“That’s what I was trying to show Detective Mulhausen,” said Shirley, “but he insisted in treating me as if I were crazy. He wanted the book, of course, but I hid it. Nobody else was looking for it, because that. . man had told his mobsters that it was destroyed.”
“Of course he’d do that. Where did you hide it?”
“In Bernie Kusher’s safety deposit box. No one knew he had one except me. Then when Mr. Kusher ran away. . I can’t quite recall what happened then. You know, if you’re all alone in the world and everyone’s telling you that you’re out of your mind, pretty soon you come to believe it, too. In any case, I took all the things out of the box and carried them from place to place. They kept them for me in the hospital, and when I left I just carried them around. You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?”
“No,” said Marlene, “but I do think you need to get off the street. I have a place attached to my office, just a room with a bath and little kitchen. You could stay there.”
“I really couldn’t accept charity, Mrs. Karp.”
“It wouldn’t be charity. I run an investigations agency, and I happen to need a legal secretary-part-time, but you could stay in the room for the time being.”
“Oh, in that case,” said Shirley Waldorf.
The next day was the Fourth of July, and in the late afternoon the entire Karp mishpocheh went over to V.T. Newbury’s East Side penthouse apartment, where every year he threw an immense party for his large family and his many friends to feast and drink and watch the fireworks over the river. The tradition at V.T.’s was Moet and pate rather than beer and burgers, but the Karps did not mind this at all.
“Hail to the hero,” said V.T., greeting them at the door. He was cradling a magnum of champagne in his arms like a beloved infant and was wearing a tall Uncle Sam hat made of paper. “I saw you and Tommy on the tube the other day. His chin was covered with little black feathers. It was heartwarming. Here’s Marlene. Mmm. God, what lips. You’re wasted on him; for a true sensual treat you can’t beat a tiny little WASP. No? And who’s this? Not little Lucy! You let her walk the streets unprotected? All in black, too. Have you turned intellectual? God, I hope not. Sweetheart, later we’ll find a dark corner and say nasty things to each other in French. And the tiny twins! How do you tell them apart, et cetera. There are about a thousand kids here, Marlene-Martha has kid food in the kitchen. You can get drunk if you like, I am. Or have already.”
The party absorbed them. V.T. had the rare knack of assembling old-money people with lovely manners and no-money people with interesting lives and ideas into a mixture that bubbled nicely, neither exploding nor falling flat. Marlene observed her daughter among a group of girls her age, all dressed in the best, and inclined to be snooty, but none of them had been kidnapped by Asian gangsters. Lucy was in full Claudine fettle, using her natural wit and talent for mimicry to great effect. She looked from a distance like a regular teenager.
Marlene drifted away, searching. There was just one person she had to see before relaxing into the limitless champagne, and she saw him in a corner of the terrace, looking out across the darkening East River.
“Goom.”
“Marlene, what’s happening, baby? Come here, let me give you a squeeze. Uh, that’s enough, I’ll embarrass myself here.”
“I hear you’re a solid citizen again.”
“Yeah, that stronzo. You know, there are Italians and there are Italians. I got no use for a guy won’t come and talk to you, treat you like a human being. Anyway, Butch pulled it off, and what can I say, you married a classy guy. Too bad he’s Jewish.”
Marlene laughed. “Speaking of stronzi, have we heard much from the Bollanos lately?”
“I hear they’re laying low. The don’s got some reshuffling to do. You know, it’s like the chimps, they all got to sniff each other’s crotches to see what the new dominance hierarchy is.”
“You think the don is losing his grip?”
“Well, it could go either way. Pigetti gets impatient, he could try something, but the don’s built up a lot of respect over the years. The older capos. . you know how they are.”
“I do. Which is why I’m going to slip this little tape into your pocket.”
“What is it?”
“It’s Vivian Bollano describing the Bollano version of ‘Happy Days.’ Truly heartwarming. Listen to it, and I think you’ll want to share it with some of your pals in the Bollano organization.”
“Uh, Marlene. .” said Guma nervously.
“Or, I could just mail it to half a dozen capi regimes. But I figure you’d want the credit. These guys like to think they’re like Al Pacino with la famiglia. They wouldn’t want this to get into general circulation. I think they’ll buy you a box of cannoli.”
Guma stared at her for a moment, took the tape from his pocket, tossed it once, and put it away. “You really are something. Butch know about this?”
“No, and you know he doesn’t want to know. Will you?”
Guma nodded slowly. A grin broke out across his face, horrible to see. She grinned back. It was a Sicilian moment. “Yeah,” said Guma. “Yeah, I think I will. As a public service to the Mob. Besides, I never cared for the old cafone. What if they want to know who gave me the tape?”
“What tape is that?” said Marlene sweetly, and skipped away back to the champagne.