Falls the Shadow

by William Lashner

  “And the investment?”

  “That came later.”

  “When?”

  “Just before you got François that new trial. Velma came to me, said someone might come around asking questions. She asked, she begged me to keep my mouth shut. I told her I was having financial troubles. She said she would get me some cash flow for the club if I would just keep quiet. So I agreed.”

  “And you’ll testify to all of this?”

  “I’m not going to lie on the stand, Victor. How do you think I’d do in jail?”

  “A rat like you, Sonenshein. I think you’d do fine.”

  Outside, in the alleyway behind Marrakech, Beth hugged me hard, kissed me on the neck, and then spun away and did a little pirouette.

  “What are you so happy about?” I said.

  “Sunshine. What he said. We know who killed Leesa.”

  “Do we?”

  “Sure we do. It was that guy. Clem. He did it.”

  “I don’t know that he did anything. I don’t even know who the hell he is.”

  “Do we need all the details in order to make him a suspect?”

  “An actual name would help, but no. The story is enough.”

  “And isn’t this Clem the one thing we’ve been missing, another suspect?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then we have him, Victor. We have him.” She did another spin, a little pirouette like I had never seen from her.

  “Where did you learn that?”

  “Five years of ballet as a little girl. We have a real chance now. We’re going to win.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  “Oh, Victor. You always slight yourself. You’re a genius. I knew we could count on you. That stuff about the Japanese gangsters.”

  “The Yakuza.”

  “Is it true? Is Takahashi a Japanese gangster who will demand a finger for Sunshine’s mistakes?”

  “I would doubt it,” I said. “He went to Stanford.”

  She laughed, spun back to me, and hugged me again. “I have to go. I have to tell François. François will love the Yakuza story. It was brilliant, Victor. Purely brilliant.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It was, wasn’t it?” And I guessed right then that it must have been, because slipping under Sunshine’s oily sheen of composure and getting him to spill had seemed so easy, so damn easy it was scary.

  41

  The far-too-bright beige waiting room, the magazines laid out in perfect rows, the overhead fluorescent lights, the incessant Muzak, the hall of fame of perfect smiles, the perky young woman behind the desk, with her daunting cheerfulness, her gleaming teeth. Just being there gave me the skives, and I wasn’t even scheduled to be in the chair that day.

  “Hello, Mr. Carl,” said Deirdre, the receptionist. “It’s so good to see you this afternoon, but I wasn’t aware you had an appointment.”

  “I came to check on Daniel Rose. I’m a friend of the family.”

  “Daniel is in with the doctor right now.”

  “No screams of agony yet?”

  “We never hear anything out here,” she said without a hint of irony. “The door is soundproof.”

  “Why do I find that weirdly upsetting?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Carl. Daniel’s mother is sitting over there if you want to speak to her.”

  “Thank you,” I said

  Julia Rose, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, was sitting motionless in the corner, legs crossed, arms crossed, head tilted as if deep in thought. It showed just how little I understood about her that I had no idea what she might be thinking, or whether she was thinking anything at all. Heretofore I had seen her as someone whom we needed to get to do this for her son or that for her son, an obstacle to the proper care and feeding of my young client. I had thought of her as the problem without much considering that she might have problems of her own.

  I sat down beside her. “How are you doing, Julia?”

  Without looking up at me, she said, “I’m trying not to cry.”

  “He’s a brave kid. He’ll come through it fine.”

  “I know. I’m not worried about him in there.”

  “Then what is it?”

  She turned her pretty face to me, the skin beneath her eyes dark with worry. “Do you care? Really?”

  Before I blurted out the yes, I thought about it for a moment. Did I care about her, or did I just want her to get on with it, to do the right thing so that Daniel could wind up with half a chance in this world and I could get back to the petty concerns of my own petty life? She wasn’t my client, my responsibility, so did I care? Really?

  “Yes,” I said finally, surprising myself. “Strangely enough, I do.”

