The Altar Girl: A Prequel

CHAPTER 33

The man who emerged from the bathroom was all too familiar to me. The only shocking thing about him was his sudden mobility. He was Danilo Rus, Roxy’s father, and my former father-in-law. The man who’d hit me in his home, the one who’d hated me from the moment his son had started dating me. Now he was going to get his ultimate revenge for his son’s death. After all, if his son hadn’t been married to me, he would have never received a distress call from my mother, and he wouldn’t have driven headfirst into a tree.

“You’re looking well, father-in-law,” I said, in Ukrainian. “What happened to the Parkinson’s?”

“It’s like my recollection that you were once my daughter-in-law. An affliction that will eventually kill me. When my brother came to me for help, I decided to accelerate my decline. To take any suspicion off me. No one ever worries about the gimp.”

I turned to Donnie Angel. “How did you know?”

“Know what?” Donnie said.

“At the house. You told your man my brother would be coming. And asked him where the shovels were. That was for my benefit.”

“You think?”

“But how did you know I was there?”

“Memo to Nadia. If you see a house with an infinity pool, a tennis court, and a vineyard — a fucking vineyard — assume security cameras are watching you.”

“You saw me—”

“From the minute you stepped foot on the property.”

“But the grave. It’s dug out already. All prepared. As though you knew that I wasn’t going to New York. As though you knew I was going to find you at the warehouse.”

“The gravedigger is on my payroll. It’s the type of connection that comes in handy in my line of work. The hole in Mrs. Zen’s resting place was dug a few days ago on account of my knowing that you’d eventually show up again. And by the way, Mrs. Zen has no living family so no one’s going to show up and ask questions why the dirt on her grave’s been messed up. I knew you wouldn’t let it go, especially since you were worried your brother was involved. Didn’t know it would be tonight. Real sorry it worked out this way. I gave you every chance, Nadia. I gave you every chance to walk away.”

My head spun. My body temperature soared as though the invisible jaws of death had grasped my body and squeezed. But of course they had. The grave really was for me. I’d mentioned it nonchalantly, ever the cool and calculating analyst, subconsciously hoping Donnie would laugh and tell me I was out of my mind, that he wasn’t going to snuff out my final breath and toss my body into a casket containing another woman’s bones…

Unless he was planning to bury me alive.

The jaws of death squeezed tighter. All the moisture in my mouth evaporated. I felt like a useless ball of cotton candy.

He wouldn’t do that, would he?

Donnie was so insane I couldn’t rule out the prospect. I imagined him tossing a shovel full of dirt onto my mobile body, covering my head and filling my nostrils as I struggled to breathe…

I took a deep breath as though I was lying in that crypt. The focus on my lungs snapped me out of my spell. A voice sounded in my head.

There is always a way out of trouble.

When in doubt, I reminded myself, ask questions.

I took another breath and turned back to Rus. “Were you involved in this from the beginning? Because I don’t get it. If you were, why was my brother hired to provide protection for your brother?” I glanced at the three thugs. “Looks to me that, between Donnie and his guys, there’s plenty of muscle here.”

Rus was busy trying to remove his belt from around his waist. “When the call came from Crimea, my brother was too scared to see the opportunity. He came to me for advice and I became his silent partner. I was the one who suggested he use your brother as protection for his first big delivery.”

“Silent partner,” I said. “I get it.” I looked at Donnie. “You’re the connection to Crimea, but you kept your distance to minimize your legal risk. But when my godfather died, you had no idea where the inventory was. You had to get involved. And when you couldn’t find out on your own, you let me ask the questions and followed where I went.”

“You were always a smart cookie,” Donnie said. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

“How did I lead you to the warehouse?”

“You didn’t,” Donnie said. “You led me to him.” He nodded at Rus. “You searched your godfather’s house with Roxy, then went straight to his house. Alone. Everyone knows the two of you hate each other, so you weren’t going there to say hi to the old father-in-law. I figured you must have found something that made you wonder. So after you left, I went in and asked a few questions of my own and found my silent partner. Once he understood that the inventory wasn’t going to be his for the keeping, that he had partners here and in Ukraine whether he knew them or not, we got along just fine. Didn’t we, Danilo?”

Rus cringed at the sound of Donnie using his first name. There was no love lost between the partners that I could see. I wondered how I could use that to my advantage. Rus slipped his belt from around the last loop in his pants.

