Extreme Justice (28 page)

B
EN MET CHRISTINA
back at the office and provided her with an update on his day. Afterward, they stopped by Ri Le’s for takeout and headed back to Ben’s place.

As they stepped inside the main corridor of the rooming house, Ben saw the light on in Mrs. Marmelstein’s apartment.

“Looks like she’s still up,” Ben said quietly. “I’d better check on her.”

“Couldn’t we eat first?” Christina implored. “My tummy is crying out for Szechwan noodles.”

“In a minute.” He knocked quietly on the door. “Mrs. Marmelstein? It’s Ben.”

“Come on in.”

He entered the small apartment, Christina close behind. Mrs. Marmelstein wasn’t in the living area. His nose told him to turn the corner, pass the Reader’s Digest Condensed Books and the twenty-four volumes of the Warren Commission Report and enter the kitchen.

“Fixing a late-night snack?” Ben asked.

She looked up, her face a mixture of dismay and despair. She was wearing a blue print dress, but the dress was overlaid with her underwear, all balled up and backwards. She was wearing socks with sandals. Her lipstick was a thick red smear across one side of her face.

“I just wanted a little breakfast. But I can’t get these fool eggs to scramble. I put in the milk and I stirred and stirred. I don’t understand it.”

Breakfast? It was practically bedtime. Ben took a few steps forward and looked into the frying pan. He saw the mixed and stirred residue of three eggs, shells included. Small wonder the eggs wouldn’t scramble.

“Mrs. Marmelstein,” he said gently, “I’m no cook, but I think you’re supposed to throw away the shells.”

“The shells,” she echoed. Her voice was a wispy nothing, caught in the air then quickly swept away. “I—” She stopped, either unable or unwilling to complete the sentence. As Ben peered into her eyes, he saw the dawning of the realization of her mistake. And the utter humiliation that followed.

“You know,” Ben said quickly, “I hate it when that happens.” He lifted the frying pan off the stove and turned down the heat. “I must’ve done this a thousand times. Any more, I just stick to Cap’n Crunch.” He opened the cabinet under the sink and poured the sticky remains into the trash.

“Those were the last eggs I have,” Mrs. Marmelstein whispered.

“Tell you what, Mrs. Marmelstein. Christina and I picked up some Vietnamese on the way home. There’s more than enough for you, too.”

She shook her head sadly. “I couldn’t—”

“Please.”

“No, I mean it. I couldn’t. Too spicy for me.”

“Oh. Well, I think I have some eggs in my refrigerator. Why don’t you let me get you some, then I’ll come back and—”

“No,” she said, wandering out of the kitchen. “That’s kind, but all of a sudden I feel very tired.”

Ben nodded. She was sundowning, he realized. At times she could still be perfectly rational. But after the Alzheimer’s kicked in, she had no idea what she was doing. “Why don’t you let me help you get ready for bed, then?”

“No, no, that wouldn’t be right.”

“Or Christina could do it. She knows all those girl-things, don’t you, Christina?”

Christina forced a smile.

Mrs. Marmelstein drew a hand to her bosom. “Thank you, no.”

“I hate to leave you here alone. Did you call that number I gave you?”

She looked at him sternly. “Benjamin, I’m an adult, not a child. I do not need anyone to take care of me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but I still wish—”

“Benjamin, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get ready for bed.”

It was evident to Ben that his clumsy charity had served only to embarrass her. “If you need anything, call me, okay? You have my number. Or just let out a yell. I’ll hear you, I promise.”

“Good night, Benjamin.”

“Good night, Mrs. Marmelstein.” He escorted Christina to the door and left the apartment.

Ben noticed that Christina ate with great vigor, as usual, but didn’t speak a word to him, which was most unusual.

“Is something bothering you?”

She eyed him with great irritation. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know. Tell me.”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m serious. I don’t know what your problem is.”

“I’m worried about Mrs. Marmelstein.”

“So am I. So why are you being hostile to me?”

“She needs help.”

“I know that! I’m trying to find a home—”

“You know that isn’t what she wants.”

“She needs someone to look after her.”

“She wants you.”

The room fell silent.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Ben said finally.

“I do. It would be difficult. Incredibly difficult.”

“Impossible.”

“Pardon my French—”

“I always do.”

