Known to Evil (24 page)

"Why are you here?" I asked her.

"Twill said I must talk to you. He gave me key to the front door."

"You could have gone to my office."

"I called but you were gone. Twill said I could wait here and that you would come. He said I would know you, as I know Dimitri."

Even with my years of experience, something about her made me want to trust the girl.

"So," I said. "Tell me about Gustav."

After a moment's hesitation she said, "He is pimp," in crisp, matter-of-fact language.

"And?"

"My brother is sick," she said. "My younger sister was too young to help. My mother was alone, and a man came to me and said that I could come to America and do . . . what I do for three years and then, after I made his partners a million dollars, I will be free. I send money home and sleep with old fat men."

The buzzer to the front door sounded and my son's school friend Bertrand Arnold rushed in. He pressed the elevator button and concentrated on the door as if to hurry the car along. His being there could have been for any reason. After all, he was my son's friend; he had come to the house before looking for Dimitri.

He could have had any number of reasons for being in my building.

But the choices became somewhat limited by the bouquet of wildflowers nestled in the crook of his right arm. He was probably waiting around the corner. Maybe he and Katrina were to meet somewhere nearby but now that I would be late they might get a few kisses in before I came home.

"He lied to me," Tatyana was saying. She was facing away from the elevator door.

If Bertrand glanced to his right he would have seen me sitting there, staring at him. But the young suitor's attention was somewhere else.

When the door slid open he rushed in, all hormones, fear, and maybe love.

". . . when I told him that I wanted him to do what he promised, he had a man named Vassily beat me and rape me."

"Tatyana," I said.

"Yes?"

"That's a beautiful name."

"Thank you," she said, wondering.

"How did Dimitri get mixed up in all this? I mean, my son has a good heart, but if I were in your position he'd be the last person I'd turn to for help."

She lowered her eyelids and smiled. This young woman and I were equals, at least in her estimation. She might have been right.

"I was very worried. You could see it on my face. He asked me what was wrong and I was so upset that I told him. I had to talk to someone. Dimitri said that he knew someone who might know a place for me to hide until we could do something. I was scared and I didn't know anyone but professors and students . . . and Gustav's whores. Dimitri introduced me to your younger son. At first I thought he was just a boy, but then Twilliam brought me to a house in the Bronx and then out to a beach house on Long Island. He told me that if I was his brother's friend that he would help me. He said that if I left New York with Dimitri he could go to you and that you would know what to do."

I was thinking about my wife and her younger boyfriend, about Dimitri and this tiger he had by the tail. Aura's boyfriend was trying to demolish my whole life, and Ron Sharkey wanted to apologize to the woman who had destroyed his everything.

"How are you and Dimitri living?" I asked.

"I had money hidden in a gym locker at school."

"Where is D right now?"

The beautiful child from Minsk inhaled and held the breath.

"If you don't lie to me," I said, "about anything . . . I will help you."

"He doesn't want me to tell you," she said. "He told me not to come here. Right now he thinks I am getting clothes from a girlfriend of mine."

"Where is he?"

"Please," she said. "I promised I would not tell you."

"Why would he think that you would tell me anything if you're at a girlfriend's house?"

"Twilliam told him that men came here after him. He said that you figured it out. I told him that I would call you."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because Twilliam told me to meet you . . . not on the phone."

"Twill's a teenager."

"He is man." She knew the right diction, I was sure, but this Russian phrasing brought her point home.

I smiled. I had to. Twill was slight of build but he left a footprint like
Tyrannosaurus rex.

"You won't tell me?" I asked.

She didn't reply.

Her green dress was made from raw silk, her cream-colored jacket might have been merino. Tatyana wore no hose, and her dark-brown shoes were sensible, designed for walking--or running.

She was the right girl in a long life of wrong days; the kind of woman that made you wish everything was different--somehow.

Twill was right. Tatyana's intentions toward my son were meaningless compared to what he would learn from her.

