The Butch Karp and Marlene Ciampi Novels Volume One by Robert K. Tanenbaum

Author:Robert K. Tanenbaum
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2017-07-27T00:00:00+00:00

14

KARP WALKED HOME up Broadway that evening around half past five. The sky still held some steely light in the west, and traffic still roared in the streets. Usually when Karp went home, the streets of these commercial districts were deserted. No more late nights, he thought: from now on I’m a five o’clock shadow. He had even left his briefcase at the office.

Karp also continued to ponder Karavitch et al. and was troubled. He thought he had a reasonably accurate picture of the sequence of events that had led to the death of Terry Doyle, and of course he knew who had done it. What he still lacked was an understanding of motivation. And motivation was the key to this case. “The question is why?” Karp said aloud, banging his fist into his hand as he walked along, just another New Yorker talking to himself on the streets of the world’s largest open-air aftercare clinic. He stared in embarrassment and glanced furtively around. A man leaning against a wall with a flat pint of Orange Rock looked at him without interest. At least he wasn’t hearing voices. Yet. Suddenly he wanted more than anything to talk to Marlene. He cut right on Grand Street and walked over to her loft. Her window was dark and her two cats, Prudence and the immense and ragged Juris, were sitting on her front step, which meant she was out. Karp considered sitting down and waiting with the cats. Instead he kicked the wall hard enough to hurt his toe and frighten the cats away. Then he went to a lunch counter, where he purchased two leaden potato knishes and a can of Pepsi, and walked home.

At his door, Karp realized immediately that someone had entered while he was gone. The deadbolt was open and he could smell cigarette smoke. He felt a jolt of fear. Someone had tried once to murder him in this apartment, and that incident returned to his mind in all its hideous detail. Perhaps Flanagan had told someone about what he had told Karp, and about the Q and A. And someone had sent a hitman? Who left the place stinking of smoke? Who didn’t know enough to relock the door? No, it had to be some asshole snooper, one who didn’t expect him home until much later.

In a rage Karp ran through to the bedroom and kicked the door open. He burst into the room, with his fist cocked back next to his ear. From the bed, where she was lying, reading a Barbara Cartland, Marlene Ciampi said, “Put down that knish, big boy, I’m harmless.”

She giggled. So did Karp when he realized he was holding the uneaten pastry in his assault hand.

He let out a long breath and threw himself down full-length beside her. “My God, Marlene, I thought you were a prowler.”

“Yeah, you forgot you gave me a key.”

“True. I give out so many.” He examined the knish. “Hell, I could have hurt you. This thing must weigh thirty pounds.

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