Anthony DePaul Copyright  2005 by Anthony DePaul

Chapter Sixteen

Nate Stern was a proud man, a warrior in the tradition of the Maccabees. Two hundred years before Christ was crucified, the Maccabees fought a populist war against the descendants of Alexander the Great to maintain their religious beliefs and their culture. The Greeks wanted to impose a Hellenistic culture on the Hasidim Jews. An army of farmers and peasants fought the Greeks and defeated them. Later they fought the Syrians and formed an uneasy peace with Rome. Underdogs, they won their battles against overwhelming odds. The little guys beat the establishment. They preserved their religion, their society and their dignity as a people under the banner of the Maccabees. It was logical that they’d form alliances with other disaffected groups to seek protection from the established order in turn-of –the-century America. The society melded into the social fabric and the political system.

Nate fought in the 1967 Israeli Six Day War against the larger Egyptian Army. Like his ancestors, Nate fought and beat the Egyptians, the Jordanians and the Syrians to maintain the very existence of the Jewish State. They destroyed the Egyptian air force on the ground. They stormed the Golan Heights and pushed the Syrians back to Damascus and the Jordanians to Amman. A man who believed in his people and his heritage could not turn his back on the Maccabean tradition of resistance.

Confronted by the truth about his son’s killer, Nate would have to react. He’d have to challenge ML. If Dorian could raise suspicion about Jerry’s murder, he could drive a wedge into the alliance between ML and Stern.

But ML too descended from a lineage of warriors and rebels. The Scottish Knights supported the Scottish uprising led by William Wallace, the Braveheart who led an army of “small” people that defeated the British in 1314 at the battle of Bannockborn and established Scotland as a separate nation. William Wallace’s words became their watchwords.

“Freedom is best, I tell thee true of all things to be won. Then never live within the bond of slavery my son.”

The three factions, Camorra, The Scottish Knights and the Maccabees all fought against the established order to maintain and promote their secret society. The Philadelphes were the glue that held them together. But if Dorian could set them at each other’s throats, the bond may break. Chaos may follow but at least the truth would come out. He decided the risk was worth the reward as he opened the door to Nate’s office only to be greeted once again by Nate’s hawkish secretary.

She peered over the top of her wire-rimmed glasses and pointed to the inner office door with her pen. She pressed a button. “Enter Mister Wilde. You’re expected.”

Said the spider to the fly.

Impeccably dressed in a blue, pinstriped suit, Nate sat forward in his chair. His desk was spotless. The austere office felt like a prison cell. “What do you want? Make it quick.”

Dorian straightened the picture of Jerry Stern. The bug was still in place. “I came here to tell you the truth though I am not sure you can handle it.”

Nate scoffed, “I can take anything you dish out. Spout your piece and get out.”

Dorian circled Nate. The longer he made Nate wait, the more he’d listen. “I’ve been in the cops and robbers business for two decades. I’ve studied tons of forensic evidence, listened to two years worth of surveillance tapes, and interrogated enough eyewitnesses to fill the Wachovia Center. In all that police work, I have learned that there is no such thing as an open and shut case. Tapes can be tampered with. Forensic evidence can be manufactured, Witnesses can be bought off. Anyone can be framed. The man accused of killing your son was framed. ML killed an innocent man in cold blood.”

Nate did not move an inch. He held the countenance of a professional “hold ‘em” poker player nursing a winning hand. “You’re a despicable piece of shit! You lie about my son’s death to scare me or humiliate me or for god knows what reason. I thought Hitler was a great liar! Get out!”

Dorian reached inside his pocket. “Here’s a copy of the police report. Don’t ask how I got it. Read it and then tell me how the perp put your boy’s ATM in his pocket without getting his fingerprints on the card. Ask the police why the forensics team never tested the perp for gun shot residue. Ask ML what he was doing in the area at the exact time of the shooting. Go ahead and read the report. I marked the pages with paper clips.”

Nate turned over the file. Slowly the visage of the grizzled soldier and hard-nosed businessman whitened into a gaunt mask. His hands shook as he finished reading the report.

Dorian planted both hands on the desk. “Here is what I think happened. Jerry was Hasidim. He believed in the traditions of the true Maccabees. He could not abide your sell out. He became a threat so your colleagues killed him and covered it by making it look like a random murder. They killed the black kid as a scapegoat. They faked the perfect crime and you swallowed it like a stuffed gefilte fish, you schmuck!”

Nate bristled, seething in rising rage until he boiled over. “Get out!!”

