The Con Man's Daughter (14 page)

"I don't know all ten of Lexy's occupations," Eddie said. "I do know he's a part-time leg breaker for a loan shark; plus, he sets up phony car accidents for insurance purposes. Oh, and he acts as a go-between in kidnapping cases. Some gangs in Russia specialize in kidnapping the families of wealthy Russian-Americans. Like the mother of that hockey star a few years ago. Lexy was the go-between. Little work, big profit. Lexy is going to be my go-between and help get my daughter back. And he will not even charge me. He'll do it because he loves me. And if he gets her back safely, I will not kill him."

Boland laughed nervously. "Cool down," he said.

"Cool your ass," Eddie said.

"Show them the sketch you made of the guy who killed Lukin," Boland said.

Eddie ignored him. He'd already realized the sketch was useless. The only way the sketch would work was if they came across a desperate junkie, a scorned woman, or a cop who knew him. The Russians wouldn't turn in one of their own to the police. As far as the Russians were concerned, all the sketch would do was alert the bad guy that someone had seen his face.

"Help me out here, Lexy," Eddie said. "Tell me why someone would kidnap my daughter. I have no big money. It must be something personal. Desmond points out it may have been someone I offended. I don't know. If I offended you, Lexy, how would you handle it?"

"I'd come after you," Lexy said, taking a quick check in the mirror.

"Exactly, that's what a man does. So it must be true what you told me… that Yuri Borodenko is a faggot. We're talking about a faggot here."

"That's subtle," Boland said.

"Viktor," Eddie said, looking down the end of the bar. "Viktor, Lexy says Borodenko is a faggot. You agree? By the way, I was telling my FBI friend about your im-ported-drug business. Lexy explained to me how it works. Incidentally, your girlfriend, outside there, needs a new backpack. Little pills are falling out."

"Let me pay for these drinks, and then we'll hit the bricks," Boland said.

Eddie snatched Boland's money off the bar and shoved it in his shirt pocket.

"We are among friends, Desmond," Eddie said. "We do not pay for anything in here, right, Ludmilla?"

"You're being an asshole," the waitress said. "No wonder someone punched you in the eye."

"Pretty, Ludmilla. Worried about my eye. Ludmilla means 'loved by all,' and she lives up to that name. Lexy told me she is the queen of the bait and switch. Ludmilla puts on her worst clothes and heaviest accent, then goes around to little independent jewelers and tries to get them to buy a necklace she claims was in her family for generations. I don't know where the hell she got it, but it is valuable. She tells them some story about it belonging to Anastasia-remember that movie with Ingrid Bergman? But the jewelers can see that the necklace is valuable, and poor Ludmilla doesn't know its value. She says that she desperately needs the money to get back to Russia. The jewelers are greedy; Ludmilla always laughs about that later. Greedy bastards, serves them right, trying to screw her with their lowball deal. Poor Ludmilla accepts the deal; she has no choice. Always for cash. Then she screws them with an imitation. My friend Lexy Petrov told me all about it."

"Why don't you get the fuck out of here," Lexy said.

"Why don't you throw me out?" Eddie snapped.

"Easy, easy," Boland whispered.

"How's the vodka?" Eddie saidl

"I could have used a triple," Boland said.

"Lexy," Eddie yelled. "Another vodka for Desmond. Another vodka I won't pay for. Hey, speaking of vodka, what's the name of that fat guy who comes in here? You know, you told me he buys grain alcohol from some dis-tiUery in Missouri, then smuggles it into Russia in bottles labeled as witch hazel, and then he relabels it and sells it as vodka. What a great scheme. I'll think of his name later. So many fine entrepreneurs drink in this fine bar."

The fine bar was emptying out quickly. More stools were empty than occupied now. People in the dining area began putting their coats on. Plates of thin potato pancakes, others with Russian herring, and bowls of cold borscht were abandoned. Someone turned the sound system way up.

