Fresh Kills Page 25

  “Oh, God, what did I do? It was a vacation, Artie.” Val said. “I was bringing the kid here for a vacation, and all I got from the shitty US embassy in Moscow was some kind of runaround, so now I’m scared if we call the cops, they’ll find her and just ship her back to some crappy orphanage in Russia. You should see what those places are like.”

  “You have to tell me where she’s gone,” I said.

  Val got up suddenly and wandered around the living room. Wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt that came down to her knees, nothing else, her hair pulled back in a knot, she was on the verge of hysterics.

  I put out my hand. She turned away. Lily followed her, and put her arm around Val. Val looked at her gratefully and kept talking, unable to stop.

  “It was bad after the thing at the toy store. For Luda, I mean. The baby dolls, you know, she had never seen anything like that, but what was worse for her were the dolls they made that looked like her. You remember? It made her cry, just the idea, and then later – I think you were outside smoking – she saw a row of them and they all looked like her, and she freaked.”

  “I remember,” I said.

  “We found out that Luda had a twin who was killed in some terrorist subway bombing in Moscow. When she saw the doll, she thought it was her sister. We also found out it was Billy who got her to pose and told the people at the toy store to make up the dolls.”

  “He probably didn’t know,” I said. “He probably just thought it would be fun for her. He liked her. He told me he likes her a lot and he feels for her.”

  Lily looked at me and didn’t say anything.

  “I didn’t hear what Billy said to Luda,” Val said. “But she calmed down, that was Wednesday, I guess, we got her calmed down and we went out to East Hampton and she was happier. Why isn’t there anything on TV about Luda? Why don’t they find her?”

  I said, “Let me call Sonny Lippert. He knows everyone who works on child crime.”

  Tolya reached out and grabbed my arm, and said to me, “No!” and then into his phone, “Just do it,” speaking in crude Russian.

  He snapped the phone shut. He picked up a cigar that was burning in an ashtray and said to me in English, but with the hood’s accent he used when he was angry or to mock me, “Is all shit. Policeman don’t do nothing for Luda, who is also in their eyes illegal. How can little child be illegal? What that mean? Bastards,” Tolya let out a stream of Russian curses.

  “All they talk is terrorists, but they can’t do anything. America,” he snarled. “Wait until real disaster hits country that does not even believe in global warming, and there’s refugees from floods inside this country.”

  “She’s illegal, Tolya,” I said. “I can help fix that if you let me. I know people who work immigration. Please, don’t let your guys make a mistake; muscle isn’t going to work here. Please.”

  “No. I find her.”

  “What happened?”

  His body seemed to fold up; like a wounded animal, Tolya seemed to lose his bulk, his scale, vigor. He sank into a chair.

  “We get back from East Hampton today, maybe late afternoon, early evening. Val goes out to do shopping, and then I hear Luda on phone and afterwards she is very quiet, calm, and asks me to make some food, says she’s hungry, everything normal. Says she’ll watch cartoons. I go into kitchen to make some food for her, and I come out, she’s gone. Fucking gone, Artyom. Just walks out, or maybe someone kidnaps. Just gone.”

  “Will you let me help?”

  Tolya said softly, “No, Artyom. Not this time.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Just go do what you have to do.”

  I took the stairs down from Tolya’s. Steps clattered behind me. It was Lily, her sandals clacking on the concrete. On the second-floor landing, she caught up with me, put her arms around me and said, “Do you know anything about Luda? Artie?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll be there for you whatever,” said Lily. “I mean that. I’m not running away from you anymore,” she said. “But if you know anything, you have to help find Luda. She’s already had a miserable life. Valentina is falling apart. She thinks it’s her fault. Please, if you have to tell someone, tell me, and I’ll go find her.”

  I leaned against Lily and for a minute it felt as if she was holding me up; maybe she was.

  “I don’t know where Luda is.”

  “Do you think Billy might know anything about it?” Lily said. “They talked a lot. You said he liked her.”

  “He did like her. Does like her. Sure, I’ll talk to him, of course, but what could he have had to do with it?”