“—but that’s bullshit! Ben, she needs you! She wants you to help her.”

“I
have
helped her—ever since I moved into this place. I’m the only thing that’s kept her out of bankruptcy court.”

“I know that, Ben. But people’s needs change. Now she needs more.”

“What are you saying? That I should just give up my life so I can babysit my landlady?”

“You wouldn’t have to do it alone. Joni and Jami would help. Hell, even I would help.”

“I can’t do that. I have an obligation to the band. We’re going on tour in five weeks.”

“Well, I guess that settles it.” She jumped out of her chair with such force that it fell to the floor with a clatter.

Ben also rose. “This is ridiculous, Christina.”

“It is not ridiculous!” Her voice suddenly caught, startling Ben. “And if you weren’t so busy running away from yourself, you’d see that.”

“Christina …”

She turned away. “I wish you believed in angels,” she said quietly. “I wish just once you could close your eyes and ask someone to help you find the way. Because I know you’re a good person, Ben. I know you are. And I can’t stand watching you screw up like this!” She raced out of the kitchen.

“Christina—”

He had just started to follow her when they were both startled by a crash outside Ben’s door.

“That was on the stairs,” Ben whispered. Without another word, he raced out of the kitchen, crossed the living room, and threw open the door.

Lying at the bottom of the stairs was the broken body of Sheshona Marmelstein, socks in sandals, underwear on the outside.

B
EN FELT A NUDGE
on his shoulder.

“Ben. The doctor’s coming back.”

He batted his eyes and brought himself back around. As soon as they found Mrs. Marmelstein’s prostrate body at the foot of the stairs, Christina doubled back to dial 911 while Ben ran down to help her. There was not much he could do; she was unconscious, and given the awkward jumble of limbs he found in a heap on the floor, he knew better than to move her. All he could do was check her pulse, make sure she was breathing, and hold her hand till EMSA arrived.

The ambulance did arrive, in record time. Less than ten minutes later, she was wheeled into St. John’s, and the emergency treatment staff went into action.

That had been over six hours ago. He and Christina had been in the waiting room the entire time.

The doctor crossed the emergency room and held out his hand. “Are you the people waiting for Sheshona Marmelstein?”

“Yes,” Ben said, finding his feet and shaking the man’s hand. “How is she?”

“She’s stable,” he said. “In no immediate danger.”

“No immediate danger,” Ben repeated. “What does that mean?”

“It means that for the moment, you can relax. But some time in the next week or so, she’s going to need hip replacement surgery.”

“Is that necessary?” Christina asked.

“I’m afraid so. You have to understand—when a woman her age injures her hip, it’s extremely serious. Frankly, in most cases, it’s either fatal or the beginning of the end. In this case, I think we can bring her back around. But she’ll require surgery if she ever hopes to move on her own again. Even with surgery, it may be awkward and uncomfortable.”

“My God,” Ben said, covering his face with his hand. “Poor Mrs. Marmelstein.”

“What’s the prognosis?” Christina asked. “Assuming she has this surgery.”

“Above average, I’d say,” the doctor replied. “Of course, she’ll need a lot of help. She won’t be able to move at all for probably a month after the surgery, even if it’s successful. Someone else will have to be with her at all times.”

“How is she now?” Christina asked.

“She’s sleeping,” the doctor replied. “And probably will be for another twelve hours or so, thanks to the sedatives. She’ll come around this evening.”

“And then?”

He smiled. “Then I’ll talk to her about the surgery. See what she wants to do.”

“I’d like to be here for that conversation,” Christina said. She glanced at Ben. “We both would.”

“That’s fine,” the doctor said. “She’ll want to be with friends when she hears the news.”

Christina nodded. “We’ll be there. Is there anything else we can do?”

“No. You look like you’ve been up all night. Go home. Get some rest. I’ll see you again this evening.” He shook Christina’s hand, then left the waiting room.

Christina slumped down in a chair. “Did you hear what he said?”

“Yes. Including the part about getting some rest. Which I intend to do.”

She placed her hand on his arm. “Have you forgotten? We have an appointment with Mike this morning. Seven
A.M.
sharp.”

“Let’s call and cancel.”

“You promised him.”

“But I didn’t know I’d be up all night at the hospital!”

