Iris gave the old couple their change and moved over to take a seat across from Hanrahan.
She was, he thought, lovely. He knew she was older than she looked, that she was older than he, but she looked young and solid and good, and being with her made him feel calm.
"We were talking about Laio Woo," Hanrahan said, picking up a small, perfect square of pork.
"I remember," said Iris. She was dressed in a blue silk dress that was decidedly Oriental, the uniform of the Black Moon. "He does know my family. He… my father borrowed money from him to open this restaurant. Mr. Woo has demanded nothing for this but prompt and reasonable payment of the very low-interest loan."
"He never made any passes at you, nothing like that?"
"No," Ms said with a smile. "Mr. Woo is a very old man."
"Old men are not dead men," Hanrahan said, making headway on his rice.
"I have seen Mr. Woo maybe six, seven times," she said. "He has always been polite and distant. If Mr. Woo wanted women, he could have as many pretty young girls as he wants."
"Don't underestimate yourself," Hanrahan said, reaching over to take her hand.
It was smooth, delicate.
"Mr. Woo comes from a poor family in China," Iris said, looking down at the white tablecloth. "My father believes that he wants simply to be respected, acknowledged as the leader of the Chinese community. My father believes that Mr. Woo thrives on adulation and longs for respect. My father believes that Mr. Woo will never forget what he was as a child and fears to be as an adult. My father says Mr. Woo can be very dangerous."
"When are you going to marry me, Iris?"
"When would you like?"
"End of the month," he said.
Iris pulled her hand out of his and sat back.
"Because Mr. Woo has said you should stop seeing me, you suddenly want to marry?"
The kitchen door opened and Iris's frail father stood in the doorway in his apron.
"Not to spite Woo," Hanrahan said, though he knew there was a bit of that in his decision too. "I've had enough of being alone and I'm more at peace with myself when I'm with you than I've ever been in my life."
Iris's father didn't move. Though Hanrahan had lowered his voice, he was sure the old man could hear him.
"I think my father agrees with Mr. Woo," Iris said. "I think my father asked Mr. Woo to talk to you."
Hanrahan looked at the somber old man in the doorway.
"Don't be angry with my father," she said, touching Hanrahan's hand.
"I'm not," said Hanrahan. 'Td like to be angry at somebody, but I'm not. I'm clearly not Chinese. I'm a cop with a drinking problem and I keep strange hours, mope around, and disappear for days. He and Mr. Woo make a lot of sense. Will you marry me? I can quit and we can pack up and be out of Chicago in two weeks."
Mr. Chen turned and went silently back into the Black Moon kitchen.
"And we escape," she said, stroking the back of his hand.
"Something like that," he agreed.
"I will think about it," she said.
"I'd like to talk to your father," he said.
"Not a good time, William," she said, sliding out of the booth and glancing toward the kitchen.
He dropped a ten-dollar bill on the table but Iris reached over, picked it up, and handed it back to him.
"I'd rather pay," he said.
"Not in my house," she said, leaning over to kiss him.
The position was awkward as he sat but she did it gracefully.
"Can we go somewhere?" he said. "Maybe back to my house? We've got a lot to talk about."
"Not tonight," she said, touching his cheek. "I must be with my father."
"I understand," said Hanrahan. "Or at least I accept that I don't understand."
He was out of the booth now and reluctant to leave.
"Call me tomorrow, William," Iris said gently.
And Hanrahan made his way to the door and out onto Sheridan Road.
He stood for a moment and looked toward his car. He should go back to the house, maybe watch some television, do some paperwork. Sit sober and alone. He couldn't, not yet, not this early. He could go to a movie but there was nothing he wanted to see and he was sure he would fall asleep and snore.
Hanrahan decided instead to pay a late-evening visit to Harvey Rozier.
"I say shit, we forget it, man," said Albert Davis, slouching back in his chair at the rear of the McDonald's on South Shore Drive. "Why we wanna go all the way back uptown so far from our own turf? Somethin' go two farts in the wind and where we gonna run? Up on an el platform and wait for the Englewood B train with the cops all over us?"
"We go in. Take what we want We tape him up, shove him in a closet, something, and we go out, maybe catch a cab," lago Simms said, his left eye almost closed as he chewed on a double cheese.
