Ned were getting up from the couch where they'd snuggled in to listen to "the old folks." They put on their coats, as Lucy explained, "We're going to Rockefeller Center to see if we can ice-skate if the crowds aren't too bad."

"Hey," Karp pouted. "I wanted to take you and the boys ice-skating under the Christmas tree. That's our tradition." He hadn't meant to sound so petulant, but, by God, a father just didn't have to let his daughter start breaking family traditions with the first cowboy who came along.

Lucy walked over and kissed him on the cheek. "We're going to be here for at least three weeks. There'll be plenty of time to go ice-skating as a family." Then out the door they went.

Karp turned to find Marlene smiling knowingly at him. "Daddy's having trouble letting go," she said, wrapping an arm around his waist and leaning her head on his shoulder. "Come on, deep breath."

"I am not," he argued, mostly because there was something else on his mind. "By the way, where's he going to sleep? John's on the futon in the boys' room. Out here on the couch?"

Marlene gave him an amused look.

Then he understood what that meant. "Oh no…they're not…you're not thinking it's okay for them to…," he sputtered. "Not in my house."

Marlene gave him a squeeze. "It's her house, too," she said. "In Ned's defense, he offered to sleep on the floor of the boys' room-said he sleeps on worse when he's riding herd. But Lucy won't hear of it."

Maybe it was the wine, but Karp felt like crying. This is why I don't drink, he thought, it turns me into an idiot.

Marlene steered him back into the living room. Guma was sitting on the love seat next to Crystal, who'd passed out and was snoring like an old man. Green thong, Karp thought, his theory about the skirt having been borne out by the physical evidence. Marlene noticed too and tossed an afghan over the sleeping woman. "She looked cold," she said when she noticed that now he was the one with the amused look on his face.

Murrow and Stupenagel occupied a single overstuffed chair, though it was difficult to see him with her on his lap; they were talking to Kipman, who'd done a number on the brandy and swayed as he stood next to them. Meanwhile, Fulton, Newbury, and their female counterparts were engaged in a lively discussion about the war in Iraq.

Looking for something less meaty than politics, Karp glanced at Guma. "So what was the big secret you couldn't make our meeting for?" he said.

Guma extricated his hand from under Crystal's ass and got up. "Well, maybe this isn't the place, but since the new love of my life has already embarked on her beauty rest, and I'm feeling generous, I guess I'll give you an early Christmas present," he said loud enough that the other conversations stopped and everyone turned to listen.

"I'm Jewish, but go ahead, it can be a late Hanukkah present," Karp said.

"Well, it's not true that I've been pouring drinks down my beloved's throat," he said. "I didn't even get over to the club until four o'clock on my way over here. I've been working. And as it turns out, the I. Kaminsky down at the morgue is not the I. Kaminsky we thought he was. It's his brother, Ivan; as far as I know, Igor Kaminsky is still alive."

"Good work, Guma!" Marlene exclaimed.

"Thank you," Guma said, giving a little bow. "But to be honest, it didn't take any great detective work. I knew that our boy was missing an arm. But the guy in the morgue had both of his…or at least he did before he got slammed by the train, but most of the pieces were present and accounted for."

"Wow, just like in The Fugitive," Stupenagel said. "I just love Tommy Lee Jones."

"Hey," Murrow complained. "I thought you loved me."

"And you're right, my little sugar plum," she cooed. "I love you lots more than Tommy Lee Jones, Honey Buns."

"Sugar Lips," Murrow replied.

"I think I'm going to be sick," an awakened Crystal said before Karp could voice a similar sentiment.

"It is pretty icky," Karp said.

"No, I mean I'm going to be sick for real," she said, scrambling to her feet and wobbling down the hall to the bathroom from which loud retching noises emanated.

Guma hurried after her but soon returned. He had a sheepish look on his face. "Uh, sorry, Marlene," he said.

Marlene patted him on the shoulder. "Don't be. She's a nice kid. Probably too nice to be hanging out with a lecherous old fart like you. I believe I've had my own intimate conversations with the porcelain god in my younger days. Anyway, back to the fugitive. Anything else?"

"A little," Guma said, nodding. "According to witnesses, the dead man, Ivan Kaminsky, was shoved off the platform by a young black man, who, with several other young black men, then chased another man who was the spitting image of the victim."

"Ooooh, so maybe what we got here is a case of mistaken identity," Stupenagel said, her mind already working on the story. "The killers-and I'd bet any amount of money it's Sykes and his gang-decided that Igor knew too much, but somehow they went after the wrong brother first."

