Tower of Babel

by Michael Sears

  “That’s the last,” Lester said.

  The clock over the bar read 3:40—ten minutes fast but reliably so. “Quitting time,” Ted said. He thought about getting a beer but decided to wait for his partner’s sake. Lester maintained that he earned a five-day sobriety chip every week, and as soon as the sun set on Friday he celebrated each milestone. But never before.

  “They should be along soon,” Lester said.

  “Showtime at 4?” Ted asked, though he didn’t need a reminder. “Today is special.” The events of twelve months earlier were as present as yesterday, today, and tomorrow. And the next hour or so was going to be tough.

  “Nothing to celebrate before sundown,” Lester said.”

  The front door swung open, ushering in Kenzie and the Preacher. Ted’s day brightened immediately.

  “My favorite clients,” he said, waving them over. Kenzie grinned happily when she saw him. The only thing different about her was her hair. She was letting it grow out again, but it would still be months more before she would once again have that flaming wild mane.

  “Your only clients,” Lester said.

  “Sad but true,” Ted said with a laugh. Suing developers, contractors, engineering firms, and numerous agencies and departments of New York City on behalf of various community organizations—all cases unearthed by Kenzie, the Preacher, or other kindred souls—constituted exactly 100 percent of Ted’s legal business outside of his partnership with Lester. It kept Ted busy.

  They made room in the booth, and Lili came over to deliver drinks. “A Stella for the lady, two Diet Cokes, and a Miller Lite for the Preacher. Have I got it right?”

  “Thank you,” Ted said. He took a sip of his soda and hid his grimace. “And if you would be so kind, can you turn on the sound on the television and put on NY1? There’s breaking news coming in a few minutes.”

  “Right after this song,” she said.

  “It’s Aretha,” Lester explained. “You don’t turn off Aretha.”

  Ted bowed to this pronouncement, and they listened through to the end of “Rock Steady.”

  “Very nice,” Ted said.

  Everyone else burst out laughing. “I’m afraid you are hopeless,” Kenzie said, but she took his hand under the table and gave it a squeeze. “Are you okay with this?” she asked with a nod to the television.

  Her voice had its usual effect on him. Hormones flooded his system. “Ready as I’ll ever be. How about you?”

  “I can bear it,” she said.

  The music stopped. The clock ticked to 4:10. The television picture cut away from the studio to a sunlit scene in Queens. A group of smiling men and women in business dress faced the camera. Three men in the center held gold-colored shovels. Ron Reisner, the governor, and Councilman Kevin Pak.

  “Where’s the mayor?” Lester asked.

  “Not invited,” Kenzie said.

  “He lacks faith,” the Preacher said.

  “He doesn’t take Reisner money,” Ted said.

  On the screen the governor stepped forward and began by thanking everyone who helped to get the project to the point of groundbreaking. It was quite a list.

  “Can we do this without sound?” Lester said. “This is painful enough.”

  Lili turned the radio back on and fiddled with the television remote. The governor was still talking, but now his words were scrolling in closed caption across the bottom of the screen. He finished speaking and the camera pulled back and swept over the beaming faces.

  “Do you see Cheryl?” Kenzie asked.

  Ted shook his head. “They don’t want her anywhere around. Last I heard, she left for Hawaii the day she got out. And she’s not coming back.”

  Ted recognized two senior partners from the law firm, as well as Cornelius Fitzmaurice.

  “That’s the grandfather, right?” Kenzie asked.

  “Yup,” Ted said.

  “Nasty old son of a bitch.”

  “Yup,” Ted said. “But he keeps his word. He got a green card for Anora.” And the nasty son of a bitch had kept his other promises. So had Ted. He’d sold a little piece of his soul for Anora, for Lester, and for Kenzie. And they could never know. He had traded his silence for their welfare. He wasn’t particularly proud of this, but he was content. It had been the best deal he could get.

  “Anora who?” Kenzie asked.

  “A friend,” Lester said. “She did us a solid.”

  This seemed to satisfy Kenzie, though Ted felt a penetrating look from the Preacher.

  The camera zoomed in on Councilman Pak, who spoke about the immediate benefits to Queens, all of which were economic and most of which would not be realized for a decade or more, if ever.

  “It’s not even his district,” Kenzie said. “My God, he’ll take any chance to get in front of a camera. Why the hell isn’t he in jail?”

  It was, by this time, a rhetorical question. Without testimony from Cheryl or Jackie, there was no case against Pak. You could read all about his malfeasance on anonymous blogs, but no mainstream news outlet would touch the story. Neither would any prosecutor. Yet, Ted reminded himself. Yet.

  Ron Reisner’s face filled the screen. He, too, loved the television, but in his case the television loved him back. Having seen him in person at court appearances, Ted was always surprised at how charismatic the man was on the screen. In person, he always looked stressed and rushed, even when he wasn’t. His skin had the pallor of a vampire’s, and his gleaming bald pate showed odd bumps and wrinkles. On television, he glowed.

  “He looks good,” Ted said, “for a guy who almost died last year.”

  “He’s wearing makeup,” Lester said.

  “He has to; otherwise, all could see he is a demon,” the Preacher said.

  “I’ll give an ‘amen’ to that,” Lester said.

  “By their fruits, you will know them,” the Preacher said.

  Ted was now only half paying attention. He was looking for Jacqueline Clavette—and she wasn’t there. As far as he could determine, no one had seen her since the shooting. He had phoned Jill repeatedly in the first weeks after, but she would not take his calls. Finally, he’d realized that she had blocked his phone, so he had called her on Lester’s. She answered but hung up the moment she heard Ted’s voice.

  Jill had given him a single directive—to keep her Jacqueline safe—and he had failed her. There weren’t words in any language that could heal the wound that had caused. Ted felt a whole lot less guilt over this than he had imagined he would. Jackie had created her own bad karma.

  Reisner finished speaking and flashed $50,000 of dentistry at the camera.

  “What did he say?” Lester asked. “Was anyone paying attention?”

  “Who cares?” Kenzie took a long slug of beer. “None of these guys will ever mention the real cost—a whole community torn apart, lives disrupted or shattered, people homeless. The lucky ones will survive by paying more for less and living with a two-hour commute.”

  “Amen to that, too,” Lester said.

  The camera backed off again, framing the three principals as they put the golden shovels to the ground. On cue, the three men plunged the blades into the earth, and Ted felt his stomach muscles tighten, as though he had been stabbed.

  The onlookers applauded and the screen cut back to the studio. The show was over, but the replays would be on the evening news on every local channel. The governor’s aspirations to higher office would ensure the scene would be repeated on national news as well. Ted felt sick.

  “I need a drink,” Lester said. “What time is sunset?”

  “Not for four hours or so,” Kenzie said.

  Lester thought for a moment. “I’ll wait.”

  The Preacher placed his empty glass on the table and rose. He sighed with a weariness that startled Ted. “So, what do we do now?”

 
“Nothing,” Kenzie said. “We’re done.” She sounded crushed. Ted saw the exhaustion and despair in her face. She had lost before—it was practically part of her job description—but this one hurt. This one had become personal—for all of them. They’d put their lives on the line. She turned to Ted. “We’re done, aren’t we?”

  “Ask me tomorrow.”