“No way! Those are courtroom slots. They’d have to be crazy to use them anyplace else. How’s he going to move cases without attorneys?”
Gelb sighed and ran his hand across the top of his scalp. “There are ways and ways. In any case we will soon see. Oh, by the way, you might as well move into the Assistant Bureau Chief Office. It’s always a mistake to have empty office space when a change in regime is going on. One of the eternal verities of bureaucratic life.”
Karp was about to ask what an assistant bureau chief actually did for a living, when the door to the DA’s office swung open and Bloom strode vigorously into the room, with a pink and shiny Wharton trailing behind him, as if he were a painted pull toy.
Sanford Bloom was a medium-sized man with large moist eyes, a full mouth and a thin, prominent nose. He was forty-four and looked much younger. He was tanned with his brown hair coiffed over his ears in a politician’s blowdry. His face was unmarked by lines of worry, which was not surprising, since he had enjoyed ease and wealth and the right contacts since the cradle. He had a softness of expression about his eyes and mouth, the suggestion being that, if seriously crossed, his lip would begin to tremble and his face might dissolve into petulance.
Bloom sat at the head of the table. There was no room at the table for Wharton, who waited politely for one of the seated men to make room for him. No one moved. After a minute he pulled up one of the straight-backed chairs lined against one wall and settled himself to Bloom’s right rear, like a translator behind a diplomat.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I asked you all here,” Bloom began with a boyish smile, and got a chuckle in response. “Let me say, first of all,” he continued, “that I had and retain the greatest admiration for the late Phil Garrahy and for this office. But as I look around at the conditions we now find ourselves in, I have to say, and believe me, it is painful for me to say it, that the current methods and procedures of the New York District Attorney’s Office are totally inadequate for the modern age. Gentlemen, we are losing the war on crime in this city!”
Here he paused for effect and looked around the table. Silence and blank faces. He cleared his throat and resumed.
“The productivity of this office has not significantly increased in thirty years, while crime has increased tenfold. Our record-keeping systems are a disaster. We have no way of centrally tracking a case through the system, to find out where the worst delays are, and get these cases moving again. This is the twentieth century, men! We’ve got to modernize. I need new ideas. I want this office to become a leader in criminal justice system innovation.”
He stared around the table again. No one came up with any new ideas. Conlin stared off into space.
“I don’t intend to make any massive changes in personnel or organization, right off. I believe in giving all of you a chance to see if you can play in a new ball game. On the other hand, I have to start exerting some control over the way this office is run, and I need, that is, the Office needs, an administrative bureau on a par with the operational bureaus. I have chosen Chip Wharton here, who I think you all know, to head up that new organization. I know I can count on all of you to give him your strong support. Well, any comments? Suggestions?”
Bloom looked around brightly. After a long pause, Joe Lerner said, “Ah … Chief, how are we going to staff this new bureau? Is it going to be a tap on the existing resources?”
“Not at all, Carl … Joe? Is it Joe? Sorry. Not at all, Joe. The existing units will be held harmless. It so happens that we are expecting an increase in positions in the upcoming fiscal year, which we will use to establish the new bureau.”
Jaws dropped all around the table and half a dozen bureau chiefs all started talking at once. Everybody had been expecting a share of the new recruits, so that maybe they would be only up to their necks in the shit rather than nostril-deep. Bloom raised his hands for silence and scowled until the grumbling died away.
“I am not,” he said, “going to keep pouring resources down a rathole. The legal staff you have now is working at about a tenth of the efficiency it could have with a decent system. I need the new slots to set up such a system, and enforce it. I hope that all of you will help me do that. If not …”
He let the statement hang. No one said a word. There was some discussion of minor administrative details after that, and ten minutes later the chiefs were dispersing to their posts.
In the hallway outside Karp shook his head in disbelief, then said to Gelb, “You were right. I can’t believe it. More lawyers is throwing resources down a rathole? A rathole? He should know from ratholes, right?”
Gelb sighed and glanced around to check for big ears. “Right, and Wharton seems to have fixed himself a nice little nest. On the other hand, Bloom is a pretty bright guy, I hear. I mean, he’s right, in a way, things are pretty fucked up.”
“Come on, anybody who talks to Wharton more than ten minutes has got to be an asshole. And giving Corncob our lawyer slots for admin.? I still can’t believe it. What are we going to do?”
“What’s the choice? We do our jobs, the best we can. Or get the fuck out, like Jack Conlin.”
“Conlin’s leaving?”
“Are you serious? He had a job lined up with Whitman Brady about twenty minutes after the governor announced Bloom. I figure a quintupling of his current salary the first year. He’ll cry all the way to the bank.”
“Yeah, but Jack Conlin defending skells? Yecch!”
“But very high-class skells. Hey, Jack was always out for number one. If he can’t have the power, he’ll have the coins. Oh, well, if I had Jack’s rep, I’d be off too. Christ, if I had his hair I would. What about you? You figure to stay?”
“Me? I hadn’t thought about it much. I guess I’ll stick around. It might be interesting.”
“I can guarantee that, kid,” said Gelb.
They agreed to meet later in the day to discuss the details of Karp’s new job. Gelb left and Karp rode down to the snack bar for a coffee and a greasy doughnut to go. He entered the elevator to ride up to six and begin cleaning out his Homicide Bureau office. Someone said, “Hold it!” Karp pushed the button like a good citizen and Joe Lerner got in.
“How did you like your new boy, Karp?” Lerner asked.
“He’s not my new boy, Joe.”
“Oh, no? I would think he might be favorably disposed to the guy who iced the competition. I’m sure that will be brought to his attention. I mean Wharton and Mr. Twentieth Century there are going to need a fucking lawyer on the team, and you, whatever else you are, are a lawyer.”
The elevator doors opened. Lerner moved to get out, but Karp blocked his way. The automatic door went ka-chunk, ka-chunk against his shoulder.
“Piss on all that, Lerner! I don’t give a damn what you think about me or what I did. I presume you’re acting bureau chief now that Conlin is out. Congratulations. I would like to see the acting bureau chief sometime today to discuss a number of cases I have been working on, since despite the recent tragic events I believe we are still in the business of putting asses in jail, ever more efficiently, of course. Now, how about it Mister Lerner?”
Lerner glared at him for a couple of beats, then pushed past Karp into the hallway. “Call the girl and set it up,” he snapped.
“Maybe I should get out of this too,” said Karp.
“Oh, bullshit!” replied Marlene Ciampi. Karp was sitting in her old wooden swivel chair in her tiny office in the walled-in hallway, and Ciampi was sitting cosily in his lap. It was about seven o’clock that Monday evening. Karp had just finished telling Marlene about his day, and was feeling mildly sorry for himself.
“Why is it bullshit? Move your ass, you’re squashing my keys into me.”