The Sea Beach Line (38 page)

Whoever it was, I should have found a way to fight back. I should have been holding the gun when the men came in. My bullet should have struck the big man's face, not the floor of the parking lot. Because of my failure, Rayna was being held by violent men. When she first came to sleep in my storage space, I told her that she would be safe. It wasn't true. Now I needed to set things right.

BOOK 3

The Binding of Isaac

18

I NEEDED HELP. IF
Al was going to reappear, this would be the time for him to do it. I needed
his
help. His connections. His scheming. His calm. His strength. As hard as I listened, there were no footsteps outside the door. Al wasn't coming. Help would have to come from elsewhere.

Calling the police was obviously not an option. I tried Roman several times, but he didn't pick up his phone, or respond to my texts. If Rayna's kidnapping had to do with fallout from their business, Roman and Timur would know who was behind it. If it had to do with one of Al's hustles, then Roman and Timur probably had some ideas. They had been holding back on that subject, but they would have to talk now. Even if it had to do with Rayna's family, or another angle I couldn't see, Roman and Timur might be in a position to help me. Roman had said he did a lot of business with Hasidim. And Goldov, who did business with Roman and Timur, knew Rayna's father. Roman and Timur would know something. And frankly, I didn't know where else to turn.

The minutes and then hours slipped away, and I was doing nothing. I punched the dangling storage-unit door five times in quick succession, bruising my hand and further denting the metal.

The front desk opened at five a.m. I told the guy on duty that I had damaged the door with a moving cart the night before. He gave me a hard time about it—to be fair, a cart had clearly not popped the hinges—but I was eventually able to assure him that the hefty repair charge added to my bill would not be disputed. It would be easier to settle that with Timur later than to raise the suspicions of the management now and get the police involved. The facility gave me the temporary use of a smaller storage unit to lock my stuff in, and I spent the next two hours transferring everything into there. This new storage space was big enough to pack all the stock into it, but had no room left to set up the mattress. That was okay; I didn't feel safe sleeping here now, anyway. This new unit was just a storage space, nothing more.

Having to move the boxes down the hall was good, because the work kept me from flipping out completely. It was a rainy day, mercifully, so I didn't have to deal with a bunch of street vendors getting ready for the day. Mendy usually came by around seven thirty or so to work on his stock on days he didn't go out and sell. I didn't want to face him, to have to explain what had happened. Time was still slipping away.

At seven o'clock, I decided to try Roman again. If I couldn't get ahold of him, I could go down to Coney Island and grill Goldov, though that hadn't been too productive the last time I was investigating a disappearance. I'd set out to find one person I loved, and now two were missing. I was losing ground. The only other thing I could think to do was go down to Boro Park, and ask where I could get a blessing from an important rabbi. That probably wouldn't work out too well. I didn't even know Rayna's last name.

This time, Roman picked up the phone.

“Izzy. I got your messages this morning. I was planning to call you back.” This made me angry. What had he been doing in the meantime? Didn't he understand how urgent the situation was? Rayna was in
danger. I needed to know what he knew, though, so I didn't see any percentage in starting an argument.

“Do you know anything?” I demanded. I knew I sounded frantic, but I didn't know how to keep my cool in this situation. “Do you have any idea who's behind this? I need to do something to help her.”

“For now you should keep calm, and just lay low for few hours. We have a lead on the situation—I do not believe things to be dire—but I need to speak with some people before I can tell you anything certain about your friend's whereabouts.”

“What lead? Enough with the mysterious shit. Tell me what the hell is going on.”

“Izzy, do you want my assistance or not? I'm doing best I can to help you.”

“Okay,” I said. I still had to play by the damn rules. “I need your help.”

“I'm sure you understand that this is not a conversation for the telephone. And as I said, the situation is still coming into focus. Can you meet us later at Kutadgu Bilig? You know where I mean? Sayyid's restaurant, in Brighton, where we first met? Come at noon. I'll be sure to have some information for you by then.” I agreed, and hung up.

On my way out, I stopped back by the new storage unit and put my cash, Al's sketchbooks, and a couple changes of clothing into a backpack. I interrogated the parking lot attendant, but he hadn't come on until six a.m.; the lot was self-service at night. The closest stores were over on the avenue. Only the bodega had been open all night, and the clerk hadn't seen anything unusual. If an SUV sped by, he hadn't noticed it. I wasn't getting anywhere on my own.

I walked for a while, ending up at West Fourth Street without meaning to. For the rest of the morning I sat in a deli I knew, drinking coffee and searching through the sketchbooks. There were more answers in here, answers to everything, if only I could decipher them. Al was haunted by a dead Israeli soldier. The soldier was connected to Roman and Timur, who were connected to Goldov, who was connected to Galuth, who was connected to Rayna. But how exactly was she connected to Galuth? There were hard facts I was missing.

“Rayna,” I said out loud, “where are you?” I searched for her in the pages, but knew she was somewhere in the world, afraid and likely being mistreated.

The hours passed, somehow, and then it was time for me to get on the B train to Brighton. When I got to the restaurant, Timur and Roman were at their table in the back of the otherwise empty room. I was too upset to eat any of the food they put on my plate, but I did knock back two glasses of vodka in quick succession. Timur seemed uninterested in addressing the issue at hand. After greeting me, he asked if Goldov had given me my money. He said that I had done a good job, and there might be more work for me in the future. The first time I had been invited to Timur's table, I thought that it was incredibly kind of him. Now it just seemed cruel, like he was playing with me.

“I appreciate that,” I told him, losing my patience. “I do. But you know I want to talk to you about what happened last night to my friend Rayna. I'm very worried about her. I need to find her. Have you heard anything?”