It was a little after nine at night. The place was crowded, mostly with young people, all black, mostly making noise and laughing. Lonny, lago, and Dalbert hi a back booth had to talk above the noise. They didn't care who heard them.
"You out you fuckin' mind, man?" Dalbert said with irritation, looking at Lonny Wayne for support or direction. None came. Lonny looked cool, sat straight up, touched the brim of his White Sox cap, and went on eating the fish sandwich stuffed with trench fries. "What cab driver gonna pick up us? No white or nigger driver, that's for sure. And what we gonna do? Walk the streets with all kindsa shit, drugs what all, looking for a Chink driver?"
"We get wheels," Lonny said, looking over Dalbert's head at a girl who sat with two other girls and a boy. The girl was young, maybe fourteen, fifteen, chocolate skin, maybe Haitian, maybe Jamaican. He'd seen her around, thought maybe she was new in the neighborhood. She was sexy and wore a tight sweater she kept hitching up to be sure her big boobs showed.
"Shit," said Dalbert.
"Garages back on thirty-seventh, you know?" asked Lonny, catching the girl's eyes. She met his look for an instant, then turned and went back to her conversation. Lonny Wayne needed money to get a pretty girl like that. Hell, Lonny needed money to get any girl except Railroad Monique, and she was just a crazy bitch with all lands of teeth missing.
"Sure," said lago.
Dalbert shrugged.
"Bag Man Reno keeps his wheels in one of those little garages, big old Chrysler, couple years old maybe," Lonny said. "Bag Man's out of town. Heard it from my old man, heard him tell Jackson the barber."
"You sayin' what I think you sayin'?" Dalbert asked incredulously. "You wanna steal Bag Man Reno's car? Man, someone see us they tell for sure and we get our dicks cut off like that Bobbitt guy on TV."
"We be borrowin' the car," lago squealed, his half-sagging face pushed toward Dalbert. "Jus' borrowin', and we bring it right back. Ain't that the way, Lonny?"
"That's the way," Lonny said.
"When?' Dalbert said, resigned and reaching for a french fry as a sign that his rebellion was over.
"We take the wheels tonight," said Lonny. "Park 'em over in the hospital lot. Get it tomorrow, maybe three, four. Get the doc and wait till night to put Bag Man's car back."
"Ain't easy," said Dalbert, simply making conversation now.
"Ain't nothin' easy this world," said lago.
Lonny caught the girl's eye again, unsure of whether she was interested. Maybe she was just fascinated by the lightning bolt scar through his right eyebrow. Like Juanita. Just wanted to touch it and put her tongue in the space between his teeth. Juanita one dead junkie now. She had been a crazy bitch.
"What the fuck?" Lonny said and stood up.
"Where we goin'?" asked lago.
"Watch my ass," said Lonny, walking toward the three girls and the guy. He knew when he got close that he was right about them. They were talking funny, like French.
"Hi," he said.
All four looked up at him. They were all young, but the boy was a little older and his eyes said, I'm on somethin' heavy, don't mess with me. Lonny smiled, space between his teeth,
looking only at the pretty little girl. Lord, she had great big white teeth.
"I'm Lonny Wayne," he said, taking off his hat The girls giggled. "And who might you all be?"
"People who want they should be left alone," the young man said angrily.
"Be polite," one of the girls said. She wasn't as pretty or as big as the girl Lonny wanted, but she had a big red mouth. "I'm Martine. And this is Adrienne and Denise." So her name was Denise. "And this is Andre."
"Count Andre," the young man said. "Count of after you mess with me you better count your fingers. Now you introduced, how about you go back to your table before you're counting fingers?' "How about you talk nice? I ain't been saying nothin' wrong. Have I, ladies?" Lonny said with a grin.
"No," all three girls said.
A screaming and laughing heavy girl ran past, bumping into Lonny, who almost fell over the table into Denise's lap.
"You got a phone number?" he said.
The girl named Martine laughed.
"Hey, get the fuck out of here," said the count. "Don't be messin' with my cousin."
Lonny ignored him. The pretty Denise, who looked just as good up close as from across the room, nodded.