"How many girls does Gustav have?"

"Always less than twenty. Sometimes as little as twelve."

"Is there a place where he keeps them?"

"They work out of a building in the East Village, but they live above the pool hall," she said. "On the fourth and fifth floors. He is protected. There is a policeman who comes there."

"What's his name?"

"Saul Thinnes. He's a captain."

I liked straight talk with the Russian. It felt rare, like plain truth in advertising, a contract with no fine print, or honesty in politics.

I nodded. She understood that I had a plan. She also knew enough not to ask me what that plan was.

"What do you want from me?" she asked.

I shook my head slightly. This caused her brow to furrow, reminding me of Hush.

"It's for Dimitri," I explained.

"Do you want something for him?"

"No."

Again she scrutinized my face, this time looking for danger.

"Sometimes," I said, "things just don't make sense. They happen and we are left to deal with the results. You are one of those things. I am, too."

This explanation seemed to quiet Tatyana's unspoken trepidations. She smiled.

I squelched the urge to kiss her.

"Take D down to Philly for a few days," I said. "No more than three. Things will be fixed when you get back."

She nodded and stood but I remained seated.

"Aren't you going upstairs?" she asked.

"I'm gonna sit here and think for a while."

43

T
he conversation with Tatyana had lasted all of a dozen minutes.

I intended to leave right after she did. There was nothing I really needed from the apartment. And unless I wanted a very uncomfortable situation I couldn't go there, anyway.

But it was cold outside and my mind was preoccupied with the minefield I'd wandered into over the past few days.

Almost reflexively I took out my cell phone and entered the letters A-U-R. Then I hit the green button.

"Hello?" she said.

"Hey."

"Leonid," Aura Ullman breathed. "I'm surprised."

"Bad time?"

"You can always call me," she said, and for the briefest of moments the weight of my life was lifted. I noticed that my headache was gone.

"Thank you."

"Why are you calling?"

"Just wanted to say hi, I guess."

"No."

"What? I can't call to say hey?"

"You never do. What's going on with you?"

"Too many jobs at once. Trying to make your boss's rent is a bitch."

"Do you need to talk?"

"Yeah, but I don't have anything to say."

That bought me a brief span of silence.

After a bit she spoke up again.

"Tell me one thing," she said.

"What?"

"Anything."

"Okay. Dimitri's fallen in love and run off with a high-end call girl and her pimp wants her back. D's gone and his mother wants
him
back. Twill's got all the plates spinning and I have to catch them one by one before they crash. And that's the least of my troubles."

"Can I help?"

"You already have."

That was what I had been looking for, the turn in the road. It wasn't some clue or confession, threat by the police or flash of intuition about what exactly the crime or who the culprit was. It wasn't even a revelation about my feelings for Aura. I already knew that I loved her. My problem was the crack that had been opened when she told me about Toller. The pain I felt there was what was throwing me off.

It was a deep ache and it wasn't going away, but that didn't matter because now I knew what I was dealing with and I could negotiate a path toward my revival.

I exhaled loudly.

"What?" Aura asked.

"How's Theda?"

"She's fine. Going out for JV basketball. The coach says she has talent."

"I have to go, Aura."

"I know," she said.

SIXTEEN MINUTES LATER BERTRAND ARNOLD came out of the elevator, rushing for the door.

I laughed silently seeing the top of his head out of the window as he went past. I waited for a while more and then made my way up the stairs, the strength in my legs and lungs returning along with my confidence.

I found Katrina in the kitchen wearing a peacock-blue dress under a tan apron, worrying over something in a red enameled pot.

"Hey, babe," I said.

She turned to look at me, trying to hide the desperate sex that was still thrumming in her blood. Her eyes had that startled look of new love. Her lipstick was dulled from the pressure of a dozen hello and goodbye kisses.

"Leonid. I didn't hear you come in."

"I'm sorry," I said, "but I have to run. There's a case and I just had a breakthrough. No time to eat. I probably won't be home tonight."