  “I know I’m not the best mother in the world. I try, I do, Mr. Carl, but I’ve never had enough to do all I wanted to do for my boy. And I’ve never known enough neither. But I love him. I do.”

  “That might be true, Julia. But sometimes love alone isn’t enough.”

  “I know that, but I’m trying. Except sometimes there are things too big to handle. They’re just there and they grow worse and there’s nothing you can do. My life has been like that since I was in grade school. I just knew it wasn’t right, but there was nothing I could do about it except go along and take it. And everything happened for the worst, just like I was sure it all would.”

  “It’s okay, Julia,” I said, putting an arm around her shoulder. She was crying now, crying softly, I could feel her sobs in my arm and chest, and I sensed it wouldn’t be okay. But what the hell was I supposed to do about that? “We’ll get through all of this.”

  “No, it’s not like that, Mr. Carl.” She pushed herself away from me, wiped her nose with the front and back of her hand. “Daniel’s teeth. I knew they was a problem. First they was perfect and white, and then they started turning black. But what was I going to do about it? When was there anything bad I could do something about? So I didn’t want to tell anyone or show anyone. But every time I looked at his teeth, it broke me up. And embarrassed me, too. Which was why I wouldn’t take Daniel to the doctor. I knew the looks I’d get, the lectures. I been lectured all my life about everything I ever done wrong. But never about the wrong that was done to me. And them teeth turning black, it wasn’t my fault, it was just the way his teeth was. Like the way the world is. And because of that, I figured there was nothing I could do about it. But now…”

  “They’re going to be fine. Dr. Pfeffer is going to fix them.”

  “I know,” she said. “I know. It’s like this hole in my heart has been filled. Thank you so much, Mr. Carl. Thank you for caring about Daniel. Thank you for finding Dr. Pfeffer. He must be like a saint.”

  “Just like,” I said.

  “I am so relieved. He’s going to be fine, my little Daniel. Perfect again. Something worked out after all. That’s why I’m crying. That’s why.”

  “Okay.”

  “It gives me hope, you know?”

  “That’s nice to hear. I’m really glad. But, Julia. There is something I have to ask you.”

  “Anything, Mr. Carl.”

  “I want to show you something.”

  I took out a piece of paper, a signed document with an official stamp at the end and handed it to her. She looked at it, turned it over to see if there was anything on the flip side, turned it back, started to read it.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s an order, Julia, from the judge. It appoints me to be the lawyer not just for Daniel but also for Daniel’s sister, Tanya.”

  A stillness descended after I said the name, as if a barrier had been broken and there was nothing but silence on the other side. I didn’t know what would happen then, whether I’d lose her right there, lose her for good. I didn’t know if she’d refuse to say a word and then take Daniel, with his newly fixed teeth, and disappear. I didn’t know, and Tanya’s fate seemed to tremble in the balance.

  “Tanya is Daniel’s half sister,” Julia said after a long pause.

&nb
sp; It was a start. And I don’t think she would have answered me the day before. She would have run. But she said that Daniel’s getting his teeth fixed had given her hope, and maybe that slight glimmer of hope was what prompted her to answer. Because maybe, along with the hope born out of the new possibilities for Daniel’s teeth, she suddenly found some hope for the missing girl, too.

  “How old is she?” I said.

  “She’ll be seven next month.”

  “I need to see her, to meet with her. She’s my client now. So, Julia, I need to know. Where is Tanya?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How do you not know?”

  “Now you’re going to lecture me.”

  “No lectures, okay. I promise.”

  “I’ve tried to be a good mother. I tried so hard. I just did what I thought was best for both my children.”

  “Julia, try to answer my question. What happened to Tanya?”

  “I gave her away.”

  “To whom?”

  “A lady in my old neighborhood. A fortune-teller name of Anna.”

  “Why did you give Tanya to her?”

  “She said she could take care of her. She said she knew a place for her.”

  “No, Julia. Why did you give Tanya away?”