"Can't give it to you," she said. Great voice-and that accent. "My mamma doesn't want me to go out with boys yet. Says I'm too young."
"Not from where I'm standing," Lonny said.
The other two girls at the table whispered to each other and the count stood up, reaching for his pocket. He never got that far. Dalbert had the young man's wrist and lago stood with his back to the table showing something to the angry young man, something that made the count ease up.
"No hard feelins here, my man," Lonny said. "What say I pay for a round of burgers all round. And then we sit talkin', me and my friends, with you all for awhile?"
The count had no choice. He sat flanked now by Dalbert and lago.
"What you got?" Lonny said, standing up and fishing four dollars from his pocket. Dalbert coughed up two bucks and some change and lago found three dollars, mostly in change.
"Be right back," Lonny said and began making his way through the crowd to the counter.
No doubt now. He needed money.
And he knew where he was going to get it.
Unwelcome Visitors
When the doorbell rang, Abe had just settled in his bath with his book of crossword puzzles. On the floor in reserve, if he so desired, lay last Sunday's Tribune Magazine.
It couldn't be Todd with the kids. Barry had a key. Unless he forgot or lost it Lieberman got out of the tub, dried himself quickly, and put on his blue terry cloth robe. The doorbell rang insistently. He slipped on his battered slippers, a Hanukkah gift from Maish and Yetta, and hurried into the hall, across the dining and living rooms to the front door. The bell was ringing as he opened the door and found himself facing Rabbi Nathanson and a small woman. A fine rain was falling and the woman was wincing as if each drop was an acid assault.
"See," said the Camel triumphantly, "I told you. He's here. Lieberman, we have to talk."
With that, the rabbi and the woman, who looked a bit like a sparrow, pushed past Abe Lieberman. Abe had no choice but to close the door and turn to his guests, who were already choosing their places at the dining room table.
'This is my wife, Leah," said Rabbi Nathanson, holding out his long arm in the woman's direction.
She smiled politely at Lieberman.
"Rabbi, this is a bad time," said Lieberman, still standing and rapidly coming to the conclusion that anytime the Camel appeared at his house was going to be a bad time.
"A minute, a minute only," the rabbi said, removing the yarmulke from his head so that he could run a broad palm over his moist hair. "Even the Lord gave Joshua a minute.
Even the great Rabbi Eleazar could always spare a minute for anyone who sought his counsel or his company."
The rabbi's coat was partly open now and Lieberman could see that he was hi his pajamas.
"I don't want to be rude, Mrs. Nathanson," Lieberman said, avoiding the open chair near the table. "But I've had a long day and as you can see…," he said, looking down at his robe and slippers.
"You are a policeman," said Nathanson with a knowing nod of his head. "The stories you must have. The things you must have seen. We live in a world of chaos, in a time of violence. We need, our people need, salvation and comfort in the word of our God."
"Amen," Mrs. Nathanson said dutifully.
"Amen," said Lieberman. "Now, Rabbi, if you-"
"I wanted Leah to see this house, this perfect house, and I wanted to urge you to cash the check I gave you. Every day we delay is a day further from the realization of a new home, a much-needed home, for my congregation and my family."
"Rabbi," Lieberman said. "I have to talk to my lawyer."
"Why?" asked the rabbi, looking at his wife, who had no answer. "I'll pay your price. My wife will have no other house."
Mrs. Nathanson was, for the first time, looking around the room, at the walls, into the semidark living room, toward the closed door of the kitchen.
The sound of a key in the front door gave Rabbi Nathanson no pause.
'To be homeless is a curse of our people, Lieberman. Delay creates anxiety. Anxiety results in neglect of one's duties and places a burden on those we love and who depend upon us."
Lieberman's grandchildren, Barry, approaching thirteen, and Melisa, eight, stepped in with their father, Todd Cresswell, behind them.
Mrs. Nathanson smiled at the trio. The rabbi didn't seem to notice their arrival.
"Lieberman, who knows?" he said intently, leaning toward Abe, who stood dripping before him. "Who knows how much time God has given us for the work we are to do on this troubled earth? Do we delay over the obstacles of civilization heaped high with distrust?' "Rabbi, Mrs. Nathanson," said Lieberman, "this is my son-in-law Todd and my grandchildren, Barry and Melisa."
