Chemical Burn (12 page)

Second Hand Lion

“Over there.” I pointed at a group of about ten people standing around something in front of a Russian teahouse. The sound of a violin drifted over us, and I quickly identified the song as the opening to
Fiddler on the Roof.

We crossed the street, pausing briefly as a black Audi with opaque black windows passed by. It drove by a bit too slowly, as if someone was scoping us out, so I looked for the plate number as it went by. It had a temp tag in the back window, barely visible through the tinted glass. I could make out a big white three—March expiration—but the rest of the tag was too small for me to read. The car did have one small patch of red paint on the lower left-hand portion of the front bumper. That was something, at least.

We stepped up onto the curb and walked directly up to a crowd gathered around an old man sitting in a blue, nylon camp chair. He was the one playing the violin as he smoked a long Meerschaums pipe carved in the shape of a lion’s head. He’d placed an old, ragged hat on the ground in front of him that had a sizable pile of money in it, mostly ones, but with a few fives and tens scattered throughout.

“That’s him … with the violin,” I said. “He plays beautifully, but he can never get his gerunds right.”

Rachel stepped closer and moved to the side of the crowd to get a better look at him. Yvgenny looked to be around sixty with a thick shock of long, wild, white and gray hair. A thick, scraggly beard with the same coloring covered his face, and his weathered, grizzly features looked like they’d seen decades of harsh sun. He was burly, like a wrestler, and I knew none of it had turned to fat. His eyes were closed as he played. The old-timer wore patched blue jeans that bagged around ancient, tan work-boots. He also had on a dingy gray t-shirt mostly covered by a faded and threadbare blue work shirt that had the sleeves rolled up on his thick, muscular forearms. His arms were covered an assortment of blue-black tattoos, most of them utilizing Cyrillic characters on, in, or around them.

We all stood enthralled as the he effortlessly made his violin sing to us. Few people get to hear a violinist of such talent, and the emotion he poured into the instrument almost brought tears to my eyes. I actually saw a little moisture welling in the corners of Rachel’s. Yvgenny brought the song to a close with a flourish of the bow and bowed deeply from his chair as everyone applauded and cheered.

“Thank you all, my friends,” he said in a deep, scratchy voice, thick with the sounds of Russia. “You honoring me with your accolades.” The grizzled face looked up and, scanning the crowd, spotted me. He smiled with all the joviality of Santa Claus as I winked at him. “And with that, I must ending show. These old bones are weak, and I am seeming tired. Thank you.” He bowed his head graciously.

The crowd started to disperse, most of them dropping a one or five-dollar-bill into the now overflowing hat. When the last of them walked away, he bent over, placed his violin into an open case, and then closed and latched it. He picked up the hat, scooping up the bills that were still on the concrete.

“Not a bad morning,” he muttered, talking mostly to himself.

“You sure can work that Stradivarius,” I offered. “I never tire of listening to you, old man.”

Yvgenny mashed the bills into the hat and pulled the hat tightly over his head. His wiry hair stuck out from underneath it, and the wad of cash made the hat ride too high on his skull, making him look a bit ridiculous. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Rachel cover her mouth to keep from laughing and, after a few seconds of momentous struggle, managed to force herself to look more serious.

“Ahh … Justin Case. Such a nice boy. Do you having on your rubber underpants?”

“No, Yvgenny,” I replied with an understanding tone. “No underpants at all, in fact,” I added, chuckling.

Rachel blurted out a laugh she simply couldn’t hold back any more.

“Pity. Should you wet yourself as usual, everyone will be knowing it.” Yvgenny chuckled. “Embarrassing, no?” he added, laughing even harder. My old friend finally noticed that Rachel had not left with the rest of the crowd and deduced that she was with me. He looked her up and down, puffing on his pipe and leering like a dirty old man not ashamed to admit it. I knew with perfect certainty that he was just too old and too ornery to care. “And who is being this delightful creature with you? Is she your baby-sitting today?” Rachel got a sparkle in her eye, and I could tell she liked Yvgenny already.

“Yvgenny, this is Rachel Devereaux.” I turned to Rachel and said, “Rachel, may I present one Yvgenny Gershovich.”

