Lieberman's thief

Evening Tides

Simon, the Franklins' favorite waiter in the dining room of the Winnetka Harbor Club, saw Ken coming and hurried to usher him to the table where his wife was waiting.

Ken Franklin was late.

At their usual table near the window overlooking the lake, Betty sat playing with a drink, probably Scotch and whatever she could think of. Her eyes were unfocused, staring into the darkness coming over the horizon.

"Sorry I'm late," Ken said as Simon held the chair out for him and he sat.

The crowd was light for a Friday night but it was still on the early side. A few tables away the Pines were already into their soup and beyond them Marjorie and Thomas Benson were entertaining an old woman Ken did not recognize.

Old, however, had become a relative term.

"I'll have-" Ken began.

"Mrs. Franklin has already ordered your drink," Simon said with a smile. "Vodka gimlet"

Ken nodded and examined his wife. Tired, shoulders bare and sagging, wearing Ken's favorite blue silk dress. Hair clean, white, and impeccable.

She looked at her husband, chewed on her lower lip for an instant and said, "What happened?"

There were bread sticks on the table. Ken took one, cracked it in half, and put it on the white tablecloth in front of him.

"I will not be representing Harvey on the criminal charges the state's attorney has brought against him."

"Oh," said Betty.

"Would you like to know why I will not be representing Harvey? There are four reasons."

"Yes," she said softly.

"First, the police have considerable evidence, including a taped conversation and an eyewitness. There are ways to deal with both and other, more circumstantial, evidence, but I am convinced that Harvey murdered Dana."

They went silent as Simon placed the vodka gimlet in front of Ken and waited for Ken to taste it. He did and nodded his approval. Only then did Simon place the menus before them.

"Would you like to order or would you like awhile longer?"

"Give us five minutes, would you, Simon?"

"Of course."

And Simon disappeared.

"Second," said Ken after a substantial drink from his glass, "I am sure whoever his attorney is, and I have recommended Lon Saunders, Harvey will plead not guilty. With delays and appeals if he is found guilty, the judicial process will take at least two years. As you know, it is unlikely that I will be alive in two years."

Betty said nothing but her eyes were definitely moist "Is that your first drink of the evening?" her husband asked.

"No, my third."

"The third reason I wifl not be defending Harvey is that you and I are certain to be called as witnesses by the prosecution."

"For the prosecution?" Betty asked.

"Yes. That brings us to the fourth reason I will not be defending Harvey. His motive. The police believe that Harvey killed Dana so that he could marry you when I die and have access to both my money and yours. Would you like another drink? I don't see anything in your glass but a very small cube."

"Yes, thank you," she said, and Ken turned to the waiting Simon halfway across the room. Ken pointed to his wife's empty glass and Simon nodded in understanding and moved toward the bar.

"Do you believe that?" Betty asked.

"Believe that Harvey would do that? Yes. Do I believe the obvious companion thought, that you and he have been having an affair, yes, but it doesn't matter. You will be questioned and you will have to testify under oath."

"I can't," she sobbed.

"We're going to have enough to deal with without you falling apart in public," he said, glancing toward the Bensons' table to see if they had observed Betty's loss of control. They hadn't or they were too polite to let it show. There were going to be many moments like this over the coming months.

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping her eyes as Simon approached with a fresh drink, placed it before her, and moved quickly away.

"Elizabeth," Ken said, "if my feelings were of real concern to you, you would have waited till I was gone to make a fool of yourself. Do you actually believe that Harvey Rozier is in love with you?"

"Yes," she said.

"Then there isn't anything more to say," Kenneth Franklin said, motioning to Simon, who glided to their table.

"Yes, Mr. Franklin."

"We'll both have the Norwegian salmon, broiled. And remind Andre that we like it with a crisp glaze. It was firm last time but not crisp."

"Of course," Simon said. "House salad?"

