Known to Evil

42

I went to a bookstore to collect myself after the encounter with my friend-Death.

It was a superstore on the second floor of the mall.

I glanced through the bestsellers but nothing caught my fancy. I searched around until coming across a section that had the new books that were less known, less popular. Among these I came across a book about a thief, a second-story man, who had broken his leg in a botched attempt to break into an old woman's house. He tried to get away but fainted on the street. Many people passed the guy by, mistaking him for some homeless vagabond napping on the sidewalk.

Finally the old woman got home and found him. She had a neighborhood handyman bring him into the house, where she could attend to his broken bone.

It was one of those silly stories that get to you-at least it got to me. I was worried about the man's salvation, and the old woman's life savings, about the witness across the street who had seen the attempted break-in, and the old woman's grandniece, who slowly begins to have feelings for the burglar.

Somebody knocked over a display stand near to the chair where I was reading. The crash threw me out of the story and I couldn't read my way back in. So I got up, went down to the number 1 train, and rode in a car full to brimming over with commuters going from the jobs that they didn't want back to the lives they hadn't bargained for.

THESE DAYLIGHT HOURS WEREN'T wasted. The meeting with Hush, no matter how unsettling, helped me to decide what avenue to take to get to Angie. But there was nothing I could do while the sun still shone, so I headed home, intent on climbing into another cold shower; after that I'd be ready to find my client and inform her of our hitherto unrevealed relationship.

THE LOBBY TO MY apartment building was a small suite of rooms, a throwback to a more genteel era of New York living. I stood upon the threadbare carpet, considered a moment, then decided on the elevator instead of the stairs. I needed to save my strength for the job ahead.

"Mr. McGill?" she said.

There was the trill of Eastern Europe in the English, and a mild vibration to the youthful feminine voice.

She came from the alcove to the right. It was a small sitting room that a few of the older residents used in the daytime when they needed a breather after coming back from shopping or while waiting for their laundry in the basement to finish a washing or drying cycle.

"Yes?" I said, thinking that if she were one of Adolph Pressman's associates I'd already be dead.

"I am Tatyana Baranovich, a friend of your son Dimitri."

She was twenty, svelte, dressed suggestively but only just. Her makeup was minimal and totally unnecessary. All in all, she gave that aura of sexy conservatism that Scandinavian professionals revel in.

"I've been looking forward to meeting you," I said.

As we shook hands she stared into my eyes, not so much to see something but to exhibit how serious her visit was.

"Let's go back into the alcove," I said. "D's mother wouldn't add much to this talk."

Following her into the little half-room, I could see what my son was besotted by. Hell, I could see why a hardened pimp like Gustav didn't want to let her go.

We sat across from each other in stiff padded chairs that were somewhat reminiscent of the crammed-in seats on an overcrowded charter flight.

Tatyana adjusted her position so that I could witness her discomfort. This uneasiness was complemented by the anxiety in her eyes.

"Let me call Katrina first," I said.

"Who is that?"

"D's mother."

"Oh."

"HELLO?" SHE SAID, ANSWERING the second ring.

"Hey."

"Leonid. Where are you?"

"I was on my way home but I got waylaid. I might not be back for an hour or so. I hope that doesn't mess up your plans."

"Shelly is studying till late," she said. "And the boys are still gone. I'll keep something warm for you. But you better let me go so nothing burns."

"Okay. Bye."

I wanted to make sure that Katrina was home and not planning to leave. I didn't want her to see me and Tatyana together. One thing about my wife-she could tell what another woman was up to, and Tatyana was a veritable beacon of intention.

"Why are you here?" I asked her.

"Twill said I must talk to you. He gave me key to the front door."

"You could have gone to my office."

"I called but you were gone. Twill said I could wait here and that you would come. He said I would know you, as I know Dimitri."

Even with my years of experience, something about her made me want to trust the girl.

"So," I said. "Tell me about Gustav."

After a moment's hesitation she said, "He is pimp," in crisp, matter-of-fact language.

"And?"

"My brother is sick," she said. "My younger sister was too young to help. My mother was alone, and a man came to me and said that I could come to America and do… what I do for three years and then, after I made his partners a million dollars, I will be free. I send money home and sleep with old fat men."

