Survival Of The Fittest

Puff, puff. “There are also people in the department who believe you harbor violent tendencies. I know about the incident in which you broke a superior's jaw. My reading of that was that you were morally justified but that nonetheless it was a stupid, impulsive act. It bothered me, but the fact that you haven't done anything like that in over four years encourages me.”

He came even closer, looking Milo straight in the eye. “The fact that you are gay encourages me, as well, because it's clear that no matter how liberal a line the police department takes in public, no matter how high the caliber of your work remains, you'll always be an outcast.”

Another long drag. “This is as high as you'll go, Mr. Sturgis. Which, for my needs, is perfect. Someone aiming for the top- someone cautious, a careerist-is exactly what I don't want. Some ambition-blinded monkey scampering up the administrative ladder, looking over his shoulder every other second, keeping his buttocks shielded.”

He blinked. “My daughter was taken from me. Bureaucracy is the last thing I need. Do you understand? Do you?”

“If you're after results, why make it so difficult for me to get info-”

“No, no, no,” said Carmeli, smoking and blinking through the haze. “In terms of reading my motivations, you're not as astute as you think you are. I haven't hidden anything important from you. I'd strip naked and parade down Wilshire Boulevard if it would bring the garbage who murdered my Iriti to justice. Do you understand that?”

“I-”

“Life has its ups and downs, no one knows that better than Israelis. But losing a young child is an unnatural occurrence and losing one violently is an abomination. One can never be prepared for it and one finds oneself unable to help those who-” He shook his head violently. “I don't want a team player, Milo.”

Using the first name as if used to it. “On the contrary. Come to me and inform me that you've found him, that you've shot him or cut his throat, and I'll be a far happier man, Milo. Not happy, not jocular or sunny or optimistic. I've never been that sort, even as a child I had a pessimistic worldview. That's why I smoke sixty cigarettes a day. That's why I work for a government. But happier. Partial healing of the wound. Staunching the pus.”

He touched Milo's lapel and Milo allowed it.

“You saw my wife. Being married to me, holding things in- has always been difficult for her. Now she finds herself unwilling to live a shadow life, to put up with even the most trivial impositions. She works and comes home and won't leave, won't accompany me to functions. Even though I know she can't be blamed, I get angry. We fight. My work helps me escape but hers forces her to look at other people's children, day after day. I've told her to quit but she won't. Won't stop punishing herself.”

He rocked on his heels.

“It took thirty-three hours to give birth to Irit. There were complications, she always felt guilty because of Irit's disabilities, even though a fever caused them, months later. Now, her feelings are- when I go home I don't know what to expect. Do you think I want a team player, Milo?”

He let go of the lapel. Milo's face was white as moonlight, the skin around his mouth so tight the acne pits had compressed to hash marks.

“The stress,” said Carmeli, “has already taken its toll. Some things can't be fixed. But my- I want to know. I want resolution-”

“So you want to use me as an executioner-”

“No. God forbid. Stop reading between lines that bear no interpretation. What I want is simple: knowledge. Justice. And now, you'll admit, it's not just for me and my family, is it? That girl on the schoolyard, possibly the poor little boy in East L.A. Why should this… monster kill more children?”

“Final justice?” said Milo. “I find him, your boys finish him off?”

Carmeli stepped back, stubbed out the cigarette, and fumbled in his jacket for yet another one. “I'll grant you your moment of outrage. No one likes being watched, least of all a detective. But put your ego aside and stop being obstinate.”

He lit up. “We bent some rules to obtain information- fine, now we've confessed. I'm a diplomat, not a terrorist. I've seen what terrorists do and I respect the rule of law. Catch this piece of garbage and bring him to the bar of justice.”

“And if I can't?”

“Then your solve rate drops and I seek other solutions.”

As Milo regarded him, Carmeli took in lungfuls of smoke and tapped his foot. His eyes had turned wild and, as if realizing it, he closed them.

When they opened, they were dead, and the look on his face chilled me.

“If you refuse me, Milo, I will not make vengeful phone calls to the mayor or anyone else. Because vengeance is personal and you hold no interest for me personally, only as a means to an end. You might do well to adopt the same attitude. Think of me as a bureaucratic idiot, curse me every morning for listening in on your conversations. I'll live with your curses. But does your opinion of me mean Irit's murder doesn't deserve your best efforts?”

“That's the point, Mr. Carmeli. You've been hampering my best efforts.”

“No, I reject that. I reject that absolutely, and if you analyze the situation honestly, you will, too. If the Ortiz boy's shoes were left with the police to get attention, would giving the garbage more attention solve the problem? Be honest.”

Looking for an ashtray, he found one in a nearby cubicle, picked it up, flicked.

I thought of the kitchen conversation he'd heard. My theories, Milo's procedures.

Now he was face-to-face with Milo again, inches away, holding his cigarette next to his trouser leg.

Milo said, “Listen, I'm not gonna stand here and make a big deal out of this, because you've been through it, you've got serious rights, here. But I'm also not gonna let you control the investigation because of your outrage or who you happen to be. You're out of your element. You don't know what the hell you're doing.”

“Granted.”

“The point is, Mr. Carmeli, my job is a lot more perspiration than inspiration and if I do solve a few more cases than someone else it's probably because I try not to get distracted. And you've been distracting me. Right from the beginning, you've been trying to call the shots. And now all this espionage shit. I just spent hours of investigative time chasing down your boy in there, instead of looking for Irit's killer. Now, you order me to adopt him and just-”

“Not an order, a request. And one that could help you. He's a very able detective-”

“I'm sure he is,” said Milo. “But one case, in a country where violent crime is rare, has nothing to do with what we're dealing with. And now I've got to take time off from the investigation to figure out where he stuck his goddamn bugs-”

“Not necessary,” said a quiet, boyish voice. I hadn't heard Sharavi come out of the office but he was there, hand in pocket again. “I'll tell you exactly where they are.”

“Great,” said Milo, wheeling on him. “Very comforting.” He gave a disgusted look.

Carmeli said, “We meant no harm, Milo. The intention was always to be open, eventually-”

“How eventually?”

“The surveillance was nothing personal. And if you must blame someone, blame me. Superintendent Sharavi happened to be in the States on other business and I had him brought to L.A. because Gorobich and Ramos were getting nowhere. They talked to me, those two, but they never told me anything. I'm sure you know what I mean.”

Milo didn't answer.

Carmeli said, “I needed a starting point. Some basic information. In my position, can you honestly say you would have done any differently? The idea, all along, was that if Superintendent Sharavi came up with something, you'd be the first to-”

“Eventually? What if Dr. Delaware hadn't noticed that van in the alley? Would we have ever been told anything?” He faced Sharavi. “Screwed up, didn't you, James Bond?”

Sharavi said, “Yes,” with an utter lack of defensiveness.