  “Because Randy told me to. He didn’t really like her much, and he said it would be better for all of us, Daniel especially, if she was with some other family.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He didn’t like having a little black girl following us around. She had a different father than Daniel, and he didn’t like having to explain to his friends why she was with us. He’s trying to move us to a better part of the city, but he said she wouldn’t like it over there.”

  “Is that what he said?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You need to tell me where this Anna lives.”

  “I don’t know exactly.”

  “Tell me what you know,” I said.

  After she gave me a vague description of where Anna might be, she said, “What are you going to do, Mr. Carl?”

  “I’m going to find her. I’m going to make sure she’s okay.”

  “And maybe you’ll help her like you’re helping Daniel?”

  “Sure.”

  “Randy said it would be better for both of them. Randy said it was the right thing to do.”

  “Okay, Julia. Thank you for your help.”

  “Stop looking at me like that, Mr. Carl. I’m doing the best I can.”

  “I know you are.”

  Just then the soundproof door opened and Daniel came out, his eyes red, his fists balled, followed by a smiling Dr. Bob in his green scrubs, his mask down around his neck. Daniel looked around, panicky for a moment, then saw us and ran over to his mother, jumping on her lap, burying his face in her neck.

  “It’s all right, baby,” she said, patting his back. “It’s okay, sweetie. Mommy’s here.”

  Daniel pushed himself away from her. His face was trembling, as if he were about to break into tearful howling, but that’s not what he did.

  What he did was smile. And the caps on his teeth glistened in the bright fluorescent light.

  Dr. Bob was still at the reception counter after Julia and Daniel left the office. He had given Julia printed instructions on caring for the caps, arranged a follow-up appointment, and sent them on their way. Now he was annotating the file.

  “Daniel’s teeth look great,” I said to him.

  “I got to him in the nick of time. A little more damage and there would have been nothing I could have done to save some of them.”

  “He seemed pretty happy. He actually smiled. Thank you.”

  “It’s good to do good, isn’t it, Victor?”

  “I suppose,” I said, and then I turned to face the door where Julia and Daniel had just left. “Although sometimes it feels like hell.”

  “The best things in life are never easy,” he said as he gave the file to the receptionist. “You’re going out with Carol again tonight, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, actually,” I said.

  Bob winked. “Have fun,” he said.

  42

  I am in the middle of sex with Carol Kingsly. Umm, yes, right smack in the middle. I didn’t realize that business was such an aphrodisiac, but when Carol saw me seal the deal with Takahashi, she decided it was time to seal the deal herself. And is it good? you ask. Well, tell me, is it ever really bad? Let’s just say it ain’t no root canal, baby. But this is something I’ve never before experienced. This, this is an out-of-body experience.

  So I am out of my body, sitting in a chair in the corner of Carol Kingsly’s Laura Ashley bedroom, watching myself and Carol Kingsly do our thing on her Laura Ashley sheets. It looks a little silly from over here, a lot like two awkward swimmers working on their butterfly strokes in a sea of tiny pastel flowers. And the sounds we’re making. Really now, kids, get a grip.

  But I’ll say this for her, my God, she is good-looking. Her pretty face, her silken hair, her body, which, I must tell you, is miraculous, as lean and lithe as the latest diet craze can make it, honed and toned by hours in the gym, as flexible as a soft pretzel through her yoga, yet still abundant where raw abundance is most appreciated. And it’s the real thing, let me tell you, yes, yes it is, or at least I think it is. And truthfully, between you and me—nudge, nudge—who the hell cares?

  I am the dog, aren’t I? What hot-blooded heterosexual man or homosexual woman would not want to trade places with me right now? Not a one, that’s who. And look at that move I just put on. The referee is awarding me two points for a reversal. I’m the man, I’m the king, step aside, Elvis. Quite the dog. So tell me, what the hell am I doing watching from the chair as the main event plays out on the bed?

  “Put your hand there,” she says in a soft purr. “Move your leg there. Yes, a little more. Ummm, good. Now move your elbow.”

