Trap (9781476793177) (26 page)

“Down with racism. Karp's protecting Nazis.”

“Wow, we're apparently the only friends you have left,” Ewin joked.

Karp laughed. “And sometimes I wonder about you two.”

“Very . . . fuck you . . . funny,” Dirty Warren added.

The men ate quietly until Warren piped up with one of his movie trivia questions. “Okay, Karp, I got a good one . . . oh boy screw you asshole . . . for you,” he said. “Name the movie and the character who . . . whoop whoop . . . said this:
Well, when I was an attorney, a long time ago, young man, I realized . . .
oh boy whoop
 . . . after much trial and error that in a courtroom, whoever tells the best story wins. In unlawyer-like fashion, I give you that scrap of wisdom free of charge.
”

Karp patted his small friend on the shoulder. “That is a good one,” he said, “but not because it was particularly hard. It's from
Amistad
, the story of a mutiny aboard a slave ship in 1839 and the subsequent trial that was the beginning of the end of slaves being considered ‘property' and not human beings. The quote is spoken by John Quincy Adams, the former president, played by Anthony Hopkins, giving advice to the free black abolitionist Theodore Joadson, played by Morgan Freeman. Eventually, Adams gives an impassioned speech—the story he's referring to—before the U.S. Supreme Court that wins the case in favor of the abolitionists and slaves. Thanks, Warren, sound advice then, and now.”

Dirty Warren said nothing. He just smiled and closed his eyes as he turned his face up toward the sun.

KARP WAS STILL
thinking about the
Amistad
quote when he and Ewin again crossed Baxter Street and approached the side entrance. They'd almost reached the door when someone yelled.

“There you are, you fucking Nazi lover!”

A large bearded man in a tattered Army coat emerged from behind a Dumpster and started walking toward them. “I've been waiting for you, Karp,” the man shouted and raised a gun.

Karp felt himself shoved roughly to the side by Ewin, who stepped in front of him, gun drawn. “Drop the gun!” the officer yelled and aimed.

The bearded man stopped and let the gun fall. It made a sound as if it was made of plastic. “It's fake, just like you, Karp,” the man said just before Ewin tackled him to the ground.

Karp watched as other officers rushed up and helped Ewin subdue the faux assassin. When the man was hauled off, he walked over to Ewin and held out his hand. “Good work, kiddo. You can keep the job, permanent,” he said.

“No worries,” Ewin replied, his face turning red. “It was a toy gun.”

“You didn't know that when you stepped in front of me,” Karp pointed out.

“As my dear old mum used to say, ‘All's well that ends well.' I was just doing my job,” the officer replied. “Now, I believe you have a trial to attend, unless you want me to call you in sick?”

Karp shook his head and laughed. “I guess if you can shrug off thinking you were about to take a bullet for me, I can find my way back up to the courtroom and do my job.” He started to head for the door when Ewin spoke behind him.

“Hey, Mr. Karp, I appreciate what you do, too,” Ewin said. “Somebody's got to hold the line for the community, and I'm glad it's you.”

Something about the officer's comment seemed to return Karp's sense of calm.
Everybody in a healthy, functioning society has to do their job, and mine is to search for the truth and root out those who endanger the community,
he thought.
Time to refocus on this case
.

It wasn't that he would immediately forget about what just happened. But he had always been a first-class compartmentalizer, and the case, the courtroom, and the chase for justice beckoned him.

When Kenny Katz came rushing into the courtroom and found Karp calmly sitting at the prosecution table, going over his notes on his yellow legal pad, he exclaimed, “I just heard! Are you okay?”

Karp looked up. “Sure. Why wouldn't I be?”

Katz was a highly decorated former Army sergeant, but his jaw dropped. “I've been in combat,” he said, “and know what it's like to have a gun pointed at you. I'd still be shaking if that had happened to me outside.”

“Maybe it will catch up to me later,” Karp conceded. “But I don't have time for it right now. Is there anything you want to ask me about what we're doing here before the judge returns?”