"Yes," said Ken, smiling at his wife across the table. "And Mrs. Franklin may want still another drink. She seems to have finished the one you just brought."

Chuculo Fernandez stood in the lobby of the Clark Street Station looking less like a man who was about to be free than a man who had been seriously wronged.

"Viejo," said El Perro, "Piedras is out in the car. You want to come out, say hello, somethin'?"

"No, give him my best," said Lieberman.

Piedras was a great, hulking, brainless creature with none of El Perm's affection for the old detective.

Officer Catherine Boyd was behind the desk writing something. Nestor Briggs had finished a double shift and gone home, at least for awhile. Odds were good that Nestor would wander back to the station in street clothes to talk to Catherine for awhile.

"Not much business tonight," El Perro observed, looking around.

"The rain," Lieberman explained. "Keeps people indoors. Drop in most crimes except murder. Murder, in bars, domestic, goes up when it rains. Keeps people indoors and irritable."

"No shit?" said El Perro. "You know that, Chuculo?"

Chuculo Fernandez nodded his head. El Perro's right hand shot out and slapped the young man's face, distorting it like an astronaut rocketing into space.

"Emiliano-" Lieberman said as Catherine Boyd looked up from her report.

"Chuculo should show some respect," El Perro said. "For you, for me."

Fernandez had cut at least six people Lieberman knew of and had almost surely killed two others. His eyes were stung and watering and he did not look as if he wanted to kill anyone.

"Despenseme," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted," said Lieberman.

"I think maybe the rain's good for bingo," said El Perro. "What you think? Nothing to do but fuck, watch the TV, or go out and play bingo."

"It is beyond my expertise," said Lieberman.

"How come you never come to my bingo parlor? It's all legal."

"I know."

"You know, I figured something out," El Perro whispered, putting an arm around Lieberman's thin shoulders. "You don't need that B-I-N-G-O shit You just like say cinco, five. You find a five someplace else besides under B and I have Chuculo eat your dirty underwear."

"The prospect of Chuculo eating my dirty underwear will probably lead me to a futile search for N-5."

"I don' know what the fuck you're talking about half the time, Viejo, but I like you. Hey, your esposa, she's the queen something of your church, right?"

"The president," Lieberman corrected.

"She wanna use my bingo parlor for to raise money for the church, I give you a free night and I call the numbers myself. No letters."

"I'll discuss it with her."

"Lieberman," said El Perro. "You're good like your word. You got something you need, another deal, you know where to find me."

"I know, Emiliano," said Lieberman.

"An' you, Chuculo," El Perro said, turning to Fernandez, who held his ground, expecting another slap or worse. "Maybe this will teach you not to fuck with no fuckin' little girls."

"Si," Fernandez said.

"Let's go."

Both Lieberman and Chuculo Fernandez shared a feeling mat Chuculo had a long night ahead of him.

"Drive carefully," Lieberman said as El Perro pushed Fernandez toward the door.

"Inside the speed limit, siempre" said El Perro and went out the front door with a laugh, saying to Fernandez, "You hear that? The man's got a sense of humor."

The death of lago Simms and the wounding of Officer Guy Matthews belonged to Applegate and Acardo. They had taken delivery of Lonny Wayne from the Tentaculos, booked him, and read him his rights before taking him to the emergency room.

There would be another lineup later that night if Lonny Wayne wasn't hospitalized. Jacob Berry, who had already been released on bond, would sit behind the window and be asked to identify Lonny, who no longer looked like the Lonny who had attempted to rob him that morning. This was a one-eared Lonny Wayne, a much older Lonny Wayne.

It was almost six. The sun was going down fast. Lieberman called a good night to Catherine Boyd and hurried out the door. It was Shabbat, the Sabbath, and Lieberman was late. Maish and Yetta would be coming too, at least for dinner. Abe had invited Hanrahan to join him and his family and to bring Iris, but he had declined, saying he had someone he had to talk to.

It was still raining.