“Like it or not, it’s morning. We have work to do. And besides”—she hoisted him forcibly to his feet—“I want you to keep this appointment. It’s for your own good.”

He went out grumbling. “That’s what my mother said when she made me take tap dancing lessons.”

It took Ben thirty minutes to track down the South Side address Mike had given him. Sleep deprivation had undoubtedly reduced his mental agility. Eventually, he pulled his van into the parking lot outside the Culver Corners strip mall.

“So why did Mike bring us here?” Ben asked. “I don’t need one-hour Martinizing, and the video store doesn’t open for two hours.”

“Keep looking,” Christina advised. “End of the strip.”

Ben strained his eyes and read a sign decked out with Asian pictographs, dragons, and samurai warriors:
CHINESE BOXING INSTITUTE
.

“Now wait just a minute.” Ben took a step back.

“C’mon,” Christina said, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the door. “Mike’s expecting us.”

Inside, the school was more like an empty warehouse, with no notable decoration or furniture other than the wall-to-wall padded mats on the floor and mirrors on the walls. Mike was indeed waiting; he was chatting with a small, portly man Ben didn’t recognize.

Mike waved. “Ben! Good to see you.” He turned to make introductions. “Jim, this is Ben Kincaid. Ben, this is Sensai Papadopoulos.”

Sensai Papadopoulos? Ben stepped forward nodding; Sensai Papadopoulos bowed. He had deep-set eyes with heavy shadows, all masked behind a pair of aviator-style glasses. Tight pants, a shirt open to the navel, gold neck jewelry, and lifts. He sported a handlebar mustache and a Fu Manchu beard.

Turned out he even spoke with a clipped, no-
r
’s faux-Chinese accent. “Very pleased to meet you, Ben-san,” he said.

“Likewise, I’m sure,” Ben replied. He glanced at Mike. “What’s this all about?”

“I told you already. If you’re going to continue throwing yourself in the hands of thugs and serial killers, you need to learn to defend yourself.”

Ben grabbed Mike by the arm and pulled him aside. “You’re telling me you dragged me down here at seven in the morning so I could play Hi Karate?”

“Actually, Jim’s discipline is kung fu.”

“I don’t care what it is. I’m not doing anything with this clown.”

“Jim? What have you got against Jim?”

“Something my mother once told me,” Ben said, grimacing. “Beware of Greeks wearing lifts.”

Mike rolled his eyes and dragged Ben back to Sensai Papadopoulos. “Shall we begin?”

“No, we shall not.” Ben turned away. Christina caught one arm, Mike caught the other. “Both of you: leave me alone!”

“Perhaps the young grasshopper is not prepared to make the journey,” Sensai Papadopoulos suggested.

“He is, he is,” Mike insisted, yanking on Ben’s arm. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”

The Sensai nodded. “Sometimes the young duckling does not realize that the rushing waterfall is actually the stream leading home.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Mike pulled Ben close and spoke clipped terse words into his ear. “Ben, I want you to do this!”

“I don’t.”

“It could save your life!”

“My life is not going to be saved by this reject from
Kung Fu: The Legend Continues
.”

“Will you give him a chance? Jim used to be a cop, okay?”

Ben blinked. “He did?”

“One of the best, till he took early retirement and went into business for himself. Three-time intermural martial arts champ. Believe me, he knows his stuff.”

“Well …”

“See that sash across his waist?” Ben checked it out—a black sash with five white bands. “That’s not just a pajama tie he picked up at Sears. That’s a fifth-degree black belt.”

“Well …”

“See the embroidery on the back of his shirt?”

Ben made out the intertwined letters. AKMF. “American Kung Fu Masters Federation?”

“As it turns out, yes,” Mike answered. “But when he was on the force, we all thought it stood for Ass-Kicking Motherfucker.” His eyes darted toward Christina. “Pardon my language.”

She fluttered her eyelids. “Pretend I’m not here.”

“You get the drift? He’s good.”

“All right, all right,” Ben pushed himself free. “Relax with the strong-arm tactics. Just let me breathe for a minute.”

Mike nodded toward Sensai Papadopoulos. “Okay. I think we’re ready to begin.”

“Is the young grasshopper ready to seek the path to enlightenment and self-discovery?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mike said. “Just teach him how to deck somebody, okay?”

The Sensai bowed obediently. “Perhaps we should begin with some historical background.”