Dorian checked his watch. He hoped ML would be on time. The door opened as if on cue. ML’s torso filled the doorway. His eyes darted to Dorian and Nate and the report Nate held in his hand.

“What is going on here?” he asked. “Yer gal out there said she did not call me. Who did?”

“My secretary called. Nice of you to stop by,” said Dorian.

Dorian folded his arms so his right hand was inches away from his berretta.

“We are having an epiphany about the death of Jerry Stern. Tell daddy the truth. Tell him how his son died. Tell him your role in the play staged on the night Jerry died and how you got the glory for killing an innocent boy.”

“Liar!” shouted ML as he reached for his gun but Dorian was too quick.

He stuck the business end of the pistol under ML’s chin. “He is not acting like an innocent man, is he Nate?”

Nate sank into his chair. Defeat and fury and guilt weighed on him as his taut body went limp. His lips quivered. He lowered his eyes and broke into a muted chant in Hebrew.

Dorian backed away. The trap was set. “I’ll leave you boys to settle your differences.”

Nate pulled open the desk drawer. He aimed a twenty-two pistol at ML. “How could you do this? We are partners. We made a pact as brothers in the Triangle. We swore oaths to our gods.”

ML put his hands in front as though they could somehow ward off bullets.

“It’s a lie. He fabricated all of this. I tell you true man, I did not kill your son. I swear on the holy eight pointed cross.”

Dorian eased toward the door. “He did not kill Jerry. He was the Jack Ruby in the plot. He killed the dupe. My guess is that Talarico killed Jerry. He has the balls. ML only kills unarmed boys.”

Nate’s hand shook so badly Dorian feared he might shoot ML by accident.

“Get out ML,” said Dorian. “I’ll follow you. Ironic that I have your back, isn’t it?”

ML backed away. Dorian followed as Nate laid the gun on his desk. Nate’s wails echoed through the six-inch thick door.

“There’s the elevator. Haul your oversized ass out of here!” said Dorian.

The secretary opened the inner door and rushed in. Dorian stood in the hallway until ML got into the elevator. A week ago, Nate’s sobs would have bounced off him as though his internal mute button was on. But the cry of a father lamenting his dead child cut through him. He had to talk to Alice before he lost his unborn child.

He took the stairs down three flights and slid into a jammed elevator.

Safety in numbers.

Outside, he checked the street. ML sat in a parked car, a cell phone was in hand. The driver stood outside the car, a nasty scowl across his pock marked face.

Dorian blended in with the crowd and made his way to a coffee shop. He stopped in the doorway to call Alice.

“Hello, Dorian.”

“We need to meet. The city is about to explode. How about the Pirates Den in Brigantine at eight sharp? I’ll bring the wine.”

“Hold on! ML McLain just called. He accused me of giving you the case files. I denied it. I told him you probably hacked them from the City’s computers.”

“Smart move. Are you safe?”

“Perfectly. I want to see you at eight at the Pirate’s Den.. I want us to share a nice bottle of Chianti,” she said.

He wanted to reach through the phone and hug her. “Done deal.”

The cold air bit at her cheeks. She wondered if the child could feel anything. Could it sense the fear that ate at her insides? Through some primordial instinct, could the growing embryo loathe her for thinking of abandoning it to a clinic and sharp instruments before it took its first breath?

The twenty-two pistol clunked against the railing. She even carried it into the ladies room. Someone had to protect her when Dorian was not around.

The Jag pulled along side of the promenade just below her. Dorian exited carrying a brown bag in his arms. He looked like a husband who’d gone shopping.

“Hello down there,” she called out.

“You’ll catch a cold up there.”

“Join me,” she said. He hated cold weather. “Come on you sissy. It’s not that bad,” she teased.

Dorian scaled the steps like a man going to the guillotine.

“We have a warm restaurant and Chianti awaiting us,” he said.

She leaned against the railing as the wind swept her hair across her forehead. “But the ocean is here. Look at it. The darkness matches the sky. Van Gogh should have painted seascapes like this one. Then again, the night is too dark even for his brooding mind.”

Dorian put an arm around her shoulders. “There are stars in the sky,” he said.

Alice savored the scent of his English Leather cologne. “Not tonight. The air is pure and clear and I want a moment longer to taste the salt air before we go to dinner.”

Dorian pecked her cheek. “Damn. You’re so cold I am surprised my lips didn’t stick to you.”

She snuggled against him. “Would that be so bad?”

“No.”

They stood together for a few minutes. Her fear eased. Could the child sense the warmth of a life without fear or evil?