Hanrahan sat in the booth of the Black Moon Restaurant across from Iris Chen's father. Iris was waiting on tables and being careful not to glance at their booth. In the kitchen, Iris's uncle Chou, called out of retirement for the night, was cooking and frantically filling orders, all of which challenged his arthritic fingers.

"Look at it this way, Mr. Chen," Hanrahan said, hands folded on the table in front of him. "If Iris wants to marry me and doesn't, how is she going to feel? Who is she going to blame?"

Chen looked at him and allowed only an involuntary blink in reply.

"I don't drink anymore and I won't again. My divorce is final. I earn a good living, have a decent house, and I love Iris. Do you know what the other policemen call us? Iris and Irish? We've even got nicknames. A perfect couple."

Chen said nothing.

Dishes clanked. People at other tables talked. The kitchen door swung open and closed.

"I love her," Hanrahan said. "But she's not going to marry me unless you tell her it's all right."

"It is all right," Chen said finally, softly. "If Iris want, it is all right."

"I'll talk to Mr. Woo again," Hanrahan said, holding back a grin. "I'll explain."

"Don't need talk to Mr. Woo," said Chen.

"Listen," Hanrahan went on. "I know you're close to Mr. Woo and you don't want to upset him, but-"

Chen said something quickly, probably hi Chinese.

"Mr. Woo don't like it, he can sit on the toilet with a monkey," Chen said. "It is something we say in Chinese."

"I'll remember," Hanrahan said.

"This is America, not China," Chen said, easing out of the booth. "You hungry?"

"Starving," said Hanrahan, smiling at Iris, who met his eyes across the room.

"We got special tonight," Chen said and hurried toward the kitchen. "You'll like."

Lieberman walked through his front door just before six-thirty and was met by his wife with, "Services are at eight. Maish and Yetta are late. We have to eat. You need a shave, and a lawyer named Seymour Greenblatt is sitting in the kitchen talking to Melisa and Barry. Put your gun in the drawer and get rid of Greenblatt. You can shave later."

He kissed her and she smiled. She was wearing the green dress, the one she had bought for her cousin Dorothy's daughter's wedding.

"You look great," he said, and meant it.

Beyond the living room Lieberman could see the dining room table set for seven.

"Lisa's not here yet either. Her car had a flat tire. Maish and Yetta are helping her fix it"

"The kids know about Lisa going to San Francisco without them?"

"They know. Barry asked if he could have his mother's room and Melisa said she didn't want to go to Saa Francisco in six months or ever because they gaze at you and give you AIDS," Bess said.

" 'They gaze at you and give you AIDS'?"

"Gays, Lieberman. She's smart but she's eight. You'd better talk to her."

Lieberman moved across the room, saying, "I'll talk to her. Maybe we should skip services tonight?"

"Lieberman," Bess said behind him. "I'm the president of the temple."

"What does the legendary Lawyer Greenblatt want?" asked Lieberman, moving toward the bedroom.

"To talk to us both."

"You brought the check back to Rabbi NathansonT "I wanted it back in their hands today, so I handed it to his wife right after lunch," said Bess. "I'm going to check the food. Lieberman, a small helping of meat and no wine."

And Bess bustled off.

Lieberman took off his jacket and removed his holster and gun, putting them inside the night table drawer and locking the drawer with the key he wore around his neck. He wanted to shave but he wanted to have it out with Lawyer Greenblatt first When he opened the door to the kitchen, he found his grandchildren seated at the kitchen table looking at an overweight man with several strands of hair brushed over his bald head. In front of the man, who wore a sport jacket and suspenders, lay a briefcase amid the bowls of food.

The dinner smelled strong and full of garlic.

"Mr. Lieberman," Greenblatt said seriously.

"Mr. Greenblatt," Lieberman answered, leaning over to kiss Melisa's offered cheek.

Bess was standing at the sink, her arms folded.