“What was Roxy’s role in this?” I said.

Rus’s head snapped in my direction. “She had no role in this. My daughter is a good girl. She understands her place is by her husband. He’s useless but that’s not her fault. And now her inheritance will provide for the rest of her life.”

“My godfather’s cash,” I said. “You took it from his house before Roxy and I ever searched.”

He confirmed my suspicion with a stoic glance. I was momentarily pleased to hear that Roxy wasn’t involved. My circumstances, however, prevented anything more than a fleeting thought in that direction.

“The letters DP in his calendar,” I said. “They were your initials after all. Danilo Rus. Except the “R” is a “P” in Ukrainian.”

Rus stared at me stone-faced. He kept one end of the belt in his right hand and grabbed the other end with his left.

“You killed him,” I said. “You killed your own brother.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Rus rolled his eyes. “The smartest people understand themselves the least. My brother fell down the stairs. You made up some theory about him being murdered to come back here. To make amends with me, your family, your community. Everybody can see that. It’s a small community. We all know each other. I played with you when you came to visit me that night for sheer entertainment purposes. Just to watch your massive, overgrown ego get even bigger. The police said it was an accident, but you, the great intellect among us, you, Nadia Tesla, knew better. What a farce. Nobody thinks he was murdered. Nobody but you.”

My head spun again. Rus’s words sounded like a dart hitting the bull’s-eye. Had I concocted everything for my own subconscious purposes?

Of course I had. The room turned sideways. Then it hit me.

“That’s not true,” I said. Mrs. Chimchak believed me. Mrs. Chimchak had brought him his wine that night. “I’m not the only one who thinks he was murdered.”

Rus made small circles with his wrists around the ends of the belt to shorten its length. “Oh, right. Mrs. Chimchak. The accountant. I forgot about her. You do realize she’s suffering from dementia? Three months ago they found her wandering half-naked at Naylor elementary school. Scared the hell out of the boys.”

Mrs. Chimchak suffered from dementia? I remembered her rambling incoherently on the phone. The signs had been there, but I’d refused to see them. I felt my confidence and my life slipping away from me. Had I deluded myself so badly? Was I such a wreck? Visions of my childhood survival test flooded to mind again.

Yes. I was such a wreck. After everything my brother and I had been through. How could we not be wrecks?

Rus stepped forward. “Grab her,” he said.

Two of the thugs grabbed me by the shoulders, one on each side. I tried to break free but could barely move. It wasn’t only their strength. I seemed to be operating at half power, as though I was accepting my inevitable fate. Then I felt warm breath in my right ear, and the sickly-sweet smell of Brut aftershave in my nostrils.

“Love you, baby,” Donnie Angel said.

Rus’s jaw tightened. A look of unadulterated hatred spread over his face. “I’ve been dreaming of this moment since my boy died. Good-bye, bitch.”

He raised the belt over my head. My pulse quickened but I didn’t feed my fear. I let the moment pass, and I thought to myself:

You are not a fraud. A man is going to kill you but you can prevent it. You can prevent it because you are smart, tough, and resourceful. What do these men covet? Money. What is their weakness? They don’t trust each other.

Rus slipped the belt over my head.

I twisted my neck so that I could look into Donnie Angel’s eyes. They shone with the perverse anticipation of watching a woman be strangled.

There is almost always a way out of trouble. The woman who keeps her emotions at bay can find the way.

“You don’t want the nativity scene?” I said.

I choked on the last word. The belt strangled me. My airway shut. The blood from my throat surged to my face. I could smell Rus’s wretched breath, see the glint in his eyes as he pulled the leather taut and held it. I waited for Donnie Angel to tell Rus to release the belt. He would want to know what I meant by my question. Surely he would.

Black clouds blinded me. I needed air. Why wasn’t Donnie doing the logical thing? Why wasn’t he stopping this so he could ask me what I meant?

I needed air. I needed oxygen now.

I struggled with all my remaining might to break free from the grip of Donnie’s thugs. My struggles were for naught. I felt myself passing out.

Good-bye, Marko.

I heard some noise. It sounded like a man speaking. A struggle of some kind ensued. It happened right in front of me. Then I felt my head falling back… gently, gently… my back landed on the ground.

My airway freed.

I gulped air. Choked and swallowed air repeatedly.