"But that would mean that someone told them that Kaminsky represented a danger to them," Marlene said. "But Villalobos wouldn't have told them he'd been stupid."

"The letter," Karp said. "The letter Kaminsky wrote to Breman, who passed it on to Klinger."

The room was silent as the implications of what he'd just said hung in front of them. "Breman or Klinger or both told Louis," Kipman finished the thought. "Which makes them accessories to murder and attempted murder."

Guma whistled. "That's real big-game hunting…a U.S. District Court judge and the Brooklyn District Attorney."

"So what's the next step?" Fulton asked Karp. "You want me to round up Sykes and his cronies and see if the witnesses in the subway station can pick them out of a lineup? It would put a pretty good damper on their lawsuit if they were in prison."

Karp thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "Let's see if we can get recent photographs of Sykes amp; Co. and let the witnesses pick them out of a photo lineup and, if they do, put them in front of a grand jury," he said. "But I want this kept quiet. This isn't just about the murder of Ivan Kaminsky. Right now, we can't prove that Breman or Klinger or Louis had anything to do with it." He looked pointedly at Stupenagel. "I am assuming that this was all off the record."

Stupenagel protested. "Why is it that you naturally jump to the conclusion that I'm the only one in the room who can't be trusted? Never mind, don't answer that. But you don't have to worry. In fact, you might remember that I'm the one who talked Marlene into looking into this because Robin and Pam are friends of mine. But the old deal still stands. When it's time, I get first crack."

Karp nodded. "Fair enough. The problem now is that we need Kaminsky and…if we can figure out a way to get it, the letter." That reminded him of another missing link in the case. He turned to Fulton. "What about Hannah Little?"

Fulton shook his head. "She disappeared from her neighborhood after the trial. She and her family put up with a lot of crap from the 'solid citizens,' who apparently thought it was worse to be a snitch than a rapist. They even burned her mother's car one night. Then her brother got shot out in California and that was it. Hannah and her mother packed up in the middle of the night and left Bed-Stuy. I tracked her to Ohio from a letter she wrote back to a friend, but that was the last anybody heard from her."

The group was silent, contemplating the extraordinary turn of events. Murrow cleared his throat. "Well, I hate to be outdone when it comes to handing out Christmas presents, but Ariadne and I have another. Okay with you, my love?"

"Say that last part again, you silver-tongued devil, and you can pretty much say anything else you want and I won't care."

"My love," he said again.

"Would someone throw cold water on them?" Karp said. "Okay, Murrow, it's going to be pretty tough to top Guma, but you can try."

Trading narration duties, Murrow and Stupenagel recounted their adventure at the Sagamore Hotel. When they finished, Karp groaned.

"I knew it was too much to hope that everybody was doing this by the book," he growled, wondering if the sudden indigestion was from too much rich food and wine or the story he'd just heard. "You do realize that not a word of what you overheard would ever make it into a court of law, right? Not to mention-which you also seemed to have been aware of when you made your escape-that you could probably be prosecuted for assault on a police officer and trespass."

Karp looked at Murrow and frowned. "Don't you think that maybe I should have heard about this a little sooner?"

Murrow looked hurt, but Stupenagel came to his defense. "To hell with that, Karp. The only reason that story's not splashed across the cover of the New York Times under my byline is because Murry talked me into waiting… Now, you want to shut up and apologize to a man who is absolutely loyal to you, or do you need me to kick your ass?"

"All right, enough," Karp said. "You don't have to convince me about Mr. Murrow's loyalty, which I return, by the way, in full measure. But you and I, and by the nature of his job, Gil, have different obligations. Yours is to inform the public. Mine is to protect the public by prosecuting criminals, but I also have to follow the rules…and that's protecting the public, too."

"Oh, bring out the fife and drum," Stupenagel said. "I thought we'd heard enough speeches this past fall from the two losers we had running for president. Jeez, Marlene, I thought you liked the strong, silent type."

Marlene shrugged. "No comment. I have to sleep with him and if he's cranky, I won't get any…know what I mean?"

"I give," Karp exclaimed. "Why does everybody pick on me? Okay, Stupe, as Paul Harvey would say…now, the rest of the story."