"Your wife returned this check to my clients this afternoon," Greenblatt said, removing the check from his briefcase.

"Yes," said Lieberman.

Greenblatt nodded and returned exhibit A to the briefcase.

"This is a matter of great emotional distress," said Greenblatt. "Agreements violated, time and effort expended."

"Come to the point, please," said Lieberman. "My family is hungry and we're going to be late for services."

Beyond die kitchen door, the front door opened to the sound of voices. Maish, Yetta, and Lisa had arrived.

"All right," said Greenblatt. "My clients, the Nathansons, are willing to settle for five hundred dollars. With the five hundred dollars there would be an agreement that no more would be said about this unfortunate incident."

"I think you'd better leave, Mr. Greenblatt," Abe said. "You have anything to demand, you can call our lawyer."

Barry leaned forward, fascinated by his grandfather's anger.

"Mr. Lieberman," Seymour Greenblatt said, rising with some difficulty. "You misunderstand me."

"I'm not paying you a nickel," said Lieberman.

"No," said Greenblatt. "It is the Nathansons who are offering you five hundred dollars and their sincere apology."

Lieberman stood silent.

Bess stepped forward and said, "They want to give us five hundred dollars?"

"I have the check right here," Lawyer Greenblatt said, delving back into the briefcase to emerge with the check. "In return for which, you make no issue of Rabbi Nathanson's behavior. Ira hasn't been well. Lots of pressure. A move to get him removed as rabbi at B'nai Shalom. He's been going around giving thousand-dollar checks and trying to make deals on houses all over the neighborhood. Ira and I have been friends for years. All he needs is some time at peace."

"We won't bother them," said Bess. "And we don't want a check."

"Five hundred dollars," cried Melisa.

Lawyer Greenblatt opened the briefcase and solemnly returned the check to it.

"Thank you," he said, clicking the briefcase shut and holding out his pudgy right hand.

Lieberman shook it as the kitchen door opened and Maish poked his head in to say, "So, are we eating or what?"

"What are you doing for dinner, Lawyer Greenblatt?" Lieberman asked. "You're welcome to join us."

Greenblatt smiled and said, "Funny you should ask."

Laio Woo sat alone in the sanctuary of his seven-room apartment on Wentworth Avenue. There was not an item in the room that had not been imported from China. There was not an item in the room, with the possible exception of Mr. Woo himself and the black silk robe he wore, mat was less man two hundred years old.

In front of Woo on a low, black enameled table, sat a vase, a colorful vase with the subtle narrow curve of a young woman. Painted on the vase was a garden and a young woman in the costume of a long-past dynasty.

This vase was but a copy of the original. This vase was no more than four or five hundred years old, but it was a good copy.

When he was a boy in Beijing, Laio Woo had first heard the tale of the woman in the vase, the trapped goddess who came out once every hundred years knowing that if she could keep from falling in love with a mortal, she would never have to return.

The goddess, however, was so giving that she always fell in love and each century left a grieving lover to return to the delicate vase.

A legend and only a legend, but Woo had devoted his life to the quiet search for the vase, the original, if it still existed. He would have given all he had for that vase, to touch the original, see the goddess before he died.

Laio Woo had been many things in his life-a poor beggar, a thief, a trafficker in stolen goods, and, on two occasions, the cause of the death of another human. He had also, for more than forty years, since she was a young girl, loved Iris Chen. Not the love that would want her in his home or bed, but the love of a mortal for a goddess on a vase.

Woo knew that reality would destroy his love as a careless sweep of the hand would destroy the vase before him.

And so he had watched her. And so he had seen her fall in love with a mortal, an unworthy white mortal. He could do more to stop their union. He could but he knew he would not.

He rose from his chair and lit a candle before the vase. Then he walked to the door and switched off the lights.

Laio Woo looked back at the vase and imagined that the goddess danced slowly, subtly in the flicker of the candle. He stood for more than five minutes watching and then left the room, closing the door gently behind him.