Fresh Kills (38 page)

“It's what Billy said.”

“He knew. He understood her.” Tolya lifted himself heavily off the bench. “We have to take Billy.”

“Linda took the knife for protection?”

Tolya pulled the cigar case out of his shirt pocket and lit up a skinny little cigar. “I don't know if it was for protection or to somehow hurt Billy, or just because she was so afraid.”

“I see.”

“Luda was alone on the streets most of the night, and there was a boy, and she cut him,” said Tolya.

A cop had found Luda curled up on the sidewalk in the doorway of a shop in the Village that sold Russian antiques and books. She said she read the sign on the awning and felt comforted by the Cyrillic letters and was waiting for someone to come. She didn't speak much, not to the cop who couldn't understand her.

She still had the knife. The cop saw there was blood on it and on her hand. He didn't know what to do with her because she
was so small – he thought she was seven or eight – so he picked her up and put her in the patrol car and took her to St Vincent's, which was a couple of blocks away.

He called into his station house and found out that a woman who lived on Thirteenth Street reported a crazy little girl had attacked her son with a knife, a girl who didn't speak English. Her son had gone out very early, before it was light, carrying a basketball on his way to practice before a game. He came home bleeding and his mother took him to St Vincent's, where they sewed him up and let him go. The police were notified.

In another part of the hospital Luda lay on a bed, not speaking. There was no one who spoke Russian. She had on pink shorts and shirt and the red flip-flops. Her legs were bruised and no one could tell if it was from fighting with the boy with the basketball or from stumbling up the curbs.

Eventually a Russian nurse from Washington Heights arrived, and before she put her bag down – it was a huge fake Vuitton bag that she used to carry her lunch in, she said, hastily – she was taken to Luda.

The nurse – her American name was Michelle, she said – stayed with Luda until she sat up, drank some milk and started talking. She was a good listener. She sat on the edge of Luda's bed, and Luda talked to her. Luda told her Valentina's name but Val wasn't listed and neither was Tolya. It took hours to find them, but then Val arrived at the hospital with Lily.

Somehow, Luda had met up with Billy. After she left Tolya's place, wearing her shorts, carrying a shopping bag from the toy store where she kept the knife, she started walking. Somewhere, she didn't remember where, she heard people on the street talking Russian. She asked for directions. They asked her if she wanted a ride and she said yes. It was raining.

Luda knew you weren't supposed to go in strangers' cars, but the people looked OK, a nice young man and woman,
and Luda had her knife, so she went. They took her to Billy, who was waiting for her on the corner of Broadway near my loft. The nice man and woman waited until Luda got out of the car, and when they saw Billy put his arms around her, drove off.

Billy complimented Luda on the way she had come by herself and said he had something to show her. He took her hand. She yanked it away. She was scared of him, but he promised to help her and she thought this meant she wouldn't have to go back to Russia.

“I just have to show you something,” he said in Russian. “I have to show you what happens in America to people who break the law.”

It was Friday evening just before I got back from Sonny's. People were in a hurry. The film crew was milling around. Everyone was preoccupied, and if anyone saw the two kids, they barely paid attention to a boy and his little sister.

Clutching her shopping bag, Luda followed Billy into the alley where he opened the humpback freezer. He showed it to her. He showed her the dead baby girl. He told her it was what happened to bad kids. It was how it was, he said, and she looked and then she ran. She ran as fast as she could, not turning around, not knowing where she was going, just ran.

For hours she sat in the doorway of the Russian antique shop. Maybe she fell asleep. Much later, early in the morning, in fact, a boy with a basketball stopped to see if she was OK, and when she saw him, she thought it was Billy and she ran at him and cut his hand with her knife.

“How do you know she was telling the truth?” I said to Tolya. “Maybe she was screwed up about what was happening, maybe she saw the story about the dead baby on TV and constructed her story.”

“She was gone out of the apartment before it was on TV,”
Tolya said. “Her English isn't good enough for TV, but she was already gone.”