  Lily made me sit down next to her on the stairs.

  “I have to go.”

  “Sit with me for one minute. You have cigarettes?”

  It had always seemed conspiratorial, the two of us smoking together away from other people, and I got out a pack and gave her one, and we sat without saying anything.

  “Do you know that I dream about you a lot,” Lily said.

  I was pretty startled. “Me too.”

  “You do?”

  I nodded.

  Lily said, “I don’t want you to hurt anyone. I just need us to see each other, or talk, even if we just talk, and I wanted to say that now, before you leave.”

  “Leave? Where am I going?”

  “Do you want to tell me?”

  “It’ll be OK,” I said. “I’m going to call Sonny Lippert about Luda. Tolya doesn’t want that, but I have to. It’s the only way.”

  “Wait a few hours,” said Lily. “You promised him. How’s Billy doing?”

  “He’ll be fine,” I said. “You like him, you thought he was a good kid, right? Lily?”

  “I didn’t get to know him that well,” she said. “I liked him, though. Yeah, I did.”

  I got up. “I have to go.”

  She followed me to the lobby, and kissed me, and said, “I love you, you know.”

  *

  I didn’t tell anyone where we were going, Billy and me. I couldn’t tell Lily or Tolya or Sonny Lippert. I couldn’t trust anyone until I got us both onto a plane and back to Florida. We’d get a flight out tonight. I’d keep my promise to Billy and take him fishing. It was what he would remember.

  It was late, almost morning when I got home from Tolya’s. I didn’t have a chance to put Billy’s phone back before he woke up. Maybe I didn’t want to. I kept it in my jacket pocket.

  He smiled dozily, and said, “Is it a nice day? Can we go fishing?”

  “It’s great. It’s going to be a nice day,” I said. “Good forecast,” I added. “Come on, get dressed.”

  “I can’t find my phone,” said Billy.

  “It’ll turn up.”

  “I need it.”

  “I can get you another phone.”

  “I want my own cell phone,” he said.

  “Then go look around, but hurry up.”

  Five minutes later when he had searched the loft, Billy said, “I can’t find it.”

  “We have to go.”

  “All right,” he said, still unhappy. “OK. Where are we going?” Billy was in jeans and a T-shirt and now he pulled on a green sweater. I didn’t know if he was furious about the cell phone or if he had accepted it. His face was blank.

  “It’ll be a surprise,” I said. “Grab your stuff.”

  “What for?”

  “We’re going to spend the day fishing and we’re going to stay over out on Staten Island together. I thought that would be nice, I know a place where we can stay.”

  “Wow,” he said. “Oh, cool. Thanks. Do I still have to go back to Florida early?”

  “We’ll talk about it later.”

  I picked up a small carry-on where I’d put a few things that I figured I’d need in Florida – I wanted to go down and be back before Maxine got home Sunday – and I said we should be quiet leaving my loft because it was early and people were still sleeping.

  Baseball cap on his head, his knapsack in his hand, Billy was n
ear the door, standing almost to attention. Maybe he knew we weren’t coming back. He smiled tentatively at me as if he was trying to respond correctly to the situation.

  Billy learned fast, his teachers had said; an uncanny ability to learn whatever you showed him made him a terrific student. Once in a while, just for a split second now and then, I had wondered if he only imitated emotion.

  Now, Billy looked at me, a blank look on his face as if he didn’t recognize me for a second, and then he smiled as if it was something he put on and took off; perplexed, he seemed to be a tourist in his own emotions, looking for the right landmark.

  The street was empty, though I could still hear the buzz from the next block over near the alleyway where the baby had been found. TV crews, I figured. And cops.

  “What’s up?” Billy said.

  “Probably some junkie or a fight or something,” I said, holding the car door. “Get in.”

  There was no traffic, and as the first light came up over the city, the blue light of a perfect summer day, I drove through the empty streets. Billy put his head against the back of the seat and smiled.

  “So where’s the mystery place?” he said.

  “Staten Island,” I said. “Isn’t that where you wanted to go? Isn’t it? You said that.”

