In the Age of Love and Chocolate (13 page)

“Why didn’t he come to me?”

“He wanted to keep you out of it, Annie,” she said. “There will be a scramble to see who leads the Family now that Fats is gone. I wonder…”

“Yes?”

“Maybe it should be you? Everyone in the
semya
respects you so much.”

“I can’t do that, Mouse. I have a job and I have no interest in running the Family.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Why would you?”

“I know you and Fats were close,” I said. “Will you be okay?”

“I’m always okay,” she said.

*   *   *

The police didn’t arrive to claim Fats’s body until eight p.m., a full three hours after Jones had reported the death. They tossed Fats into a black bag, and I was told that that concluded the investigation.

“Do you want to look for evidence?” I said to one of the police officers. “Maybe ask me a couple of questions?”

“You telling me how to do my job now, missy?” the police officer said. “Look, Fats Medovukha was a high-level gangster. There’s no crime here. It was only a matter of time before he ended up with three bullet holes in his chest. We’ve got
real
situations, and a force that’s about forty percent of the size required to deal with all of them.”

I felt angry. I knew the same sentiments had been expressed when my father had died. My cousin couldn’t help that he’d been born a Balanchine any more than I could. “He was my cousin,” I said. “People cared about this man.”

“Oh, so you knew the deceased, did you? Maybe you want us to investigate you?” the police officer said. “The victim is usually close to the perpetrator.”

“I’ve got friends, you know. Bertha Sinclair comes to my club every week.”

The police officer laughed. “You think she isn’t aware that your cousin was killed? She’s the one who told us to bring the body to the morgue and consider this matter closed.”

*   *   *

I was four hours late for the Brooklyn launch. When I finally arrived, the party was in its denouement. It looked like it had been a good party, but I was in no mood for partying anyway.

“What happened?” Theo asked me.

I shook my head and told him I would tell him later.

I went to get myself a drink from the bar. I needed to clear my head. Mr. Delacroix sat down next to me.

“Where were you?” he said.

I related my evening. At the end, I asked, “If this had happened when you were DA, would you have acted as Bertha Sinclair has? Would you have tossed Fats’s body in a bag and told me there wouldn’t be an investigation because my cousin was a bad guy from a bad family?”

“I’d like to tell you that I definitely would have investigated, but that isn’t true,” Mr. Delacroix said after a beat. “The decision would have depended on what else was happening in the city at the time.”

“What about me? If I died, would anyone bother to investigate?”

“Anya, you’re important now. You own a business and you bring a lot of money into this city. Your death would not go unnoticed.”

I felt a little better.

“For the city, the problem is not your cousin’s death, but who will succeed him. We like to know with whom we’ll be dealing. Did your friend have any thoughts about that?”

I shrugged.

“Well, someone will run the Family and it would probably be wise of you to take an interest. You don’t want them to choose someone whose interests run counter to your own.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way.

“Anya,” Mr. Delacroix said, “if Mouse is right and the attack was meant as a warning to you, perhaps you should reconsider getting personal security—”

“Mr. Delacroix, we have discussed this matter before, and my position hasn’t changed. I would rather die and know I walked this city and this planet as a free person. I have nothing to hide, and I don’t require security.”

Mr. Delacroix smiled at me. “This seems noble but wrongheaded to me. You are indeed a free person, as you say. I certainly cannot control what you do. I can only offer you my advice. I don’t think hiring security would take anything away from you or your accomplishments. But let’s not discuss it any further.” He clinked his glass to mine. “Brooklyn came out rather well, don’t you think?”

*   *   *

The next day, I was summoned to a meeting at the Pool, which was the Balanchine Family’s headquarters. I knew it was a sign of respect that I had been asked as I was not technically Family anymore. I had tried to avoid interacting with the Family in the years since I had opened my club. However, this would no longer be an option with Fats dead. Mr. Delacroix was right when he said I should take an interest in the person who would be installed as the head of the Balanchine Family.

When I got to the Pool, Mouse was waiting in the lobby. “Everyone’s downstairs.”