“I can tell you,” Timur said, “that there is no reason to worry.”

“Why not? Do you know where she is? Is she okay? Tell me.”

“You are close to the girl, Isaac?”

“Yes. Very close. That's why I'm so worried about her.”

“Do you know much about her background?” Why was everything a question? I needed answers.

“Not specifics, but I have a general idea.”

“Do you know who her father is?”

“She doesn't like to talk about him much, but I know he's a big rabbi in Boro Park.”

“That is correct. In fact, he is the grand rebbe of an important Hasidic dynasty, the Glupskers. They are one of the smaller groups in Boro Park, but they are growing, and very well connected. The Glupsker Rebbe is very influential, and very respected. He has been searching for his daughter since she ran away. When he learned of her location, he sent his sons to bring her back to him. Apparently, they did so rather roughly, but they were merely concerned brothers.” So
I was right about those
Hasidische
beards. Surely Rayna recognized her own brothers. That's why she didn't scream. She had been about to say their names when one of them put the crowbar to her neck. I was happy to have some sort of confirmation about where she was, and I was happy to know she wasn't being held by gangsters or killers. Everything Timur was saying squared with what I already knew about Rayna's background. But as I also knew that awful things had happened in her own home or community, I was not greatly relieved.

“So you know where she is?” I asked. “You can help me get to her?” For months, I had been building up goodwill with Timur in the hopes of finding Al. But I was willing to cash it all in now to find Rayna.

“Maybe you did not hear me correctly. They are a well-connected group. Her father is their leader. He has been reunited with his missing daughter.”

“Yeah, I heard you, but what does that—” Timur held up his hand, signaling silence, and I obeyed. I hated myself for it, but I obeyed.

“You should be grateful that he is a holy man, and not vindictive.” Holy man? All I knew was that his daughter had run away from his oppressive home, and that he had sent thugs after her. That didn't sound very holy to me. “Otherwise, you would have quite a bit to worry about. I would not be able to protect you. As it is, you are not to worry yourself about this Rayna anymore.”

“But she was kidnapped.”

“No. It was simply a family matter. No one was wronged.”

“I was wronged! She was wronged.” I banged the table with my fist. “This is all fucking wrong.” Timur was calm. He understood the situation fully. How exactly had he come by this information? “Tell me this, Timur: How did you find out these details so quickly? When did you know this was happening? What did you have to do with this?” Timur gave Roman a nod, and before I understood what was going on I was pulled up out of my chair, and walking out the door with Roman.

“What's the idea?” I said. “He hasn't answered my questions.”

“You have gotten overexcited,” Roman said. “And forgotten who you were talking to. Perhaps too much to drink, or just the stress you
are under. What you need is some fresh ocean air.” I knew that Timur was the don, and that he expected to be treated with respect. But I needed to find Rayna.

Roman steered me up onto the boardwalk, where we sat down on a bench facing the water. After a couple minutes of me stewing with my fists in my pockets, and Roman staring out at the waves, he spoke.

“When I had been here for seven years, I had enough money to bring over my papa. I hadn't lived with him since I was twelve years old, but always he was a good papa to me. I was making money. I had my big condo upstairs in the Oceana with more room than I needed. My mother was dead, my father was all alone in his Odessa hovel. The situation was worse and worse there. I applied for a family reunification visa, spent a few dollars to push it through the system, and brought him over.

“We get along okay. He was happy to be here. But I am busy doing jobs for Timur all the time, and my father is past an age where he makes friends. He started to wear a yarmulke, because of the freedom to do so”—Roman gestured at my newsboy cap, knowing what was underneath—“but he doesn't have the patience to sit at the Chabad house and learn. All he did was walk up and down Ocean Avenue, walk up and down Brighton Beach Avenue, walk up and down boardwalk. When his knees act up, he had to stay in the apartment all day and watch the Russian language channels, or the wildlife channel.

“One day he was walking on Neptune Avenue, and a parrot starts following him down the street. Honest! A little green parrot, strolling behind him. It followed him for blocks. Finally, he sees the parrot isn't giving up, so he picks it up, puts it on his shoulder like a pirate captain, and brings him home. Now he is happy. He has something counting on him, something to take care of. Something to feed. They are the best of friends. They sing dirty songs together.

“The Jewish service, they send aide. To look in on my father, make sure he takes the medicine for his diabetes, this sort of thing. He doesn't care, he doesn't want someone telling him what to do. The old aide, he had a deal with. She never showed up to work, but when the service called to check, he'd say she was there. Then she'd come by
and give him a kickback from the wages. I take care of the old papa, give him everything he needs, but it makes him feel good to have his own deals, you understand? Be a little bit independent. But this woman, I guess she ran too many scams and got fired. So they sent a new aide, last week. She comes in, her first day, and says, ‘Oh my God, my parakeet Barbara! She escaped out my car window on Neptune Avenue! I thought she was dead!'

“My father said, ‘Oh no, you are mistaken, this parrot I purchased at the pet store a year ago. I can see your mistake, though; parrots often look very similar to each other.'”

“Did she believe him?” I asked.

“I doubt it. But what could she do?”

“Can you tell me where I can find Rayna and her family, Roman?” Why was Roman telling me this silly story? Was he drunk so early in the day? Did he think that I believed he was my friend? It was nice for him that when he needed to be reunited with his father, he paid some money and made it happen. What the hell did this have to do with my problems?

“I am telling you about parrot,” he said. There didn't seem to be any point to this. I didn't need a story. I needed help.

“I have to go now, Roman.” I stood up.