"All night?"

"Yeah. I've had this case that I haven't been taking seriously but now I've got to get down to business."

"Have you heard from Dimitri?"

"He'll be home in three days like he told you already."

"Is he all right?"

"Is love a disease?"

I left her to ponder that question.

IN MY DEN I put on a long-sleeved black shirt and a pair of dark trousers that were designed to keep me warm in near freezing temperatures. I had gloves and a roll of burglar tools, a .38 and a knife that had a handle that could also be used as brass knuckles.

I topped it all off with a black beret to take some of the edge off the intentions of my clothes.

She was waiting in the hall outside the den.

"If you're out all night I might go see a movie," she said. She had reapplied her lipstick.

"Yeah. Sure."

"Is there anything wrong, Leonid?"

"You mean other than my oldest friend dying of cancer, my sons missing in action, my lawyer calling me every day, and clients who just don't seem to know how to act?"

Katrina put her hand on my neck. It was warm. Usually her hands were cold.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"I don't see how."

"Do want me to stay home?"

"How would that help anything?"

"I could be here if you needed to call. If you needed help."

"Thanks anyway, babe. No. You go out and have a good time. And don't worry about me. I just got a little behind, that's all."

Katrina smiled and kissed my cheek.

"You take care of yourself," she said.

"You too, honey."

NOT LONG AFTER THAT I was in a cab going across Twenty-seventh Street. That's where John Prince's apartment was. It was a seedy block with many first-floor businesses and a parking lot, a few apartment buildings and a scattering of cars parked for the night.

I pretended to have made a mistake about the address and had the driver go around the block. After the second pass my plans were set.

Carrying my burglar's briefcase and wearing a black trench coat, I walked with certainty to an eight-story apartment building that didn't seem to have any kind of high-tech security system. I pressed all the buttons, except for the top floor, declaring "UPS!" for anyone who answered.

The buzzer for the outer and inner doors sounded and I rushed in.

This time I waited for the elevator because someone I hoodwinked might be waiting at their door for their hand-delivered package.

Getting off on floor eight, I made my way to the door to the roof. I was happy to see that it was padlocked with a chain. I used a fold-out metal cutter to unlock the door and made my way onto the tarpaper roof. I put a wedge under the door so I wouldn't be disturbed, then walked softly on rubber-soled shoes so as not to disturb the residents below.

There was a ledge and a slanted roof where the building looked down on Twenty-seventh. I nestled there with my nighttime binoculars (which also housed a high-speed digital camera) and cell phone. As long as I remained pretty still, my dark skin and black hat were camouflage enough to keep the casual glance from noticing me.

The street was quiet. Cars passed at an ever lessening rate, and pedestrians came in and out of view, usually alone. Most were going somewhere else, but a few entered buildings like the one I sat astride. A pudgy man wearing a windbreaker and tan khakis went into a bodega next to the parking lot. A woman wearing a fur-collared jacket walked a three-pound dog. Two young lovers stopped for a while, leaning against each other and a stucco wall. She was a chubby black woman and he a skinny light-skinned guy.

You couldn't pay for the kind of kisses she was giving him.

The night got darker and the traffic waned but never stopped.

At nine I called John Prince's number.

"Hello?"

"John Prince?" I asked, throwing a slight accent into the words.

The ensuing silence fairly wavered. "Yes? Who is this?"

"My name is Henri Oure. My niece is, was, Wanda Soa. I am just arriving to visit my niece and the police are telling me that she is dead. I once met her friend in Salvador. A young woman named Angelique. This is the number I 'ave for her."

The accent was terrible, but so are all accents in the end. The big chance I was taking was assuming that Angie and John were close when she was down in South America.

"I'm sorry about your niece, sir," John said.

"Do you know what happens? The police won't tell me anything."

"I don't really know, sir. Angie told me about it but she, she didn't know anything a-about it."