“Am I late?” I asked. “Your message said four.”

“No. You’re right on time,” she said. “Let’s go.”

The place seemed unnaturally quiet to me, and I began to wonder if I should have brought security. In the past, Mr. Kipling had usually accompanied me to important Family meetings. Maybe it had been foolhardy to go alone, and without telling anyone where I would be either. I stopped at the top of the flight of stairs.

“Mouse, I’m not about to be ambushed, am I?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Don’t you think I have your back?”

In the swimming pool, the Balanchines were seated around the table. I recognized perhaps half of them. There were always new faces, though. Turnover was high among the Balanchines—someone was always dying or going to prison.

Everyone stood when I walked in, and I noticed that the only place left was at the head of the table. I looked at the empty chair and wondered what was meant by it.

What else was there to do? I sat down.

A third or fourth cousin of mine named Pip Balanchine was designated the Family’s spokesperson. (I had many cousins, but I remembered Pip because he was the one with the mustache.) “Thank you for coming, Anya. Two years ago, you gave your approval to Fats Medovukha to run the Family. At that time, many of us felt you should be made head of the Family. As you may remember, I was one of those people.”

“Yes,” I said.

“We are deeply saddened by Fats’s passing. At the time of his death, he was having an argument with Ivan Balanchiadze. We believe this is why he was killed. The dispute involved the Dark Room.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Fats Medovukha believed in you and your cause, and he was willing to die for both. Since Fats’s murder, we’ve been discussing the situation. What we believe is that Ivan Balanchiadze and the Russian side of the Family is the past. You, Anya, are our future. We believe that nothing short of legalization is the key to our survival.”

A man in a purple suit spoke: “Many of us have wives and children, and we’re tired of having to look over our shoulders and of wondering when the law is going to catch up with us.”

Pip Balanchine continued. “We ask you today what we should have asked you two years ago. Anya, will you lead the Balanchine Family into the twenty-second century?”

I did not want to lead this Family.

And yet …

As I looked down the long stone table at the pasty complexions and light eyes that recalled my father’s, my brother’s, and my own, an unfamiliar feeling began to stir within me.

Obligation.

I felt an obligation to these men (and women, though mainly there were men). That I had been born a Balanchine had been the defining circumstance of my life. The name Balanchine had attached to me and defined me as violent, wild, bad, lazy, angry, and difficult. These Family men were as blameless as I had been in the face of this birthright. I knew I had to help them. If it was within my power to help them, I could not say no.

I looked over my shoulder at Mouse, who stood behind me like a loyal consigliere. Her eyes looked hopeful and expectant.

“I cannot officially run the Family and run my business,” I said. “I wish I could, but I can’t.

“However, I want to do everything I can to help you. Your words, Pip, have moved me, and I will not abandon you. I want to give even more Balanchines jobs, working for the clubs. I want to cut off our dependence on the Balanchiadze chocolate supply altogether. We can leave the black market chocolate business to some other family, and together, we can channel our efforts into legal revenue sources like cacao and medicinal chocolate.”

The Balanchines were nodding.

“But who will run the Family?” the man in the purple suit asked. “Who will ensure your plans are executed?”

“Perhaps one of you,” I began, but, as I was saying this, I had a better idea. Why not the slim-shouldered, resilient girl standing behind me? Mouse had been my only confidante at Liberty, and, at significant personal cost, she had even helped me escape. She had been mute, bullied, homeless, and cast out by her family. No one had overcome more or complained less than she had. No one had been more loyal to me. I trusted her like a sister. Of course it should be Mouse. I only had to convince the Family to my way of thinking. “Though I wonder if you would consider appointing Mouse to run the Family in my absence. I could consult with her on every decision. I know she isn’t a Balanchine, but she was Fats’s right hand and my loyal friend from prison, and I trust her to be my eyes and ears. Believe me when I say—no person has been a better listener or a more reliable friend to me than Mouse.”

I turned to look at Mouse. Her eyes were bright. “Is this all right?” I mouthed.