  Are we having sex here, or are we playing Twister?

  Look at me up there, perched atop her, working hard to follow her instructions. Her expression is suffused with the sensual pleasures of the flesh, mine is diffused with the burdens of a piano mover. And frankly, I have to admit that from this vantage I look a bit ridiculous. My skin is pale, my muscles flaccid. And is that my butt or two skinny white Chihuahuas wrestling over a bone? But the pièce de résistance of my ridiculousness, the thing that truly embarrasses me about the whole mise-en-scène, is that I’m wearing the tie.

  Yes, the damn tie.

  It was her idea. We were rolling around, trying to rev up the moteur de passion, but there was something missing. Maybe my French wasn’t good enough, or maybe it was that I was trying to speak French in the first place, but somehow it wasn’t quite working. And then she made the suggestion. Who was I to say non? And she reacted with such gratifying enthusiasm to the very act of my tying it; she curled to every twist, moaned to every swish, stretched to her full naked length as I tightened the knot. Finally, when I crawled again atop her, she grabbed the yellow silk and pulled me close, and as we kissed, she tightened the tie until my throat constricted and I loudly gagged.

  And away we went.

  And was I into it? Hell yes. Well, just look at her. Who wouldn’t be? I kissed her jaw, her shoulder, her breast. One hand was rubbing her hip, the other gripping her thigh. You know, I’ve done this before. My fingers were tapping out mystical rhythms on her skin, I was riffing like a jazz master, I was into it. But when I tried to loosen my tie just a bit so I could, like, breathe, she stopped me. And when I caressed her shoulder, she pushed my hand to her breast. And when I bent down to kiss the ridge of her hip, she pushed my head to her belly.

  “Try this,” she said. “Yes, harder. No, not too hard. Just like that. Faster. Slower. Shift over. Watch your knee.”

  I was into it, yes I was, really into it, and then my arm started to get tired from this one repetitive movement that she seemed to like, and when I stopped, she said, “Don’t stop,” and when I
slowed down, she said, “Keep going,” and my arm started cramping, and next thing I knew, I was in the chair, watching. And let me tell you, all you Internet-porn jockeys riding your mice like the joystick of an F-16, watching is nowhere near as good.

  But there is one advantage to being in the chair; you have time to think. In the middle of the Sturm und Drang, your mind switches onto autopilot, but in the chair you can ponder the great questions of the day. Like, if French is the language of having sex and German is the language of watching sex, does that explain that last thousand years of European history? Or, if that’s not deep enough, then why is someone who looks like Carol Kingsly at this very moment having sex with someone who looks like me? And what was that wink Dr. Bob threw at me all about? Did he know I was going to get lucky before I did?

  Things are just going too fast, things seem just too peculiar. Dr. Bob had pulled my tooth, he was building me a bridge, and now he is getting me laid. On the whole, pretty damn good service, but still. And does any of this have any relation to the murder trial of François Dubé? I have a new suspect, a new theory, I am ready to try the sucker without a single reference to dentistry, yet still Dr. Bob is working mightily to curry my favor. All his little stories, his repeatedly saying that he just wanted to help, his gratis treatment of Daniel Rose, and now his setting me up in a relationship with Carol Kingsly that was almost fulfilling and had certainly turned sexual, all of it seems part of some message. And that message seems somehow connected to François. But how? Why? What is he trying to tell me?

  Uh-oh, something is happening on the bed. Ah, yes, it’s unmistakable. Look at the way her legs are stretching out, her toes are curling. Look at the way her jaw has tightened up. And my own face, I’m working so hard it’s a wonder my heart doesn’t give out right there. Things are coming to the proverbial head. But wait. She’s grabbing at my tie. The thin piece with one hand. The knot with the other. I’m working so hard there’s nothing I can do about it. And she has this twisted little smile. And suddenly she jerks the knot tight.

  Aaaaack.

  I’m back.