“Maybe Billy just heard about it and told her to scare her. Does anyone know who the baby in the freezer was? Is there anything on it? You talked to Lippert?”

“Yes. There was a report of a baby taken from a carriage outside some Korean deli downtown. Canal Street area. Woman went in to get cigarettes and left her in the baby carriage for a second. A lot of people were around. A second, she said. She left her baby for a second and then she was gone,” Tolya said. “Artyom, it was Billy. He showed Luda the infant in that freezer before anyone knew the baby was in there. You have to know that.”

“How do you know Luda wasn't just scared? She could say anything.”

“Billy didn't want her getting between you and him, I saw that the first day. You were the only thing he had, and she was there, and he saw that you paid attention to her.” Tolya hesitated. “He has no conscience, Artie. He doesn't have some disease, or fucked-up genes, he has no conscience. I told you once I thought he was like this country, beautiful and brilliant but unaware of anyone else.”

“You're wrong,” I said. “You're wrong.”

“I don't know how this happens in someone,” said Tolya. “But I can see this in him.”

I thought about my nephew, the good-looking boy with the hair falling in his face, and the way he laughed and how the laces of his sneakers trailed all over the ground.

“Where's the proof? Except for Luda's story, where's the evidence?” I was desperate. I didn't want to know. Go away, I thought, but I didn't say anything, just waited for Tolya to finish.

“Luda had a picture of it,” Tolya said. “Luda had a little cell phone she got at the toy store Wednesday night, we set it up so she could call us, or take pictures or just have fun with it.
She was there. Luda was there in the alleyway, looking in the freezer and Billy was there, and she took a picture. The time is marked on it. I have a copy if you need to see.”

Billy was gone when we went back inside the house. He had slipped out while Tolya and I were sitting on the bench, talking. I'd pretty much known if I turned my back, he'd go, and Tolya knew, too. I let Billy go because I didn't want to believe what he had done, and I didn't know what to do.

My car was still in the driveway. I knew he couldn't have gone far. I glanced out of the window of the house at the water. For a second it crossed my mind that maybe Billy just walked in, let the water into his mouth and nose, sucked it up, drifted down slowly. But it would have been tough for him to get to the water without me seeing him. Billy's stuff was still in the bedroom.

I went out into the yard.

“He's not here,” I said to Tolya.

“Do you know where he is?”

“I'll look,” I said.

“I'll go with you.”

“I think I have to do this myself. It will be OK, Tolya, I promise. I'll do what I have to. I can manage, I swear. Trust me, OK? Go home to Luda and Val.”

“And to Lily, who is so nice to all of us,” Tolya said. “She helps my Valentina, she helps Luda. Val loves her. She is so good for us.”

“And me,” I said.

“All of us. I think if she didn't belong to you, I would try to marry her,” said Tolya.

“Yes.” I started for my car, and then I said to him, “Tolya, you keep a weapon with you? You told me once you had one.”

“You really want to know?” He tried to smile.

“I want you to give it to me, please.”

He went to his car, opened the passenger door, leaned in got out a gun and gave it to me. I took it, put it in my waistband, put my jacket on so the gun didn't show.

“You'll be OK?” Tolya said.

“Yeah, I'm fine. I just feel naked without a gun, you know, I'm a cop, right?”

“Sure,” he said.

I patted him on the arm because I didn't know what else to do, and then I got into my car, and backed out of the drive, watching Tolya who just stood there, hunched over a little, a cigar in his hand, looking at me.

About half a mile from the house, in the woods near the water, I found Billy sitting on the ground, hidden from the road. He told me that he had tripped and caught his foot in some weeds.

“I knew you'd come, Artie,” he said. “I waited for you.”

I squatted down near him and untangled his foot. I had to take one of his sneakers off first because the long laces were caught in the undergrowth.

“OK?”

Billy rubbed his foot. “Yeah,” he said. “I think I heard something snap, maybe one of those little bones, you know?” He looked up at the sky. The sun was going. “We didn't get in much fishing.”