She reached for the notepad that used to hang around her neck. Back in the day, that notepad had been the only way she could communicate. “Yes,” she said.

“This
is
an intriguing proposition,” Pip said. “We will need to vote.”

“I assumed as much,” I said. “But whatever the outcome, I will do what I can to help you. I am a Balanchine and my father’s daughter.”

I stood, and the Family stood with me.

The following day, Mouse came to the Manhattan club, trailed by Pip Balanchine and a woman I did not know. Mouse informed me that the vote had been unanimous. As improbable as it was, a once-mute girl from Long Island had become the head of the Balanchine crime family. She bowed her head when she entered my office. “I await your instruction,” she said.

Over the next two months, we reduced the amount of chocolate supply that came to America. We reassigned dealers to new positions driving trucks or working security. The ones who didn’t want these jobs were given retirement packages, which was pretty much unheard of in organized crime. (In the Family, death was usually the sole retirement option.) We used the existing Balanchine labor force to move cacao and other supplies around the country to new locations.

During this period, the Balanchiadze were silent. Perhaps they thought we were still reeling from Fats’s death. “We should not take their silence as acceptance,” Mouse advised. “They will strike when they are ready. And I will be vigilant.”

*   *   *

“Drink with me,” Mr. Delacroix said one night at the club. “You are never around these days, and I almost feel as if I’m having a sighting of the Loch Ness monster.”

I shrugged. I had not told him about my new responsibilities. I had thought my life was full when I’d just been running the club, but it had become ridiculously so now that I was shadow-running an organized-crime family.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but word on the street is that Kate Bonham has become the new head of the Balanchine crime family.”

“Oh?”

“Well, it’s an interesting choice on many levels. She’s not a Balanchine. She’s a girl. She’s only twenty years old, and she was at Liberty. Did you know her, Anya?”

I said nothing.

“I recognized her name, of course. I may be old, but my memory is long. And I kept very good tabs on you that summer of 2083. Kate Bonham went by the name Mouse back then, and I think she might even have been your bunk mate at Liberty. What an extraordinary coincidence that Anya Balanchine’s bunk mate should become the improbable head of the Balanchine crime family.”

I wasn’t fooling him. I never had.

“I assume you know what you’re doing. I assume you don’t require any help. I might renew my request that you hire security, but I suppose you’ll do exactly what you want to no matter what I say.”

“How’s Win?” I asked. I had not uttered my ex-boyfriend’s name in months, and that bantam proper noun felt strange on my tongue, as if I were speaking a foreign language. “It was his birthday a week or two ago, no?”

“A change of subject. You suppose the way to my heart is through questions about my boy. It is a cheap maneuver, though I will allow it.” He crossed his hands over his knee. “Goodwin says he wants to go to medical school. I rather like this profession for him, don’t you?”

“That’s nothing new. Even senior year of high school, he wanted to be a doctor.”

“Well, I suppose you know my son better than I.”

“I used to, Mr. Delacroix. A long time ago, I was considered an expert in the field, but then I broadened my interests.”

XII

I RECEIVE AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR; A STORY IS TOLD; A REQUEST IS RENEWED

I
N NEW YORK AT LEAST,
April is not the cruelest month. The snow melts, heavy coats and boots are returned to closets, and perhaps best of all, I could walk home from work again. Sometimes Scarlet and I walked together, and it was almost like we were at Holy Trinity.

Theo was in San Francisco, helping my brother set up the kitchen there. We had argued the entire winter about subjects including frozen peas; his flirtation with Lucy, the mixologist; winter coats; his sister Isabelle; and even the temperature I kept the apartment. I wanted him to move out though I did not know how to make him go. Sad to say, but I had begun to anticipate his absences. Maybe it wasn’t his fault. Maybe I was, by nature, a solitary creature.

I was leaving the Dark Room early, around eleven p.m., when a black car pulled up to the curb. Not for the first time, I wondered if I was about to be shot, if this was how it was going to end.
(But we are only on page 133 of the third volume of my life, so surely this could not be the end
.
Unless, reader, you believe in Heaven—I am not always certain that I do.)