It was my cousin Fats, the boss of the Family.
I was not an observant Catholic anymore, but I crossed myself.
I instructed Jones to cover Fats and then to erect velvet ropes, routing our customers around my cousin’s body. While I waited for the police to arrive, I went inside to call Mouse, who in a relatively short time had managed to become Fats’s second-in-command. “Mouse, Fats is dead.”
Mouse, like me, was not a crier. She was silent for several moments, which I knew to be her way of coping with hardship.
“Are you still there?” I asked.
“Yes, I was thinking,” she said in a voice that sounded as calm as milk. “It must have been the Balanchiadze. Look at the timing. They knew you were opening the second Dark Room location, and they must have decided to make a statement by killing Fats. It’s only a theory, but Fats had been fighting with them for months. He was trying to protect your business.”
“Why didn’t he come to me?”
“He wanted to keep you out of it, Annie,” she said. “There will be a scramble to see who leads the Family now that Fats is gone. I wonder…”
“Yes?”
“Maybe it should be you? Everyone in the semya respects you so much.”
“I can’t do that, Mouse. I have a job and I have no interest in running the Family.”
“No, you wouldn’t. Why would you?”
“I know you and Fats were close,” I said. “Will you be okay?”
“I’m always okay,” she said.
The police didn’t arrive to claim Fats’s body until eight p.m., a full three hours after Jones had reported the death. They tossed Fats into a black bag, and I was told that that concluded the investigation.
“Do you want to look for evidence?” I said to one of the police officers. “Maybe ask me a couple of questions?”
“You telling me how to do my job now, missy?” the police officer said. “Look, Fats Medovukha was a high-level gangster. There’s no crime here. It was only a matter of time before he ended up with three bullet holes in his chest. We’ve got real situations, and a force that’s about forty percent of the size required to deal with all of them.”
I felt angry. I knew the same sentiments had been expressed when my father had died. My cousin couldn’t help that he’d been born a Balanchine any more than I could. “He was my cousin,” I said. “People cared about this man.”
“Oh, so you knew the deceased, did you? Maybe you want us to investigate you?” the police officer said. “The victim is usually close to the perpetrator.”
“I’ve got friends, you know. Bertha Sinclair comes to my club every week.”
The police officer laughed. “You think she isn’t aware that your cousin was killed? She’s the one who told us to bring the body to the morgue and consider this matter closed.”
I was four hours late for the Brooklyn launch. When I finally arrived, the party was in its denouement. It looked like it had been a good party, but I was in no mood for partying anyway.
“What happened?” Theo asked me.
I shook my head and told him I would tell him later.
I went to get myself a drink from the bar. I needed to clear my head. Mr. Delacroix sat down next to me.
“Where were you?” he said.
I related my evening. At the end, I asked, “If this had happened when you were DA, would you have acted as Bertha Sinclair has? Would you have tossed Fats’s body in a bag and told me there wouldn’t be an investigation because my cousin was a bad guy from a bad family?”
“I’d like to tell you that I definitely would have investigated, but that isn’t true,” Mr. Delacroix said after a beat. “The decision would have depended on what else was happening in the city at the time.”
“What about me? If I died, would anyone bother to investigate?”
“Anya, you’re important now. You own a business and you bring a lot of money into this city. Your death would not go unnoticed.”
I felt a little better.
“For the city, the problem is not your cousin’s death, but who will succeed him. We like to know with whom we’ll be dealing. Did your friend have any thoughts about that?”
I shrugged.
“Well, someone will run the Family and it would probably be wise of you to take an interest. You don’t want them to choose someone whose interests run counter to your own.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way.
“Anya,” Mr. Delacroix said, “if Mouse is right and the attack was meant as a warning to you, perhaps you should reconsider getting personal security—”
“Mr. Delacroix, we have discussed this matter before, and my position hasn’t changed. I would rather die and know I walked this city and this planet as a free person. I have nothing to hide, and I don’t require security.”
Mr. Delacroix smiled at me. “This seems noble but wrongheaded to me. You are indeed a free person, as you say. I certainly cannot control what you do. I can only offer you my advice. I don’t think hiring security would take anything away from you or your accomplishments. But let’s not discuss it any further.” He clinked his glass to mine. “Brooklyn came out rather well, don’t you think?”
The next day, I was summoned to a meeting at the Pool, which was the Balanchine Family’s headquarters. I knew it was a sign of respect that I had been asked as I was not technically Family anymore. I had tried to avoid interacting with the Family in the years since I had opened my club. However, this would no longer be an option with Fats dead. Mr. Delacroix was right when he said I should take an interest in the person who would be installed as the head of the Balanchine Family.
When I got to the Pool, Mouse was waiting in the lobby. “Everyone’s downstairs.”
“Am I late?” I asked. “Your message said four.”
“No. You’re right on time,” she said. “Let’s go.”
The place seemed unnaturally quiet to me, and I began to wonder if I should have brought security. In the past, Mr. Kipling had usually accompanied me to important Family meetings. Maybe it had been foolhardy to go alone, and without telling anyone where I would be either. I stopped at the top of the flight of stairs.
“Mouse, I’m not about to be ambushed, am I?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Don’t you think I have your back?”
In the swimming pool, the Balanchines were seated around the table. I recognized perhaps half of them. There were always new faces, though. Turnover was high among the Balanchines—someone was always dying or going to prison.
Everyone stood when I walked in, and I noticed that the only place left was at the head of the table. I looked at the empty chair and wondered what was meant by it.
What else was there to do? I sat down.
A third or fourth cousin of mine named Pip Balanchine was designated the Family’s spokesperson. (I had many cousins, but I remembered Pip because he was the one with the mustache.) “Thank you for coming, Anya. Two years ago, you gave your approval to Fats Medovukha to run the Family. At that time, many of us felt you should be made head of the Family. As you may remember, I was one of those people.”
“Yes,” I said.
“We are deeply saddened by Fats’s passing. At the time of his death, he was having an argument with Ivan Balanchiadze. We believe this is why he was killed. The dispute involved the Dark Room.”