“No.” I sat, still holding his sneaker.

“I can't go back to Florida,” said Billy. “You know that, right, like I just can't do it, Artie.”

I didn't tell him that Florida probably wasn't an option anymore. I didn't tell him he'd be tried as an adult this time and locked up for the rest of his life if he was lucky. There would be no friendly shrinks, or appreciative teachers, or hospital wards where clouds were painted on the sky-blue walls.

“I understand,” I said.

I got out some cigarettes and gave him one, and for a while – it must have been a minute or two at least – we smoked together sitting on the ground in the woods, Billy leaning a little against me, but not complaining about his ankle.

“You think my mom and dad are back by now? From London?”

“Probably. They said they'd be back today.”

“Oh.”

“The girl is OK? Luda, I mean? They found her and everything?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

There was a noise behind me, and I turned fast, but it was only a dog.

“How come you're wearing a gun?” Billy said.

“What?”

“Under your jacket. Your jacket opened and I saw it.”

“I'm a cop,” I said. “I always wear one.”

“You didn't have it before.”

“No.”

“Artie? I think I might need your help to get back to the house, I mean my ankle kinds of hurts.”

“I have the car,” I said. “It's up on the road.”

“Should we go?”

“In a minute. It's nice here. Let's just sit for a minute, OK?”

“OK.” Billy looked like a young teenager instead of a half-grown man. “I was wanting to ask you about the little plane that crashed on the beach. Did anyone ever find out what happened?”

“I'm not sure,” I said. “Sometimes stuff is just accidental, you know, and there's no reason.”

“Right,” said Billy. “Like magic.”

I handed Billy his other shoe and he tried to put it on, but his foot hurt too much. Holding the sneaker, he tried to get up and then fell backwards. I helped him. On the way back to the car, he leaned on me, hobbling on the one foot, keeping the other one off the ground.

We got to the car, and he leaned against the hood, breathing hard from the effort.

“Is there something you want to ask me?” said Billy, and for the first time I realized how sweet his voice was; the actual sound of it was sweet.

“What do you want me to know?”

“I need you to know everything about me, Artie. I need you to feel OK about me no matter what.”

I couldn't speak.

“You can ask me anything, you know, I mean I could tell you anything, and you wouldn't get mad, right?” Billy said.

“Yes.”

“So ask,” he said.

“Did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“The baby.” I'd have traded an arm or a leg or ten years of my life not to have to ask, much more for not having to hear the answer. “The freezer. Out back at Mike Rizzi's coffee shop.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yes.”

When we pulled up at the house, Tolya was still waiting. He was sitting in the chair on the front lawn, the butt of a cigar in
his mouth, and as soon as I hit the brakes, he got up and waved. I got out of the car.

Leaning on me, Billy got out of my car, and Tolya put out his hand and Billy shook it. We sat down in the three chairs on the front lawn. Tolya and Billy talked a little bit about fishing and Tolya described how he had once gone way out to sea on a fishing boat off the coast of Cuba, and another time for salmon in Alaska. He told Billy that there were some great places in Russia for fishing; he painted him a picture of it, the wild places, the virgin lakes, the big rivers; Tolya said that maybe they could take a trip, him and Billy.

Summer was best, Tolya said, standing up on the ragged lawn and pretending to cast a line into a river. He could show Billy where he grew up and where I grew up. We could all go fishing.

Billy said he'd like that.

“You have your things with you?” Tolya asked.

“Sure,” Billy said. “I brought most of my things with me here.”

“We can buy whatever else you need,” said Tolya.

“Maybe you should get packed,” I said.

“I am packed,” Billy said to me, “I'd like to see where you went fishing with your dad, Artie, with my grandfather. To that river you told me about.” His face was alive with anticipation. “We could all go.”

Tolya nodded. I stuffed my hands into my pockets to keep them from shaking too much. No words seemed to come out of my mouth when I opened it, and I had to turn my back to Billy so he wouldn't see my face.