Apparently the entire courthouse had heard about the incident with the bearded man because when Judge Rainsford returned to the courtroom he, too, was concerned. “Would you like to recess for the day?” he asked. “We can pick this up again tomorrow if you'd like some time to decompress.”

“Yes, boychick,” Mendelbaum chimed in. “Take your time. That had to be traumatic, ach, such a world we live in, my friend.”

At that moment, Karp happened to glance over Mendelbaum's shoulder and saw Olivia Stone looking at him. She alone seemed to be enjoying the news and sat with a smirk on her face. Their eyes met, and upon seeing her expression, his resolve hardened. “No, I'm good,” he said, still looking at her, only now he was the one who smiled. “I don't want to slow this freight train down.”

The smirk on Stone's face vanished, as did the anger and hatred that had been there throughout the trial. Instead, fear jumped into her eyes as the blood drained from her face. She turned away and pretended to be taking notes on a legal pad.

With that, the judge directed his chief clerk Farley to bring the jury in. Once they were seated, he told Karp to call his next witness.

“The People call Francis LaFontaine,” Karp said. He and the rest of the people in the courtroom turned to look at the back of the room, where the two swinging doors were opened by a court security officer. A pasty-faced man in a wheelchair appeared. He was either in great pain, or so disgusted by what he saw that his face contorted into a grimace as another officer pushed him into the courtroom and to the front of the witness box.

“Raise your right hand and swear after me,” Farley said.

Instead of raising his hand in the normal fashion, LaFontaine gave a Nazi salute. Seeing it, Karp's blood boiled. Earlier that morning, he'd met with the bar owner, who was none too happy about testifying. “I don't recognize the authority of the United Jews of America,” he had said.

“Be that as it may,” Karp had said, “I will remind you that you pleaded guilty to possessing a handgun and a sawed-off shotgun in New York City. If you testify truthfully, and don't give everyone a load of your Nazi crap, I'll tell the sentencing judge that you cooperated and that you told the truth. But if you want to play games, or you lie, and I'll know it, I will do my best to make sure you get maximum time in state prison.”

That put LaFontaine in his place at the time. Now he was acting up and Karp was angry. But Farley just gave LaFontaine a baleful look. “Do you promise to tell the truth, sir?”

For a moment, LaFontaine looked like he was going to spout off, but he half-glanced over his shoulder at Karp and seemed to think better of it. “Yeah, I'll tell the truth.”

“He's all yours, Mr. Karp,” Farley said, rolling his eyes.

“Thank you,” Karp said as he positioned himself in front of the jury, facing LaFontaine. “Mr. LaFontaine, do you belong to the American Nazi Party?”

“Proud, card-carrying member for more than thirty years,” LaFontaine said.

“As part of that group, do you look down on other races?”

“I believe in the separation of races and the inherent superiority of the white race.”

“Does that include a dislike for those of the Jewish faith?” Karp asked.

“Why sure. Anybody with half a mind knows that Jews are behind most of the problems in the world,” LaFontaine said. “Grasping, evil, half-human Jews are trying to establish a One World Order and subjugate everyone else, especially the white race, which they despise.”

“You are aware I am proud to be a Jew and that people like you I find to be repulsive.”

“Oh, I know that.”

“And therefore, you don't like me?”

LaFontaine's mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. “You're just another dirty Jew as far as I'm concerned.”

“Mr. LaFontaine, would you explain to the jury the reason you're in a wheelchair?”

“Yeah, a son of a bitch named Lars Forsling shot me,” LaFontaine said. “One bullet severed my spine so my legs don't work, and another tore up my guts so I have to wear a colostomy bag.”

“We'll come back to that event in a minute. In the meantime, as a result of the police investigation into the shooting, were you also charged with crimes?”

“Yeah, some real penny-ante shit,” LaFontaine replied. “Like some weapons charges?”

“You pleaded guilty to possession of a handgun and a sawed-off shotgun and agreed to testify today, didn't you?”

“That's right.”

“Were you offered any sort of ‘deal' for your testimony?”

