Capture (Butch Karp Thrillers) by Robert K. Tanenbaum

grieve. But she would not want all the world to cry with her. That’s not Goldie. No…today is a good day and some of your friends are here already…. I am looking forward to a few moments to listen in on the conversations of great men!”
    “I think that you’ll more than hold your own in these conversations,” Karp said, “that’s why I asked them to come here. They’re always interested in meeting other agile minds.”
    “Well, then I hope a genius comes in for a Danish, because otherwise they may be sorely disappointed.” Moishe laughed as he led the way toward the back of the shop. “You haven’t seen our new sitting room. The electronics store next door went belly up and there was no one to take the lease. So the landlord—an old friend and customer—agreed to lease it to me for a percentage of the profits, which is a good deal for both of us.”
    Karp was surprised to discover that a doorway had been built between the old bakery and the space next door on Twenty-ninth Street. He’d been dropped off on Third Avenue and he hadn’tnoticed that the space had been converted into a tastefully decorated sitting room with tall tables surrounded by bar stools, and couches with coffee tables.
    Quite a few people were already in the back, enjoying their treats. Some were gathered in small groups that buzzed with earnest conversations. Elsewhere, young couples drank their coffees and looked dreamily into each other’s eyes or laughed about some private joke. Others sat alone, working on computers.
    “We have wireless,” Moishe explained. “As you can see, it helps with business.”
    “You’ve got Starbucks beat, hands down.”
    Moishe looked troubled. “Do you think it’s too corporate? Too impersonal? I agonized over whether to ban computers. Cell phones aren’t allowed. This should be a place to be alone with your thoughts, or with someone else who is also here, not a disembodied voice.”
    Karp shook his head. “Not at all. I think it’s very smart, and I think it’s going to be a great success.” He noticed the young woman from the front sitting with her eyes closed and the same smile on her lips as she slowly chewed a piece of her strudel.
    The little man’s blue eyes brightened above his prodigious nose. “Ah, good, I was worried that you’d think I sold out to the Man.” He pointed. “And there are your friends.”
    Karp looked where he was pointing to a group of older men sitting around a circular wooden table at the very back of the room. Several of them were already waving, trying to get his attention. He walked quickly over. “I see the Sons of Liberty Breakfast Club and Girl-Watching Society has already convened.”
    “Ah, the prodigal son has arrived,” a thin, distinguished man with long gray hair tied back in a ponytail and mutton-chop sideburns said as he stood and held out his hand.
    “Your Honor,” Karp replied, taking the man’s hand. Although he looked like an aging hippy from the Village, Frank Plaut had once been one of the most respected federal judges with the Second Circuit Court of Appeals and a professor of law at Columbia University.
    Karp turned toward the others. In all, seven men sat at the table.Besides Frank Plaut, there was a former Marine who fought at Iwo Jima, Saul Silverstein, Father Jim Sunderland, top defense attorney Murray Epstein, the poet Geoffrey Gilbert, former U.S. attorney for the southern district Dennis Hall, and a retired editor of the New York Post , Bill Florence.
    The men referred to their group as the Sons of Liberty Breakfast Club and Girl-Watching Society. They were a self-described group of “old codgers whose wives chase us out of the apartment once a week” to meet over breakfast and debate politics, the law, art, foreign affairs, and anything else that interested them.
    When Karp arrived, he found Father Sunderland talking about the Maplethorpe case. “The prosecution presented its case, and he seems guilty. But then the defense