She offered her hand. The old man clasped her hand and drew it to his face. He inhaled deeply, sniffing her perfume as he kissed her knuckles lightly. He held the kiss perhaps a tad bit too long to be entirely gentlemanly and then sighed as he released her hand.

“You are having lovely perfume, miss. It is pleasing me to meeting you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mister Gershovich,” she said and bowed her head slightly.

“Call me Yvgenny. It is also pleasing me if you do.”

“Thank you. I like anyone who can dish grief out to Justin as good as he dishes it to others.”

“I’m having boots older than this child, Miss Devereaux. I should putting him over my knee and spanking him. Why do you consorting with such an
infant
?”

She smiled and looked me up and down like she was inspecting a side of beef. “I’m not sure, Yvgenny. That’s a damn good question.”

“So, boy,” he asked, taking his eyes off Rachel. “What is bringing you to see me this time? It’s been quite a while.”

I pulled out the piece of paper I had scrawled the Cyrillic characters on and handed it to him. “What’s it say?”

“Hmmm …” Yvgenny looked at it briefly, clearly recognizing the words. He handed the sheet back to me.

“In tourist translating book it is saying
Church is the house of God
.” Yvgenny let out a low, rumbling almost evil laugh.

“What does it say in
your
book, Yvgenny?” I asked pointedly.

“Heh … it says Prison is the house of thieves.”

“Are you sure?”

The old man turned to Rachel with a look of utter disbelief on his face. “He doubts me, Miss Rachel. Such a foolish boy,” he added, shaking his head. Yvgenny turned back to me, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his work shirt. His eyes never left mine. He reached up with both hands and pulled down the collar of his t-shirt, exposing the very same Cyrillic characters tattooed on his chest in a curve over the top of three castle towers. “I was having mine when I was fourteen years old in Moscow. My first, and in the organization, one is never forgetting. We are all having them, Justin … well, most.”

“Does anyone ever leave the mob?” I asked, fairly certain of the answer.

“No. No one does … at least not breathing. Not even poor old men playing music on street.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the thick stack of hundreds I’d separated from what Victor had given me in the limousine. I folded it and slid it into Yvgenny’s front shirt pocket. “For the kids. Compliments of SolCon.”

“You’re a good boy, Justin.…” and then Yvgenny smiled wickedly as he added, “No matter what people saying about you!” Yvgenny and Rachel laughed heartily at my expense while I smiled as tiredly as I could. Yvgenny finally stopped laughing and looked first at me then Rachel. “Come, you are having lunch here, no?”

“Well, we were thinking about Chinese or burgers,” I said.

“You insult me!” Yvgenny accused.

“
He
was thinking about Chinese or burgers,” Rachel corrected. “I’ve never had Russian cuisine before.”

“Please. Come. It is being on me,” he said, patting the wad of money in his shirt. “I insist. I am recommending borscht.”

“Yvgenny, you know I can’t stand that shit.”

“I am knowing this, Justin. You should still eat it. You are scrawny child. It will making you grow up big and strong. Just like me,” He tapped his chest with bravado. “
Please
,” he added sincerely.

“
We’d
be delighted,” Rachel said, grabbing my arm and pulling me towards the front door of the teahouse.

“Alright, Yvgenny,” I said, realizing I was out-manned and out-gunned. “Thank you. I’m not having the borscht, though.”

“Suit yourself …
weakling
,” Yvgenny smiled as he bent over and grabbed his Stradivarius. He stood up, towering over Rachel. He was well over six feet tall and built like a bear. Despite the baggy clothes hanging on him, it was clear that his sixty years hadn’t seemed to weaken him much, if at all. Yvgenny grabbed his camp chair, folded it and walked into the teahouse with us close behind.

The interior was done in dark wood and separated into three different sections. The right side had been dedicated to a teahouse with several small café tables, a long counter, some tall copper water heaters with levered spigots, and a high row of shelves with endless boxes, bags and jars of different teas. A young, pretty girl of maybe nineteen or twenty, with distinct Eastern Bloc features stood behind the counter, reading a book with Cyrillic characters on the spine. Several patrons sat at the café tables, drinking tea, chatting, or reading.

The left side of the place had a series of very comfortable looking easy chairs done in a clearly European style. Along that wall were jars and jars of different tobaccos. Old books, predominantly classics from around the world, lay scattered about on shelves and a few end tables. There were two older men, also with Eastern Bloc features, sitting in chairs in the far corner, talking quietly enough to not be heard by anyone else.

