Karp had to admit it was smoothly done. He met Reedy's eye and saw once again that amused twinkle. What Reedy had said made a certain amount of sense, given the information Karp now possessed. Besides that, he had realized (somewhat to his surprise) that he wanted Reedy to see him as a reasonable man. He nodded and said, "Sure," and so did Manning.
That essentially wound up the meeting, except for some administrative details. Karp left Hrcany to deal with those, and went out to wait for the elevator. As he watched the lights, he felt someone come up behind him. It was Reedy.
"That was quite a performance," Reedy said. "Do you have the whole Constitution by heart, or just the Bill of Rights?"
Karp grinned and replied, "Still working on it. I think you might've been the only guy in that room who got the reference, God help us."
"I'm afraid you're right. Sandy, dear man that he is, is something of a dim bulb in the legal firmament. And he does go on!"
The car arrived and they stepped in. Karp said, "I'm surprised you think so. To hear him talk up there, you're like his closest friend."
Reedy laughed lightly. "Anybody Sandy is with at the moment is his closest friend. He likes to be liked. As for me, I agree with Moliere, 'the friend of all the world is not to my taste.'" He paused. "Nor to yours either, I've been told."
"Yeah? Let's just say that the district attorney and I have had some professional differences over the years."
"He's no Phil Garrahy, that's for sure," said Reedy sadly.
"Who is?" Karp replied, recording, as he was meant to, that Reedy was one of the select group who had known that Francis Garrahy liked his friends to call him Phil. The elevator door opened. Karp turned and extended his hand. "This is my floor. Nice meeting you, Mr. Reedy."
Reedy returned the handshake warmly and then placed his finger on the door-hold button. Karp paused in the elevator doorway. Reedy said, "I'll tell you what-Butch, is it?-I'd like to buy you lunch. We can talk about the Constitution and other things of mutual interest. How about tomorrow, noon?"
"OK," said Karp after the briefest pause, intrigued by what had turned out to be an odd twist to the morning's doings. And at least Reedy hadn't said "Call my girl."
"Is the Bankers' Club all right?" asked Reedy. Karp was about to make a smart remark, when someone hailed him from the corridor. It was a small fat man of about forty-five, with a sallow homely face, big ears, thinning black curls, and a mouth of prodigious width from which stuck the stump of one of those dense black cigars known in the city as guinea stinkers. He was wearing a red tie and red suspenders that strained to their limit against the hard gut that protruded over his belt line. Numerous reddish stains specked the white acreage between his tie and his suspenders.
"I'll be there," said Karp to Reedy, who smiled again and released the door. To the fat man he said curtly, "What is it, Guma?"
Guma waggled his hand as if it were loose and hanging by a thread from his wrist. "Ooooh! He's got the rag on today! What happened, another tiff with our glorious leader, the scumbag?"
"You got spaghetti sauce on your shirt, Goom," said Karp. The transition from trading quips with Richard Reedy to kanoodling around with Raymond Guma was proving hard for him to handle. Was he just a hair embarrassed about Guma? Was there something mocking in Reedy's farewell smile?
"It's marinara sauce and I wear it like a badge of honor," replied Guma, lifting his chins proudly. "You're marrying a guinea, you should get used to it. Who was the suit on the elevator?"
"Guy named Reedy. The scumbag, as you call him, has him working on these drug killings, some cockamamie task force. Interesting guy, by the way. He's buying me lunch."
"Yeah? He's gonna eat pizza off the truck?"
"Uh-huh. I'm gonna see if he'll spring for two slices with pepperoni. Let him show a little class."
"Ah, these white-shoe types are all dick-heads. You know, you shouldn't be seen with guys like that. People might start thinking you're selling out."
Karp looked pointedly at his watch. "Thanks for the advice, Goom. You wanted to see me about something."
"Yeah, speaking about fucking Italians. Petrossi fishtailed on us."
"What! When was this?"
"Hearing this morning. We had it worked out he would plead guilty on the intentional murder charge and we'd drop the felony murder charges for the other two guys who were killed at the scene. Now he says he wants a trial. I guess he got to thinking why take fifteen, twenty in Attica for free. He could be in there a real long time if we convicted him on all three counts, but he could also beat it entirely and walk."
"Not a fucking chance!"
"We think so, but there's no law against the asshole betting on the come. That's what makes Vegas. Meanwhile…"
"Yeah, we got a trial we didn't expect. But you should be in good shape-you're prepped and all."
Guma inspected his feet and said hesitantly, "Yeah, that's what I wanted to see you about. I'm really strapped here, Butch. I got the Rubio Valdez trial, the world-famous burglar and amateur lawyer wants his twenty-third trial. I got that abduction thing from Washington Heights, I got to go on the appeal in Bostwitch-"
"Goom, what is this shit?" Karp cut in. "This is a multiple homicide. It's your case. The kids can handle fucking Valdez."
"Um, and also there's the judge in Petrossi. Judge Kamas."
"Who? Oh, yeah, the new one they got to replace Birnbaum. What's wrong with her?"
"Nothing, but… ah, there's a conflict, with me. I mean, I know her."
"Yeah, she's a judge, of course you know… Oh, you mean outside. She's a friend of yours?"
"Ehhm… somewhat more."
Slowly Karp's eyes widened and he placed his hands carefully over his ears. "I don't want to hear this, Guma."
"Butch, it was fate. How the fuck was I supposed to know she was going to be moved into Supreme Court? She was a Family Court judge. We met in a restaurant, for Chrissakes."
"I can't believe this. You're schtupping the judge in Petrossi. But now she knows you're her ADA. What'd she say?"
"Well, to tell the truth, she doesn't know. That's the point. That's actually why I can't do the trial. Look, it's a long boring story…"
Karp casually wrapped a long finger around one of Guma's suspenders and said, "Bore me, Mad Dog, I think I need to hear it."
"Butchie, believe me, someday we'll laugh about this whole business. Anyway, the thing of it is, we met in this restaurant, we fell into this conversation about her kid's teeth-she's divorced, right?-a common interest there, and I was giving her all this advice because of what I went through with my kid's teeth. I mean, did you ever see her? Kamas? Forty years old, but a terrific body, you know?
"Anyhow, we were making good progress, a couple, three drinks, and then she says, gosh, you must be an orthodontist, and-so help me, Butch, I didn't think-I pulled out this card I happened to have on me and gave it to her. Yeah, I am an orthodontist, ha-ha, et cetera, et cetera. So she thinks I'm him."
"Who, Guma?" asked Karp, fearing he already knew the answer.
"Well, remember when Marlene was nice enough to refer me to her brother John…?"
"Oh, that's a relief!" said Karp, his hands clenching stiffly before him, his voice rising. "There's no problem, then. You're fucking the judge in what is probably the most famous and press-ridden murder case in the last six months, and you told her that you were my future brother-in-law. It's perfect. Guma, just tell me one thing: most guys only got one cock to worry about. How come I got to concern myself with yours?"
Guma said, "C'mon, Butch, that's not fair."
"No, you're right. My apologies. I'll calm down in about a fucking week!"
"So I'm off the case?"