Panic overtook me. I could not control it. I needed oxygen. Were they going to choke me again? Was I going to die? I couldn’t get the air into my system fast enough. I couldn’t keep my mind from racing, or my lungs from heaving—

Something touched my shoulder.

My vision cleared.

Donnie Angel was kneeling beside me, belt in hands. He wore a look of genuine concern. “You okay, baby? You need some water?”

He made calming noises and patted my shoulder like the doctor he’d emulated in his van. Then his men helped me into a chair. My limbs trembled. One of the men brought me a cup of water. I could barely keep my hand steady enough to lift it to my lips. My throat was so dry I choked and spit out the first mouthful. The second one went down, however, and the third restored some of my equilibrium.

Rus stood steaming in the background, hands open by his side as though they were ready to finish the job his belt had started.

Donnie bent over so he was at eye level. “Better?”

“Peachy,” I said. My voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard. “Ready for the debutante ball.”

Donnie doubled over and laughed. No one else bothered to even chuckle, and Donnie’s reaction was so over the top it left no doubt he was pretending to be amused for profit’s sake, and that I was a dead woman if he didn’t believe my story. But he would believe my story, I thought. He would believe it because I was going to give him my confidence. It’s what I did as an analyst. I ripped companies apart, understood them, and imparted my confidence to investors who paid me.

“What nativity scene?” Donnie said.

“The one your partners in Crimea sent my godfather. Direct. As a special bonus. I found it in his house the night Roxy and I searched it. Then I went back and took it the next day.”

“That’s a lie!” Rus said. “There is no such thing. All the goods were delivered through the shipyard in New London. If there was a bonus of some kind, I would know about it.”

Donnie stared at him through slits. “Maybe you do know about it, but I don’t.”

“Nonsense,” Rus said. “Can’t you see she’s making it all up—”

“Shut up,” Donnie said. He cocked his head to the side and pointed a finger at Rus.

Rus shut up.

Donnie turned back to me. “How did you get into the house alone when Roxy had the key?”

“Roxy doesn’t have the only key. I borrowed the other one from my godfather’s best friend and accountant. From Mrs. Chimchak.”

Donnie glanced at Rus. The old man didn’t say anything, implying he either knew Mrs. Chimchak had a key or it was a safe bet.

“Tell me about this nativity scene,” Donnie said.

“Adoration of the shepherds,” I said. “It’s a standard Byzantine theme. Common in Eastern Orthodox icons. Shepherds behind your basic nativity scene. Except this one is circa 1685 by a student of Rembrandt’s. It’s about yea big.” I estimated a width of fifteen inches by twenty-five inches with my hands.

“What a pack of lies,” Rus said. “You couldn’t get something like that past customs—”

“It came as a ghost on the back of a cheap reproduction of a harbor scene print,” I said. The lies were coming quickly and furiously to me. Any one of them could get me killed but I had no choice. I was already a dead woman. That realization emboldened me even more.

“A ghost?” Donnie said.

“The harbor scene was painted on top of the nativity scene. Kirtch Bay. No one in customs would ever know. To them they would have looked like a set of cheap posters. How would they know what was painted under one of them?”

“You lying little whore,” Rus said. “This is the stupidest story I’ve ever heard.” Rus glanced at Donnie with pleading eyes. “Why? Why would our friends possibly alter the delivery process to send my brother some sort of bonus? Bonus for what?”

“For maintaining your arrangement,” I said. “When Takarov died six months ago, his sons assumed control of all his businesses, including this one. My godfather — your dear and loyal brother — immediately demanded a token of good faith to transfer his partnership from the man he’d known since DP camp in Germany to two young men of questionable integrity he knew nothing about.”

A lie depends on the voracity of detail behind it, and the quality of its delivery. I knew I’d nailed it. I knew it even before Donnie Angel’s eyelids shot up to his forehead, and Rus’s jaw dropped. The momentary silence that ensued told me I’d won a reprieve. It might last a minute, an hour, or a day, but I was still alive. And if I could get them to New York, anything could happen. A doorman, a fire alarm, a cop. A cop! There were more cops in New York City than coffee houses in Seattle. All I had to do…

“Where is this nativity scene now, Nadia?” Donnie said. “And be honest with me, or you and your family are gonna pay dearly.”

“In my apartment building,” I said.

“In New York?” Donnie said.