The buzzer to the front door sounded and my son's school friend Bertrand Arnold rushed in. He pressed the elevator button and concentrated on the door as if to hurry the car along. His being there could have been for any reason. After all, he was my son's friend; he had come to the house before looking for Dimitri.

He could have had any number of reasons for being in my building.

But the choices became somewhat limited by the bouquet of wildflowers nestled in the crook of his right arm. He was probably waiting around the corner. Maybe he and Katrina were to meet somewhere nearby but now that I would be late they might get a few kisses in before I came home.

"He lied to me," Tatyana was saying. She was facing away from the elevator door.

If Bertrand glanced to his right he would have seen me sitting there, staring at him. But the young suitor's attention was somewhere else.

When the door slid open he rushed in, all hormones, fear, and maybe love.

"… when I told him that I wanted him to do what he promised, he had a man named Vassily beat me and rape me."

"Tatyana," I said.

"Yes?"

"That's a beautiful name."

"Thank you," she said, wondering.

"How did Dimitri get mixed up in all this? I mean, my son has a good heart, but if I were in your position he'd be the last person I'd turn to for help."

She lowered her eyelids and smiled. This young woman and I were equals, at least in her estimation. She might have been right.

"I was very worried. You could see it on my face. He asked me what was wrong and I was so upset that I told him. I had to talk to someone. Dimitri said that he knew someone who might know a place for me to hide until we could do something. I was scared and I didn't know anyone but professors and students… and Gustav's whores. Dimitri introduced me to your younger son. At first I thought he was just a boy, but then Twilliam brought me to a house in the Bronx and then out to a beach house on Long Island. He told me that if I was his brother's friend that he would help me. He said that if I left New York with Dimitri he could go to you and that you would know what to do."

I was thinking about my wife and her younger boyfriend, about Dimitri and this tiger he had by the tail. Aura's boyfriend was trying to demolish my whole life, and Ron Sharkey wanted to apologize to the woman who had destroyed his everything.

"How are you and Dimitri living?" I asked.

"I had money hidden in a gym locker at school."

"Where is D right now?"

The beautiful child from Minsk inhaled and held the breath.

"If you don't lie to me," I said, "about anything… I will help you."

"He doesn't want me to tell you," she said. "He told me not to come here. Right now he thinks I am getting clothes from a girlfriend of mine."

"Where is he?"

"Please," she said. "I promised I would not tell you."

"Why would he think that you would tell me anything if you're at a girlfriend's house?"

"Twilliam told him that men came here after him. He said that you figured it out. I told him that I would call you."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because Twilliam told me to meet you… not on the phone."

"Twill's a teenager."

"He is man." She knew the right diction, I was sure, but this Russian phrasing brought her point home.

I smiled. I had to. Twill was slight of build but he left a footprint like Tyrannosaurus rex.

"You won't tell me?" I asked.

She didn't reply.

Her green dress was made from raw silk, her cream-colored jacket might have been merino. Tatyana wore no hose, and her dark-brown shoes were sensible, designed for walking-or running.

She was the right girl in a long life of wrong days; the kind of woman that made you wish everything was different-somehow.

Twill was right. Tatyana's intentions toward my son were meaningless compared to what he would learn from her.

"How many girls does Gustav have?"

"Always less than twenty. Sometimes as little as twelve."

"Is there a place where he keeps them?"

"They work out of a building in the East Village, but they live above the pool hall," she said. "On the fourth and fifth floors. He is protected. There is a policeman who comes there."

"What's his name?"

"Saul Thinnes. He's a captain."

I liked straight talk with the Russian. It felt rare, like plain truth in advertising, a contract with no fine print, or honesty in politics.

I nodded. She understood that I had a plan. She also knew enough not to ask me what that plan was.

"What do you want from me?" she asked.

I shook my head slightly. This caused her brow to furrow, reminding me of Hush.

"It's for Dimitri," I explained.

"Do you want something for him?"

"No."

Again she scrutinized my face, this time looking for danger.

"Sometimes," I said, "things just don't make sense. They happen and we are left to deal with the results. You are one of those things. I am, too."

This explanation seemed to quiet Tatyana's unspoken trepidations. She smiled.

I squelched the urge to kiss her.

"Take D down to Philly for a few days," I said. "No more than three. Things will be fixed when you get back."

She nodded and stood but I remained seated.

"Aren't you going upstairs?" she asked.

"I'm gonna sit here and think for a while."