“You’re going to tell me, Yuri. There’s no question about that. I have a friend upstairs who gets pleasure out of breaking down resistance.” I paused for a few moments and then said, “I was looking out the window this morning. It’s really beautiful outside. So much so that I thought I’d come down here and offer you your freedom for some discreet information. I won’t tell anyone that I got this information from you. And you will leave here with all your appendages in working order.”
This was why I didn’t wear a mask. I was hoping that the Russian was a pragmatist. But in order to achieve this end he had to look into my naked eyes, hear my unmuffled words clearly — honestly.
I could see the inner workings of the oil bootlegger’s mind trying to encompass the situation.
“How would you know if I lied?” he asked.
“I’ll test the answer. If you’ve told me the truth I’ll call my friend and he will deposit you, safe and sound, in a red Tesla in any place of your choosing.”
“What will stop me from finding and killing you and your family?” he said, trying his best to sound threatening.
“You won’t find me. And if you did it would cost you dearly.”
I was Adam’s surviving son, free and unrepentant. If Yuri wanted to live, to go back home without fear, he’d have to get my approval.
We sat for a long while in silence.
He hated me and needed me.
I didn’t care if he lived or died.
“What do you need to know?”
“There’s a guy who identifies himself as Tava Burkel. I need to speak to him.”
Sometime after our conversation I went back upstairs. Mel and Oliya were sitting across from each other in block-shaped padded sofa chairs that were covered in bearskins. Mel was opining about some schism in his character and she was studying him like a postdoc grad student majoring in evil.
They brought to mind a dog and cat of equal size living in the same house. They got along well but weren’t the same. The call of nature outside the walls was always summoning and they couldn’t help but listen.
“Hey, Joe,” Melquarth hailed. “That was a goddamned masterpiece.”
“You watched?”
“I got a vid up here. Oliya didn’t want to, but it’s my house.”
“You liked it?” I asked my bodyguard.
“He knows your face.”
“That’s not gonna be a problem.”
“You want me to take care of it?” Mel offered.
“I want you to sit on him until I call. Then gas him and bring him wherever he wants to go.”
“But like your friend says, he knows your face.”
“By that time it won’t matter.”
26
A little later in the morning Oliya and I headed back to New York. The pace felt leisurely compared to the night before. The beauty of the day was still contrasting with the darkness of the tasks I would have to perform.
“Where does your friend come from?”
“From bad parents with a strong church background.”
“He seems very capable.”
“Strong words from a woman who can kill two assassins without breathing hard.”
“I... am capable too.”
Crossing the border of New York State, I called in to my electronic answering service.
“This is Winston Halbreadth,” an officious voice said on the third message, “speaking on behalf of Roger Ferris. There’s been a breach at Silbrig Haus.”
“Daddy,” Aja said on the next call, “Grandma B’s been shot.”
I disconnected the service.
“What’s wrong?” Oliya asked.
She was looking at me, wondering, offering.
When I didn’t answer, she turned away.
“My grandmother’s been shot.”
“Dead?”
“I don’t know.”
The next call I made was answered on the seventh ring.
“Forthright.”
“It’s me, man.”
“She’s okay,” Forthright Jorgensen said.
“She’s shot.”
“One ball of a shotgun in the left buttocks. Didn’t even hit bone.”
“What happened?”
“Hit squad. I tried to call you but the phone was offline.”
“How many?”
“Six. Four dead and two in police custody. I lost one. Two others were wounded.”
“My grandmother in the hospital?”
“Ferris brought in a team of specialists.”
“They good?”
“What do you think?”
Finishing the call, I felt, once again, at sea.
“How is she?” Oliya asked.
“They say okay.”
“That’s good.”
“I guess. I mean, how does a ninety-three-year-old woman get shot in the safest place in New York?”
“Is this the job I was hired for?”
“It is now.”
“Okay then. Let’s get on with it.”
We arrived at the mansion in the early afternoon. There were two uniformed guards at the glittering steel gate this time. They each carried a sidearm and compact assault rifle. They checked us out and passed us in.
Two more guards stood by the front door. One of them led us through the entryway into a large sitting room where nurses and doctors tended to the two wounded security guards and frightened domestics.
“Daddy!”
Aja ran up and hugged me tightly. She put her head against my shoulder and pressed as hard as she could.
“Where’s Grandma?”
“In her bedroom.”
After maybe a minute I pulled away, turning to Oliya.
“This is my daughter. I want you to stick to her.”
“Yes, Joe.”
“Honey.”
“Uh-huh?”
“This here’s Oliya Ruez. You stay with her. She’ll protect you.”
Aja looked at the compact bodyguard, a dozen questions in her eyes. But all she said was “Okay.”
The curtains were drawn in my grandmother’s bedroom. Extra-powerful lighting stalks had been brought in. A male nurse and Dr. Lucille Leon were in attendance. In the corner of the room sat Roger on a wicker chair that my grandmother had owned since before my father was born.
Roger was staring at Brenda, bereft but brave — for her.
She looked even smaller than usual in the big bed, receiving blood from an IV. There was some kind of electronic medical device, the size of a small dresser. This machine displayed her bodily functions on a broad screen. She looked distressed but not as bad as Roger.
“Grandma?”
She turned and smiled.
“Baby.”
Dr. Leon turned in my direction. She’d been my grandmother’s primary physician for two years. Her skin was mahogany brown under straightened, and shocking, white-gray hair. The mature woman was about to say something when my grandmother interceded.
“Leave me and my grandson for a minute, Lucy.”
“I’m not finished with the examination.”
“It’ll only be a few minutes.”
Roger got up and approached us. The nurse was already leaving.
“I’ll be back in five minutes,” Lucille Leon told us.
“Ten,” Brenda corrected.
Roger moved close to me and said, “I’m sorry, son. I never thought they’d pull an all-out assault.”
“She’s alive,” I said. “That’s the best either of us could ask for.”
I pulled the rattan chair up next to the bed. She smiled and gave me her dry hand.
“Ain’t we sumpin’,” she said.
“What happened?”
“Dropped from a helicopter! Six of ’em. A goddamned helicopter! Could you imagine that? Forthright and his people were movin’ as soon as the whirlybird come over the river. Me and Roger was havin’ afternoon tea and two of ’em bust through the windah. One fired this shotgun, then they was both cut down. Roger wasn’t hit at all and I was shot in the butt.”