The Boy Who Stole from the Dead

CHAPTER 21

VICTOR BODNAR SMILED as the Sunday morning sun warmed his face in Tompkins Square Park in the Lower East Village. The Timkiv twins sat across from him eyeing separate chess boards. Victor was playing both of them at the same time.

They’d proven themselves to be invaluable in Ukraine last year and he’d arranged for them to join him in New York. The Gun wore a tattoo on his right arm. It featured a gun beside the ace of spades, a bottle of vodka, a ten-ruble note, and the profile of a girl with serpents for hair. The Ammunition wore the same tattoo on the same arm but his featured three bullets instead of a gun.

The tattoos were reminders the boys had spent time in Corrective Labor Colony Four. In Kyiv, the tattoos were a sign of strength. They generated fear and commanded respect. In New York City, they were liabilities. They drew attention to their owners and spoke of vanity, violence, and a life of crime. That is why Victor had instructed them to wear long sleeve shirts with collars the moment they arrived in the United States, six months ago. And now Victor’s prudence was the source of his problem. He couldn’t tell them apart.

At least not on the street. In the park, it was an entirely different matter. He’d been teaching them chess since the grass had thawed. They were both quick learners. This was not entirely surprising since they were expert computer hackers. In personal style, they were quite different. The Ammunition loved the Queen’s Gambit. He sacrificed pawns for a stronger center and routinely exposed his king. He was bold and decisive. The Gun, on the other hand, preferred the Pirc Defense. He allowed his opponent to build an imposing center and turned it into a target for attack. He was patient and clever.

In Victor’s experience as a thief and a con man, chess was a manifestation of a man’s likely behavior on the streets. Individually, the twins could be beat. Together, however, they were invulnerable. As long as their coach optimized their collective skills.

Victor moved his knight and completed the Berlin Defense.

“Checkmate,” he said.

The Ammunition stared at the table and swore.

Victor changed seats to face his brother. Twelve moves later he beat the Gun. The brothers had now lost a combined seventy-two consecutive matches.

“Eventually, one of us is going to beat you,” the Ammunition said in Russian.

“It’s only a matter of time,” the Gun said.

“The day either of you beat me is the day you should leave me,” Victor said.

“We’d like to make some money first,” the Gun said. “I know a guy in Brighton Beach who knows about a shipment of marijuana coming in through New Jersey. The protection’s weak. It would be an easy score.”

“No it wouldn’t,” Victor said.

“How do you know?” the Gun said.

“If it was easy, the guy from Brighton Beach wouldn’t be asking for your help.”

“I met a girl who works as the accountant in the home office of a big department store,” the Ammunition said. “She’s a user. She needs money. She has access to a database of credit cards. We could keep the upfront payment low. Pay her a back-end once we turn them over.”

“Your final reward may not be to your liking,” Victor said.

“Why do you say that?” the Ammunition said.

“Because users inform on others when their habit lands them in jail.”

The Timkiv twins rolled their eyes at each other.

“You’ve got to let us work, Victor,” the Ammunition said.

“Yeah, Victor,” the Gun said.

Victor spread his palms over the chess tables. “You are working.”

“Not chess,” the Gun said. “You’ve got to let us do something that’s going to put money in our pockets.”

“Exactly,” Victor said. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

The twins frowned.

Victor’s cell phone vibrated. He stepped away for some privacy and answered it. When he heard his daughter’s voice, his heart soared, as always.

“Anything new from Iryna?” Victor said in Ukrainian.

“No,” Tara said. “Father, why did you ask Iryna to get involved with that boy? What’s so important about this locket you want her to find for you? It’s just a piece of jewelry his father handed down to him before he died, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Victor said. “Maybe not. It’s best not to get into details right now.”

An old friend had bought a watch on the street from a desperate-looking man for twenty dollars, thinking it was gold. When he scratched the back of the face, however, it turned out to be gold plated. Beneath the gold were a man’s initials. When Victor saw this, he wondered. What if the priceless formula for a radiation countermeasure was etched on Adam Tesla’s locket beneath the gold plating?

“The fact the boy never let Iryna touch the locket after a month of dating tells me something,” Victor added. “Especially given she asked to take a look at it while it was hanging around his neck. And he refused.”

“What does it tell you?”

“That I’d like to have a look at it myself.”

“But how could a piece of old jewelry be so valuable you’d want to steal it?”

“Your father is a thief, sweetheart. Always was. Always will be. Beyond that you don’t need to worry yourself about anything. Know that I’m doing my best to leave you and my grandson as big a fortune as humanly possible.”

“Yes. I know that.”

Victor could hear the excitement in her voice. Money had that effect on even the purest conscience. “That locket must be in prison with the boy’s other possessions. Tell Iryna not to bring it up anymore but to stay vigilant. Tell her to keep listening. And remind her how much she enjoys America compared to her prior life milking cows in the breadbasket of Europe.”

Victor said good-bye and hung up.

Thieves-in-law, members of Voroskoi Mir such as Victor, were not allowed to have families or children. But this was America, not Ukraine or Russia, and most of the old thieves were dead. Who cared if his casual affair with a baker in New York produced a child twenty-eight years ago? He cared. That’s who cared. His discovery that he was a father—and now a grandfather—thirteen months ago was nothing less than a rebirth. He had passion again. He had a purpose again.

And it was a more powerful motivator than anything he’d ever known.