“Hell no, 'cause I'm white,” LaFontaine said. “You'd have never even arrested a nigger for the same charges.”

“Were you told anything about your testimony today by me?”

“Yeah, you said if I tell the truth, you'll tell the judge who sentences me.”

“I believe you already told the jurors that you knew Lars Forsling?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“How did you meet him?”

“He started showing up at some of our meetings.”

“By ‘our meetings,' you're talking about meetings of Nazi party members?”

“Our little local group, yes.”

“And where did you have these meetings?”

“In my bar, The Storm Trooper, over in Hell's Kitchen.”

“Approximately how long had you known Mr. Forsling before the events that put you in a wheelchair?”

LaFontaine thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Six months, maybe a little more.”

“Could you describe for the jurors his personality and demeanor when you first met him?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, was he loud or quiet, shy or friendly?”

“At first he was kind of shy. But he warmed up pretty quick, especially when he started talking about how he hated niggers and Jews. That went over well with the rest of the boys.”

“Did he tell you much about his private life?”

“Not really. I know he lived with his mother somewhere over on the Upper East Side and got a job shortly before all this shit happened as a night watchman at some construction site within walking distance of where he lived.”

“Did his personality and demeanor change over time?”

“Yeah,” said LaFontaine who shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “A lot of our members ain't the brightest bulbs in the pack, if you understand my meaning. They're kind of natural-born followers.”

“But Forsling was different?”

“Well, he was smart, I'll give him that,” LaFontaine said. “He started reading everything about the National Socialist Movement he could get his hands on, and could spout it all back out. That impressed a lot of the members, though I always thought there was something not quite right about him.”

“Did he start to take on more of a leadership role?”

“Yeah, the guys started looking up to him, especially after he came up with the idea of joining other groups in the city for the American Kristallnacht,” LaFontaine said. “Actually it was supposed to go on all over the country, but that sort of fizzled out. We had one of the better turnouts here in Manhattan.”

“Can you explain to the jurors what Kristallnacht means?”

“Sure, the original Kristallnacht, or the Night of Broken Glass was a great uprising in 1938 in Germany and Austria. Good, hardworking Aryans who were tired of Jews ruining the economy and causing them hardships took to the streets and busted up a bunch of Jewish businesses. Some Jews tried to attack them, and a few people got themselves killed as a result. But mostly it was people saying,
Get out. You're not welcome in a Christian country or among decent human beings.
”

“And it was Mr. Forsling's idea to participate in this reenactment?”

“That's correct.”

“Did that further his status among the members of your group?”

“Yeah, I'd say so. He was the big man on campus after that.”

“Did Mr. Forsling talk much about his future plans?”

“He was always talking about how he was going to move to Idaho,” LaFontaine said. “He wanted to join up with some of the Aryan communities there. He said it was the place to be during the coming race war.”

“Would you say that Mr. Forsling enjoyed his growing role among the members of your group?”

“Yeah, he was running around with his chest out, all puffed up,” LaFontaine said. “You'd have thought he was the second coming of the Führer himself.”

“Was it his idea to protest at Rose Lubinsky's book-signing event?”

“Yeah, he saw something about it in the newspaper.”

“Let me backtrack a little here,” Karp said. “What is your opinion of the Holocaust?”

“What Holocaust? Never happened,” LaFontaine sneered. “It's just another lie perpetrated by the Jews so that everybody will feel sorry for them. They used it to steal Palestine—not that those sand-monkeys are any better; they stole it from its rightful owners, Aryan Christians.”

“So you're saying that reports of Nazis killing six million Jews and other minorities and political opponents, such as Gypsies, socialists, gays, and Slavic people, never happened?”

“Lies, all lies,” LaFontaine scoffed. “If so many was killed, how come there's so many left now?”

“So what happened to all those people?”

LaFontaine shook his head as if debating with a not-so-bright kid. “I'm not denying that some people died. There was a war going on, you know,” he said. “But mostly they ran off. And you might ask the Russians what happened to the rest.”