He seemed to consider that. “Djuro, if you were Tishchenko and two people came to you in this way, how would you advise them?”
Bo put his hands in his lap and stared at the table. “I would advise them to find out what it is that Harvey Baltimore has, or what it is that he knows, and to let the man have it, this man who took him. But”-he held for an extra beat-“I would also understand that they meant no disrespect in taking him back. They didn’t know.”
“Then you believe this man should…”
“I would ask that he forgive any disrespect that was shown and accept in exchange the full and true disclosure of whatever it is that Harvey Baltimore knows that he needs.”
Tishchenko sat back and scratched his chin. “If he did, that man would be a very understanding man.”
“Yes.”
“A benevolent man.”
“Yes.”
“And in line,” I said, “in front of the FBI, who also wants this…this thing, whatever it is, which…which we don’t know what it is because…because…” They had both turned to look at me. “Because Harvey is home recovering and hasn’t told us yet.” They turned away, and I knew how it felt to get smaller.
“This man who took your friend, Djuro, would he not be stupid to forgive the thief who stole his chicken before he got his eggs? With no chicken and no eggs, he has nothing now. My six-year-old grandson knows this much.”
“He would have my word.”
Tishchenko picked up his cup and drank down the rest of his espresso. Then he picked up the spoon and dropped it into the cup, where it clanked delicately.
“Sashen’ka.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a brother?”
I looked at Bo. He gave me a subtle nod. “Yes.”
He put his hand on Bo’s forearm. “Djuro reminds me of my brother Vladislav. Vladi was also my business partner. We came here to America together. I miss my brother very much.”
“What happened to him?”
“Someone killed him.”
“I’m sorry he’s dead, but Harvey never killed anyone.”
“Perhaps. But this man who took your friend, he might believe Harvey Baltimore knows something about the man who killed my brother, a man who left this country and to this day has never paid the price for what he did.”
“Wait a second. Roger Fratello killed your brother?”
Tishchenko sat back abruptly. He reacted as if I’d squirted lemon juice in his eyes. Bo was also staring at me. I had apparently violated the code of vague communication. I tried again.
“Why do you-” I had to pick my pronouns carefully. “May I ask why the man who took Harvey thinks Harvey can help him with his problem?”
“He might have friends who know such things.”
Friends in the FBI? That was a scary thought, though not entirely out of the realm of possibility.
Tishchenko aimed his steady, impassive eyes at me. “Would he have your commitment, Sashen’ka?”
“For what?”
“If this man were to let your friend go and forgive your mistake, would he have your commitment to provide a service in return?”
“What exactly is the service requested?”
“Find the man who killed Vladi. Tell me where he is. That’s all.”
“First of all, I have to be clear. Are we talking about Roger Fratello?”
He offered a curt nod.
As far as I knew, no one knew where Roger Fratello was hanging out. Certainly not the FBI. Maybe Harvey did, maybe he didn’t. “If Harvey knows something-”
“I do not believe in if. It is a weak word. Something either is or it is not. You either do or you do not.”
I was afraid my voice would come out as a squeak, so I made myself calmly reach for the teapot, lift it, and pour the tea into my cup. I put the pot down, picked up the cup, and took a sip. It was strong and hot, and as I settled my cup back on its saucer, I looked at Tishchenko.
“If I did this, then this man we’re speaking of would no longer have interest in Harvey?”
“He would have no interest in Harvey Baltimore.”
I glanced at Bo. He was giving me no cues. This was apparently up to me. I looked at Tishchenko’s dead eyes. “Yes, he would have my commitment. I’ll find Fratello.”
“Conscience and honor,” he said, looking at Bo. “This is the law I live by. Not the laws of this country or my country or any country but the laws of man. You know this, Djuro.”
“Yes.”
“A commitment means everything. Do you understand, Sashen’ka?” He watched me closely.
“I understand.”
He looked straight at Bo. “Make sure that she does.”
If I hadn’t been in Bo’s Mercedes, I would have thrown up on the way back to Harvey’s. As it was, I couldn’t stop trembling. I heard myself talking to Bo. I heard the words that came out of my mouth, but I couldn’t make any kind of cognitive connection to them. My mind was back in that dank café, playing over and over again the moment where I had made the commitment to Tishchenko. Something told me I had just made a very large bet.
“Bo?”
“Yes?”
“What if I can’t find him?” That he didn’t respond was not reassuring. “Roger Fratello disappeared four years ago and hasn’t been seen since. The FBI hasn’t been able to find him. Obviously, the…the tsar back there hasn’t been able to find him, and I’m sure he looked. Both of those organizations would have way more resources than I have.”
“He believes that Harvey Baltimore knows where he is. If he believes this, then it is true, even if it is not. Do you understand?”
I did. I opened the window on my side and let the cool air rush over my face. “This is not a good situation.”
“He will not kill you if you give him what you said you would give him. He is a man who lives by his commitments.”
“What if I can’t?”
He stared straight ahead. “As I said, he is a man who lives by his commitments.”
14
THE NEWS JUST KEPT GETTING BETTER. BO WAS SUPPOSED to go back to Harvey’s with me and strategize, but he got a phone call that took priority. Boston PD was interested in talking to him about a disturbance that had taken place in a local neighborhood in which three men disappeared. He wasn’t sure what they had, but he had to go and take care of it. When he dropped me in front of Harvey’s, he assured me that Radik and Timon would still be around-as long as the cops didn’t want to see them, too, in which case we might all be in big trouble.
I assumed that Harvey would still be in bed, but when I came into his office, he was sitting quietly in his chair in the middle of the room, blinking at me.
I froze. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong.”
I didn’t believe him. Something was always wrong. But he had gotten himself out of bed and dressed. He looked much more together than I felt. “You look good,” I said. “You look better. Are you feeling better?”
“I am well, thank you. Much better than last we spoke.”
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting.”
“For what?” The tea service was back out. A fresh pot had been brewed. “Are you expecting company?”
His hands had slipped into his lap, and he was staring at them as if he’d just screwed on a new pair and didn’t know how they worked. It was the way he looked when he felt guilty.
“I was hoping to have this done before you got back.”
“Have what done?”
“I called the FBI.”
“You called-”
He held up a business card, and I had a sick feeling, because I knew whose it must have been. I went over and snatched it from him. Special Agent Eric Ling.
“Where did you get this?”
“It was on my bedside table. I thought you left it for me, either by design or by fate.”
“It was neither, Harvey. It was by accident. Why did you call him?”