Eddie put his arm around the man on the stool next to him, a balding young man with a Fu Manchu mustache. "I always forget your name, my friend," Eddie said. "I'm sorry for that. But I would vote you as the top new scam artist on the scene." The young man drained his glass quickly and stood up. "He's being shy, Desmond. Lexy told me all about this young man. He smuggles Russians across the Canadian border into Maine. When someone contacts him, wanting to be brought to this country, he and his pals go into Canada through the woods of Maine. They meet the family, then lead them across the border, through the same woods. But here's the funny part: When they bring the family in, they are armed to the teeth, automatic weapons, extra ammunition, grenades, gas masks. Why such heavy weapons, you ask, when one could sneak across that border armed with nothing more dangerous than a pirogi? That's the point. It's all showbiz. All an act, so they can charge their fellow countryman the high rate-ten thousand dollars apiece-for a stroll through the woods."

The restaurant door opened and closed at a faster rate. Eddie had succeeded in clearing the place out. He turned around and saw the table in the corner had suddenly been abandoned.

"Come over here, Desmond," Eddie said. "Let me show you this beautiful hand-painted mural of Saint Petersburg. Hand-painted when Evesi Volshin owned this restaurant. But see these dark spots here? If you look closely, you'll see they're not windows; they're bullet holes. Bullets that went through Evesi's body when he sat right in this chair. Isn't that right, Lexy?"

"No one cries for Evesi," Lexy said.

"That's right," Eddie said. "Evesi deserved to die. Evesi was a scumbag kidnapper. In fact, the night of the shooting, shell casings were everywhere. People eating their dinner moved their chairs so the shooters could pick them up. Evesi was scum, like Borodenko. Isn't that right, Lexy? You were here that night, Lexy. Or couldn't you see through your mask?"

"Plenty more bullets in the store," Lexy said.

"Is that a threat? Right in front of Desmond Shanahan of the FBI?"

"It is whatever you see in your nightmares."

"What is that, Lexy, an example of Russian mystery? Some inscrutable phrase supposed to strike fear into my heart? Oooh, I see the smoke of the cossack fire."

Eddie walked toward the bar. Lexy stepped back. Eddie stood on the rail, reached over, and pulled a metal club from underneath.

"Eddie," Boland said.

"You're good at telling stories, Lexy. Deliver this message for me. Tell whoever it is to be a man, let my daughter go, and come after me."

Eddie looked carefully at the metal bar. One end was wrapped in black electrical tape. He reached over and smashed the mirror. Shards of glass fell onto the shelves of bottles and on the floor behind the bar.

"I'm taking this with me," Eddie said. "If anything happens to my daughter, our next meeting will be your nightmare."

Chapter 15

Wednesday

8:00 P.M.

"Why did the man attackle you?" Grace asked, gently daubing Eddie's eye with a damp washcloth. "Because you were looking for Mommy?"

He wasn't sure where Grace had found her mother's first-aid kit. He watched her carefully, not entirely sure what chemical she was doctoring him with. Kate could reel off the names of drugs Eddie had never heard of.

"He
attackled
me because he's crazy," Eddie said. "The police took him away to jail so he can't hurt anyone else."

They were sitting around the kitchen table, finishing the "angel foot cake." Kevin had brought franks and beans, Grace's favorite, from the restaurant. The house was quieter than it had been. The Yonkers Police Department had moved the plant location to their Fourth Precinct, two miles away, on Shonnard Place. The phone would still be tapped, and the FBI still involved. Eddie guessed they must have figured that since he wasn't sitting there, they shouldn't have to, either. Uniformed officers would still maintain a presence in the neighborhood, checking his house at least once an hour.

"Not all mentally ill people deserve to be in jail, honey," Martha said. "Some people are sick and should be in hospitals."

"When I see him again," Eddie said, "I will make sure he goes to a hospital."

"So much for turning the other cheek," Martha said.

"Martha," Kevin said sternly.

When Eddie got home, Grace had told him that Babsie Panko'd helped her fix up an old pink dollhouse of Kate's. Grace had dragged it out of the attic and onto the front lawn. He remembered the dollhouse; he and Eileen had put it together one Christmas Eve.

"God came into our class today," Grace said.

"His spirit is always with you, sweetie," Martha said. "It's with you now."

"I asked Him to help Mommy."

"I pray to Him every day, too," Martha said.

"I see Him every day," Grace said

"You don't really see God," Martha said. "But you feel His presence and know He's always there for you."

"I see Him every day," Grace said, her voice getting louder. "Today, He said, 'Good morning, class.'"

"Oh, honey, I don't think so," Martha said.

"What does God look like?" Kevin asked.