He put his free arm in her arm her. His hand touched the gun so he stopped cold. “Why are you carrying a gun?”

Alice started walking but did not pull away for fear that he’d sense she was lying. “It’s the twenty-two Dad gave me. If I get any more midnight callers, I’ll be ready for them.”

Dorian shivered as a vision of the videotape reeled through his mind. “We need to talk.”

Alice brightened as she sat at their favorite table, a two-seater in the corner. The restaurant was a converted home so it had a homey feeling about it. The main room was half filled with older couples that retired to Brigantine. She enjoyed the cozy, laid back atmosphere that life here was simpler, friendlier and safer. Over their first course of Caesar salads, Dorian recounted the meeting he’d staged between ML and Nate.

“You took a helluva chance,” said Alice.

“It’s not like I went all in on a bluff at Texas hold ‘em. I have more cards to play,” he said seemingly happy with himself.

So do I, she thought.

The waiter cleared the salads. The old bromide is to wait until after dinner for serious talk so Alice held off until the tiramisu arrived. The second wine bottle was nearly empty. The restaurant had cleared except for one older couple arguing over Bush’s social security plan. Alice watched their heated exchange end in a kiss and smiles. They were normal people with normal concerns not two gun toting neurotics gambling with their lives. Do I want to be like them?

“We have to talk about the baby,” said Dorian. “What do you want to do?”

Alice poured wine in her glass. Dorian looked so inviting yet so much like a man who liked living on the edge and whom dared you to bungee jump through life. He was no more a father figure than she was the matron of the house.

“We’d make lousy parents,” she said. “The poor child may be an orphan if you keep poking your finger in the ribs of murderers and maniacs. I don’t see myself changing diapers and breast feeding at six in the morning.”

Dorian turned to one side and crossed his legs. “We’d have to change. I can do it. So can you. Oh, I don’t want you to give up the Law. But I saw a pain in Nate today that I don’t want either of us to feel. Christ Alice. We have money brains and we love each other. The child will want for nothing. We can make it work.”

Alice planted her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her clenched fists. “We’d be dysfunctional parents at best.”

Dorian turned and grasped her wrists. “All families are dysfunctional. It’s only a matter of degree. What would your father have said?”

Alice recoiled as though he’d slapped her. “That is a low blow. Leave my dead father out of this.”

Dorian gently held her wrist. “We could name the baby after him.”

Alice yanked free. “You are contemptible!”

His brows knitted in three deep creases. “I am desperate. I want the baby. Have it and I will take custody. Please Alice. I have no past. Give me a future.”

Alice steeled herself against the pleading look on Dorian’s face. Outside, the ocean roared and the wind blasted the windows.

She needed to think. “I’ve got to go,” she said, rising but he pulled her down gently.

“Not yet. Give it some thought. After this affair is over, we’ll hash it all out. Think about the future. We can make it a better world by getting rid of the Philadelphes. I promise you I will change.”

Alice recoiled as if he’d slapped her. “Nobody changes,” she said. “I won’t do anything until I tell you first.”

He hung his head. “I guess that’s fair.”

This time he did not stop her from rising. “Good night and thanks,” she said. She threw on her coat.

Dorian pointed at the pocket. “Put the gun away. You can’t shoot anyone.”

She buttoned the coat tight. “You’d be surprised what even a bad mother would do for an unborn child.”

She rushed away leaving Dorian with a confused look on his face. A plan was forming in her head. He was right. The Philadelphes had to go and soon.

She entered the home safely. He was too wired to drive home so he parked and walked a block and a half to Downey’s Pub for a nightcap. The bar was filled as usual. The count down to Saint Patty’s day sign read fifty-five days. Many a night he and Alice sang at the upstairs piano bar. When this affair was over, he’d take her here for an old fashioned night of revelry. The brandy soothed his nerves. He declined a second.

Fatigue washed over him as he walked back to the car. His fear vanished, driven away by panic. Alice’s car was not in her parking spot. Frantic, he drove around Society Hill and then up to Rittenhouse Square. He ducked into Devin’s hoping she’d too had decided on a nightcap. She was not there. He walked through deserted Rittenhouse Park. He knew she would not be there among the sleeping homeless people huddled on cold benches, sleeping under newspapers but he had to walk, to think and to burn off the dread that she may be about to do something desperate. The bare trees swayed and yawned and creaked under the weight of winter wind and ice. He’d driven Nate to the edge. Maybe she and Nate were looking over the same precipice.

God forgive me.