"I should make you squirm, Karp, but because my other good friends here are waiting, I'll tell you," Stupenagel said. "I went back up to Bolton Landing the Monday after Honey Buns and I were up there playing secret agents…and doctor, but I won't go into that. I stopped in a local real estate office and asked what a place like that cute little fishing lodge costs where Ewen keeps the beautiful but dim mistress. Well, when the place got bought two years ago, it went for 2.4 million smackers, which is pretty stiff on a union boss's salary…but even tougher if you're twenty-four years old and working at the local Quickie Oil amp; Lube."

"What's that mean?" Karp asked.

"I was about to tell you. Sheesh, Karp, you have no sense of story pacing," Stupenagel said. "Let me remind you that I am one of the finest nonfiction writers of the twenty-first century. I was trying to build in a little suspense."

"As you can see, we're all already on the edge of our seats," Marlene said, getting a little impatient herself.

"Good, just where I like my audiences at this point," Stupenagel said. "What it means is that the house was purchased not by Ed Ewen but by his sister's son, Michael Mason, a good-looking kid in his midtwenties who makes his living in oil…changing oil in other people's cars, that is. He couldn't have bought that house if he'd saved every penny since childhood. Besides, he doesn't live there; he's got a live-in girlfriend and they're shacked up in a one-bedroom in the woods."

Stupenagel looked around, pleased that she had everybody's undivided attention. "Anyway, I dropped by the house after first calling union headquarters and finding out that Ewen was in but unavailable. Anyway, the door gets answered by this blond bombshell who could be the separated-at-birth twin of our own Miss Crystal Vase."

"Oh, please, God," Guma prayed earnestly. "Let me be the one who reunites them."

"Oh, please, Guma, try not to make me ill," Stupenagel said. "That poor girl is going to wake up tomorrow, take one look at you, and swear off drinking for the rest of her life… So anyway, before I was so rudely interrupted by the Italian Scallion-"

"That's Italian Stallion."

"I asked the blond bombshell if 'Mr. Ewen' was at home. At first she was a little suspicious-I'll tell you why in a moment-but I gave her the business card of the real estate woman I'd talked to, a LeAnne Dalton, which seemed to reassure her. Anyway, I told her that I was just in the neighborhood because I had a buyer who was interested in the property and was willing to pay top dollar. I asked her if she was Mrs. Ewen, which made her all giggly. She said, 'Not yet,' so either Mr. Ewen is stringing her along, or the current Mrs. Ewen is about to be turned out to pasture. The bastard. Anyway, the next part of the story I'll turn over to my sweetie."

Karp looked at Murrow. "Okay, sweetie, spill the beans, and I can only hope that you kept the felonies to a minimum."

Murrow grinned sheepishly at Karp. "Uh, my part was to see if I could track down Captain Carney's property in Florida. Fortunately, he's either not as clever as Ewen or just figures that he doesn't have to be as careful because of the distance. He's got a real nice beachfront condominium in Key West. Again, a call to a real estate agent revealed that I could get a similar condominium in that building on the same floor for a cool 1.5 million."

"Must have shook down a lot of hookers when he was walking the beat," Guma said, to general laughter.

Karp could feel the wine wearing off and the beginnings of the headache he knew he'd be battling while the twins were ripping open their presents and screaming with Christmas greed. He looked at Newbury, who was scribbling notes on a napkin. "Well, V.T., looks like you may have your smoking gun."

Newbury looked up and grinned. "You'd burn your hand if you grabbed the barrel. When I can think clearly again, we can strategize who to put the screws to in that lot and blow the lid off this baby."

Marlene hurried off to the kitchen and returned with a magnum of champagne. "I was saving this to get my own sweetie good and liquored up for New Year's Eve," she said. "But I think this calls for a celebration."

Karp winced. The champagne would force the headache to retreat for a little while, but it would be back with a vengeance. But he raised his glass to toast with the others. "Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year."

"Hey, what does a girl hafta do to get a little drinky around here?"

Crystal Vase stood wobbling in the hallway. She teetered like a tree about to fall in the forest, and then went over. She hit the ground with a dull thud and didn't move.

Hairsmith-Dupont was the first to reach her. She knelt beside the young woman and felt her neck. "She's got a pulse," she announced.

"That's all Guma needs," Stupenagel said. "Poor girl."

"Very funny," Guma replied, pulling Crystal into a sitting position and then, with the help of the other men, lifting her to her feet. She woke up again as they were putting her in a chair.

"Ray," she mumbled so low that he had to lean forward to hear her. "Ray, take me home." She then threw up on him.

"Okay, show's over," Marlene said. "Ray, shall I call you a cab?"