“How is business,
vnoochka
?” Yvgenny asked of the girl behind the counter. She looked up and smiled.

“Quiet, grandpa,” she said in perfect English.

Yvgenny said something is Russian.

“Still getting straight
A
’s,” she replied. “Don’t worry
dedushka
. Medical school is a shoe-in.”

“You make us
proud
, Alisa. Your father would be bursting with joy if he was here.”

“Thank you,
dedushka
,” she said and smiled.

Yvgenny motioned to Rachel and me. “Alisa, Justin you know. This beautiful creature is being Rachel Devereaux.”

“Hello Rachel,” Alisa said extending her hand. Rachel and Alisa shook hands. Alisa turned to me with a more-than-bright smile and added with a bit more enthusiasm than necessary, “Hi Justin!” Nobody missed the crush Alisa clearly had on me.

Yvgenny frowned slightly.

“Hey, Alisa. It’s good to see you again,” I said quietly.

“Come, let us going to eat,” Yvgenny interrupted, looking suspiciously at me. I shrugged and looked as innocent as it’s possible for me to look … which, admittedly, isn’t that much.

“It was nice meeting you, Rachel,” Alisa said with a bit of disappointment in her voice as her grandfather walked towards the back of the house.

“It was nice meeting you, too, Alisa,” Rachel said warmly. “Good luck in school.”

“Luck is not a factor,” Alisa said confidently. “Bye, Justin!” she added cheerily.

“We’ll see you around, Alisa,” I said, smiling as I turned and followed Yvgenny. Rachel fell in step next to me as we walked towards the back portion of the teahouse.

Yvgenny pulled aside thick curtains hanging in the doorway to expose a nicely decorated dining area with eight tables in it. Six of them were occupied with couples of varying ages. At the back of the room ran a long counter separating us from kitchen. A single waitress, who appeared to be about the same age and appearance as Alisa, walked back into the kitchen. On the right-hand side of the room stretched a well-used flight of stairs going up to what I knew was a patio.

“Galina,” Yvgenny called to the retreating waitress.

“Yes,
dedushka
?” the girl replied as she stopped and turned.

“We will being upstairs, please.”

“
Be
, grandpa. ‘We will
be
upstairs,’” the girl corrected, smiling as she greeted us.

“Oh. Da. We will
be
upstairs,” Yvgenny repeated, bowing his head slightly to thank her. “Please come up when you have time. We will having lunch.” Galina shook her head, smiling at yet another in an endless line of gerund infractions, but she said nothing.

We walked up the stairs and stepped out into a beautiful, open patio with six tables surrounded by a garden of different flowering plants and shade trees, including several bearing fruit. A small fountain gurgled and splashed in the middle of the patio, and string lighting surrounded the entire area. To the left of the patio, a door broke up the wall of the next building over that I knew was the only entrance to Yvgenny’s home. The back of the patio dropped away to the alley, and the right-hand side opened up onto a parking lot below.

“Please, pick a table. Galina will be up shortly to taking your order, and I will not disturb you. I have my crosswords to do.”

“Thanks, Yvgenny. Rachel and I have some stuff to talk about.” I headed to the far back corner table under a full, blossoming orange tree, pulling Rachel along as I walked. Yvgenny walked over to the door of his home, pulled out an overflowing key ring, selected a key, and unlocked the steel door.

“Oh … and Justin,” Yvgenny called back.

“Yeah?”

Smiling, he said, “If you ever touching one of my granddaughters, I’ll snap your neck.”

“I know,” I said between laughs. “Don’t worry.”

“Good boy,” Yvgenny added as he stepped through the door and closed it behind him. We were alone again and sat down in the shade. I habitually took the chair in the corner so I could see the entrance to the patio.

“You were wrong,” Rachel said.

“About what?” I asked with a confused look on my face. I didn’t think I’d made any slip-ups recently … not since the pen and paper fiasco, anyway.

“I don’t like him …” she said, which caught me by surprise. “I
love
him!” she almost shouted. “Where on Earth did you find that man?”

“Yvgenny and I sort of … found each other … a long time ago,” I said fondly as I picked up one of the menus propped between a flower vase and condiments in the middle of the table.