“Every tenant has a storage locker. For bicycles and luggage and stuff. It’s in the basement. Only the super has the key to the basement, and only I have the key to the locker. It’s there, wrapped in a blanket and sealed with duct tape.”

The more truth to the detail behind the lie, the easier it is to sustain it. That’s why most frauds inevitably reveal themselves. They become lies built on lies. The lockers existed, my super and I had the keys as discussed, and my storage space contained a framed object wrapped in a blanket. It was a limited edition print of a winter scene from Hunter Mountain in New York. I loved it to death, but it had been a gift from my husband and I didn’t want his memory hanging on my wall.

“All right then.” Donnie pointed to one of his men. “You take him home,” he said, motioning toward Rus. “And stay with him. Don’t let him out of your sight, not even to the bathroom. Nobody goes out of our sight until I figure out what’s what.”

“You’re a fool,” Rus said. “My son was a fool for trusting this ugly harlot, and you’re the biggest fool of all.”

Privately, I had to agree with him. For the moment, at least, I was no longer the greatest fool.

“Watch your mouth,” Donnie said. “She’s not ugly and she’s a friend of mine. I go back a lot longer with her than I do with you.” Donnie gave me another gorgeous, psychopathic grin. “Don’t we, babe?”

One of the thugs put the whiskey and masonry jars in a corner. After Donnie gave logistical orders — one of the men would drive while the second would keep a gun pointed at me during the entire trip — the other thug opened the door.

An object came whipping around out of nowhere. The glint of steel, a wooden handle, a pair of hands. It happened so quickly, that’s all I saw. The object crushed the man’s face. He collapsed to the floor. I could see at the last second that it was a shovel that had hit him in the face. The hands pulled the shovel back out of the doorway.

The crunch of bone beneath the shovel sounded like sweet salvation. The hands that had swung the shovel couldn’t belong to a cop. The police didn’t announce themselves with earth-moving equipment. Neither did disgruntled clients from tony suburbs like Avon. And the hands couldn’t belong to someone I knew because there was no one left who cared—

Two men burst into the office. Both of them looked vaguely familiar but I couldn’t place them. One held a gleaming silver revolver in his hand. The other aimed a shotgun at Donnie Angel.

“Don’t move,” the man with the shotgun said.

Marko stepped into the office, shovel in hand. It was a brand new shovel. The promotional sticker was still affixed to the blade. Kobalt, made in America. Heavy gauge, tempered-steel blade for increased strength and durability. I could not for the life of me understand why I read that sticker or why it mattered to me that the shovel was new. But it did. My brother had come to save me and he’d brought a brand new shovel for the job. It was amazing what we noticed when we were under duress, I thought. Only then did it dawn on me that this was an unlikely observation under the circumstances, and that I might be in shock from the events of the last half hour.

Marko scanned the room without emotion, pausing only on Rus’s face. Evidently, his presence was the only surprise to my brother. When he was finished appraising Donnie and his crew, he stood before them.

“My associates are licensed to carry firearms,” Marko said. “They’re also veterans of the United States Army which means they’re trained and know how to use them. I’m guessing you’re not and you don’t.”

Marko told them to remove their weapons and put them on the floor. They followed his instructions. Afterward, he had one of his boys search four of the men. He tended to Donnie Angel himself. After patting him down, Marko looked him in the eye.

“I thought I told you to leave my sister alone.”

Donnie grinned as though he didn’t have a care in the world, and shrugged.

Marko slugged him in the jaw and knocked him to the floor.

We stood there for ten minutes until two state police cars arrived. Most conflicts were resolved within the community, but the prospect of a second murder — my own — was too much in Marko’s opinion. He’d call the cops himself. I didn’t disagree with his decision.

When I thanked Marko for rescuing me, he looked at me and waited, as though expecting me to follow up with something else. I didn’t. I wanted to say more, but I simply couldn’t. Even in light of what had just transpired, the prospect of sentiment streaming from my lips made me nauseous. As a result, what should have been a time of celebration became an experience of physical and mental relief coupled with extreme emotional anguish. I thanked God I was alive and prayed for his forgiveness for the indomitable Tesla pride that defined me.

During the entire wait, Marko never said a word to me. He didn’t ask me how I was feeling or if I was hurt.

That was okay with me. Sometimes a makeshift weapon in a brother’s hand is all the love one needs.