All I Did Was Shoot My Man

42

Deciding not to go back to my desk, I took the elevator down to the street.

Meandering in a westerly direction, I realized that I was not only angry but also confused. I wanted to gather up Hush and declare war on my enemies only I wasn’t sure just who the enemy was.

Minnie Lesser had something to do with it — though that made no logical sense. Johann Brighton was involved. And then there was Antoinette Lowry; was that child of the South trying to kill me too?

In the back of a yellow cab, headed for home, I sent a text to Bug Bateman in what felt like a vain attempt to keep moving forward.

When i got to our place I found a new key in the mailbox; it worked perfectly on the repaired and replaced front door.

Tatyana and Katrina were sitting side by side in the little front room, chatting in soft tones. My wife was smiling almost ruefully while Tatyana paid close attention to her every word.

“Ladies,” I said.

I went to the pink padded chair beside the maroon sofa and Tatyana moved to rise. Katrina put out a hand and the Belarusian sat back down. This interaction alone told a full story — albeit in a language foreign to me.

“How are you, Katrina?”

“Fine.” The soft smile was not reassuring. “I’ve made lasagna for you and the children.”

“I’m so sorry about what happened.”

“No, Leonid,” she said, “it is I who should be apologizing. Most men support their families with safe jobs at insurance companies and auto garages. I’ve been cruel to you and every day you’re out there with your life in the balance. If one night that danger spills into this house, I cannot blame you. I should have been working, taking some of the weight off of your shoulders.”

“I never asked for that,” I said.

“But I should have taken the initiative. I can see now that it is as much my fault as yours what has happened.”

“Katrina...”

“Tatyana has been supporting her family for years and she is so young,” my wife said. “When I was her age I expected men to buy me things and here she is doing for others.”

This was definitely not the woman I had married. Her words indicated a change so profound that I had no idea how to respond. I was a lone Crusader washed up on the shore of the New World after my ship had foundered, taking with it all hands but me.

“Can I make you a drink?” I asked. Old standards are always the best.

“Cognac,” my wife said.

I looked inquiringly at Tatyana. She shook her head almost imperceptibly.

In the dining room I found Dimitri reading a hardback book.

“What you readin’?” I asked.

“Technics and Civilization,” he said, “by Lewis Mumford.”

“I once read a book by him. The City in History, or something like that.”

I took a seat next to my boy.

Dimitri closed the book, turning his attention to me.

“It’s my fault, right?” he said.

“What?”

“That Mom almost got killed.”

“Of course not. Those men were after me. And it’s not even my fault. I didn’t do anything to them.”

My phone chirped, telling me that it contained a message. I resisted the lure.

“But I wasn’t here,” Dimitri said.

“I was.”

“Yeah... You know, I was thinking, Pops... maybe I should start goin’ to Uncle Gordo’s gym.”

“You got the build for it,” I said, “that’s for sure. But you can’t protect everybody you meet.”

“Just Mom and Taty, is all I care about.”

“What about school?”

“I’ll go back after Tatyana gets her degree. You know I love history and science. But she’ll be able to get a better job quicker than I can.”

I put my hand on D’s right forearm. He put his left hand over my fingers. We hadn’t been so close since he was an infant but still our levels of experience placed us miles and miles apart.

The message was a forwarded e-mail from Bug. Once you help a man with his love life he responds with alacrity. I went to my den and downloaded the pages of data he’d sent.

What he found wasn’t an answer to my problems, not exactly, but it indicated a path I might take.

“Hello?” she said on the fourth ring.

“Ms. Lowry?”

“I didn’t expect you to call so soon.”

“We should meet.”

“About what?”

“Considering the clout of my enemies, I’d rather not say on the phone.”

“Enemies?”

“Anybody who sends cutthroats to my door is an enemy.”

“Do you know the Pink Lady?” she asked.

“Yeah.” I hadn’t been there in years.

“I’m busy right now but I can get there in a few hours, let’s say eleven?”

I poured cognac into a chilled snifter and grenadine and sparkling water into a tall tapering glass. These I delivered to Katrina and Dimitri’s girlfriend before going back out on the street — where I belonged.