"We saw Beethoven's Second," said Melisa, who, Lieberman thought, looked exactly like her mother at the age of eight. Serious, studious, suspicious.
Todd, tall, with a handsome, lopsided face, cornstalk-straight hair, and rimless glasses, nodded at the Nathansons. Barry, who closely resembled his father, looked at Abe for an explanation of the presence of the night visitor in pajamas.
"Rabbi Nathanson and his wife are interested in buying the house," Abe explained.
Todd, whose hair was a rain-scattered mess, nodded and said, "Lisa's…?" Todd began looking toward the kitchen.
"Working late," Lieberman said.
Todd nodded.
"Do not pain a hungry heart," Rabbi Nathanson went on. "And do not anger a man who is in want. Do not increase the troubles of a mind that is incensed. And do not put off giving to a man who is in need. Make yourself beloved in the congregation, and bow your head to a great personage. Listen to what a poor man has to say and give him a peaceful and gentle answer."
"Rescue a man who is being wronged from the hand of the wrongdoer, and do not be fainthearted about giving your judgment," Todd said, looking at Lieberman.
Rabbi Nathanson turned in his chair to face the challenging presence of Todd Cresswell.
"The Wisdom of Sirach from the Apocrypha," explained Todd. "The rabbi left out a line."
"Todd's a classics professor at Northwestern," Lieberman explained. "Cresswell's his name. Greek tragedy's his game."
"The Apocrypha was written in Greek," Todd explained to Barry as if the assembled adults all knew this already.
"It's part of the Greek version of the original Jewish Bible. The parts not included in the final, accepted version of the Hebrew Bible are called the Apocrypha, the hidden or secret books."
"Your father was a rabbi?" asked Rabbi Nathanson.
"My father was a Methodist minister in Dayton, Ohio," said Todd.
Rabbi Nathanson, truly perplexed, looked to Lieberman for explanation and, finding none, said, "Lieberman, I must press you for a decision."
"Saint Bernards drool a
lot. Even in movies. Can I have some ice cream?" Melisa said.
"Yes," said Lieberman.
"I'll get some too," said Barry.
Melisa and Barry hugged their father and hurried into the kitchen, closing the door behind them.
Todd made no move to leave, so Lieberman said, "Todd and I have some things to discuss. So…"
"Open ye the gates, that the righteous nation that keepeth faithfulness may enter in," said Rabbi Nathanson.
"Isaiah," said Todd. "Houses clear in their right are given children in all loveliness."
"Numbers?" tried an obviously challenged Rabbi Nathanson.
"Aeschylus," said Todd. "Agamemnon."
"Rov," said Lieberman, "I think you've been outquoted."
"Ira, let's go home," Mrs. Nathanson said, rising and moving around the table to touch the arm of her husband, who was desperately searching his memory for a quote- Maimonides, Eleazar, the Talmud, Franklin Roosevelt. Nothing came. He rose, and his wife reached up to button his coat.
"We'll talk tomorrow," Rabbi Nathanson said as his wife led him to the door.
Lieberman followed, moving past Todd. He opened the door and ushered the Nathansons out into the drizzle. The tall, gangly rabbi stepped down the concrete steps, and his wife turned to whisper quickly to Lieberman.
"I'm so sorry. Ira has been… distraught."
"Leah," the rabbi called, moving down the narrow cement path toward the street.
Mrs. Nathanson turned and hurried to join her husband as gentle thunder echoed far away. Lieberman closed the door and turned back to Todd Cresswell, who was still facing the dining room.
"I was in the bath, Todd," Lieberman said, moving into the dining room to face his son-in-law.
"I'm sorry," Todd said. "Abe, I'm… I'm agreeing to the divorce."
Lieberman shook his head. Beyond the closed kitchen door Barry and Melisa were arguing about something.
"This doesn't surprise me," Lieberman said.
"I didn't think it would. By nature all men are shy and…"
"No," Lieberman said, holding up both hands. "No Sophocles."
"I was going to quote Euripides."
Lieberman's thief al-4 Page 9