"He's bald and he wears a black suit."

"That's Father Qualters," Kevin said. "He only thinks he's God. You ought to play golf with him sometime."

Eddie winced from laughing. Grace thought she'd hurt him, and her eyes welled up. Eddie pulled her to him and kissed her neck until she giggled.

"Well, Uncle Kevin has a whoopee cushion," Grace said, trying to retaliate. "He puts it under the chair cushion, and when you sit down, it sounds like a fart."

"Don't say that word, Grade," Martha said.

Eddie looked up at the clock and wondered where Babsie had gone. He wanted to fill her in on Misha and find out what progress she had made. But it was more than that. He liked the fact she was there, looking out for Grace. Babsie had a calmness about her. And an openness that made her comfortable to be around. He had no doubt that Babsie Panko could handle anything.

"Listen, Eddie," Kevin said. "Next time you go into one of those Russian places, call me. Promise me that. Call me before you do something like this again."

"Eddie doesn't need your help," Martha said.

"You'll be the first guy I call, Kev."

"Do the police have anything promising?" Martha asked. "Any kind of leads at all? I ask Babsie Panko, and God knows I love her, but she doesn't exactly inspire confidence. That may be my opinion, but…"

"She's funny, like Granpop," Grace said.

"And that's good enough for me," Eddie said. "Us jokesters have to stick together."

Eddie still wondered how his former son-in-law had found out about Kate so quickly, before it even appeared in the paper. He didn't want to think Martha had called him. He needed Martha now to look after Grace when he was gone. Kevin would be around, too. But Kevin, God bless him, thought Martha was the greatest thing ever created.

"I have some good news," Kevin said.

"Please, honey, it's not the time."

"We need something good to talk about, right, Eddie?" Kevin said, sipping gingerly from a steaming cup of coffee Martha had pushed into his hands. The look on his face said it all; he had news that couldn't wait. "I heard something yesterday. McGrath, the electrician. You know who I mean?"

McGrath's Electric Shop had been next door to the North End Tavern for over thirty years.

"Everybody here knows the McGraths," Martha said, gesturing for him to pick up the pace.

"Yeah, but I bet you didn't know this: He's retiring."

"He says that every year," Martha said.

"He's already got a buyer for his house on Douglas Avenue," Kevin said. "I was in Food Mart and heard about it, so I went right over to him and asked him point-blank. He's moving to Naples, Florida. He bought a condo there last winter. He says he's had it with working his ass off eleven months a year."

"What is he doing with the shop?" Eddie asked.

"That's part of my idea," Kevin said. "You're going to love it, Eddie."

Kevin always had an idea, some big wacky idea. Invariably, too big for Martha's tastes. She apparently knew what was coming next. The look on her face predicted she didn't like Kevin's latest brainstorm.

"He's not in Florida yet," Martha said.

"I was thinking," Kevin said, his eyes wide, his waving hands drawing the floor plans of his big idea. "We should rent the space for Kate."

"Don't mind him, Eddie. He means well."

"C'mon. It would make a perfect little restaurant for her," Kevin said. "She's been looking and looking. This place is perfect. We could knock out the wall between us. Put a small service bar in her place that connects to our bar. We could join the kitchens. She could do all the food, the fancy dinners. We'd handle the drinks, the burger crowd."

"It sounds perfect," Eddie said.

"Let's not be getting our hopes too high," Martha said.

"Let's do it," Grace yelled.

Kevin Dunne never had a plan that couldn't work. The caption under his picture in his high school yearbook read "No prob-lemo."

"It's all settled then," Kevin said. "I'll put a deposit down tomorrow."

Later that night, Eddie Dunne sat alone in his kitchen, wondering when the other shoe would drop. Unlike his brother, Eddie did not believe that everything always works out. He knew the more time that passed, Kate's chances diminished. If the worst happened to Kate, he'd lose Grace, as well. Scott had not sent his sister into enemy territory just to check the condition of a woman he claimed to hate; he had another motive.

Eddie needed a lawyer to get the proper documents drawn up, legal guardian, whatever he needed on paper to protect Grace. Not that he was putting his trust in the system. Not by a long shot. He knew the system well enough to know it never did anything for guys like him. Rolling around in the back of his brain was the start of plan B. Guys like Eddie needed to have a plan B.