  “Just us? We’re not going to visit people?”

  “Just us.”

  “Promise? I mean where will we stay and all?”

  “Hank Provone has a house, way out opposite Jersey, he rents it out but there’s no one in it now. He gave me the keys.”

  “How come?”

  “Nothing, I just mean when I knew you’d want to fish. I thought it would be special.”

  Billy turned and got on his knees and reached into the back seat where he unzipped his suitcase and dug into the pocket for something. My phone rang. I didn’t answer immediately, but it kept ringing and I saw it was Sonny Lippert’s private number. I answered.

  “What?”

  “I might have some good news for you, man.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It looks possible for Shank,” Sonny said.

  “What looks good?”

  “It looks maybe possible he killed the little girl, Ruthie Kelly, who lived in Sheepshead Bay. Maybe May Luca too. We got some initial results.”

  “That’s great. Great,” I said, thinking: Shank was guilty. Shank had done it all.

  “I mean possible, man. There’re still a lot of things to consider, OK, so don’t celebrate, you know? We got more tests to do, we need evidence, we can’t get this to a Grand Jury yet. Hold your horses, man. Where are you?”

  “I was asleep,” I lied. “At home.”

  “Yeah, but not alone, right? You got that squirrely sound.”

  I hung up.

  “Smile, Artie,” said Billy returning to his seat with a little camera in his hands. He pointed it at me.

  “What?”

  “I’m taking your picture. I can’t find my phone, but I have my camera. I want to keep some pictures of you. I want to remember,” said Billy.

  Part Five

  Saturday July 9

  28

  And then we were alone. Just us. Me and Billy, very early Saturday morning going to Staten Island on the ferry. Billy had asked me if we could take the ferry instead of the bridge. I didn’t like the idea because more people would see us, but it was early and probably OK and it was what Billy wanted.

  The news on the car radio was still about London – the suicide bombers, the missing people, grieving parents and friends and children. I hadn’t heard from Johnny Farone to say which flight he and Genia were getting. Saturday, he had said. It was Saturday now. Billy had stopped asking me about his parents.

  Otherwise, he seemed fine. I didn’t mention Luda’s disappearance. There wasn’t much I could do about it, and once word got out the whole city would go looking for her – she was a pretty little white girl with a sad story. I had called Sonny Lippert in spite of promising Tolya I wouldn’t call. All that I could do was take care of Billy now.

  I drove onto the ferry. The rain was over, clouds gone. The sun coming up was reflected orange and gold in skyscraper windows. Not so long ago a Staten Island ferry captain had gone AWOL and his boat crashed and people were smashed up, maimed, killed. Today, the scene was benign, gilded, beautiful.

  “Let’s go out,” said Billy, so we left the car, bought some coffee and walked up to the top deck.

  Leaning against the railing, we watched the city recede, the skyline, the Statue of Liberty, the slight dark blue chop on the water, the clear sky. The air was soft.

  For a while we stood like that, not talking, Billy working his way through a couple of donuts he had taken from my place, his upper lip smeared with chocolate. The coffee in my hand was warm, and from time to time, Billy passed me pieces of donut, and I popped them in my mouth and made faces because the frosting was too sweet for me; it made Billy laugh.

  “You OK?”

  “I’m so good.” Billy was perched on a bench, looking out at the city, as it grew smaller. “It’s so incredible. New York is the most awesome place in the world, isn’t it, Artie?”

  I told him I thought it definitely was and then he was silent, and I drank my coffee. I looked at my cell phone to see if there were any messages.

  “It’s pretty early for people to call,” said Billy.

  “I was thinking maybe your parents,” I said. It was a lie.

  I didn’t want Billy knowing I’d put in a call to Andy Swiller, the doctor I met when I picked him up in Florida. I’d liked Swiller and trusted him as much as you could trust anyone who locked up kids.

  Maybe Sonny was right and I was in denial about Billy. Anyway, I didn’t tell him I made reservations on a flight to Florida for that night. Only way to keep Billy safe, I kept thinking. But who from? Far as I knew, Shank was locked up on Riker’s.

  In my pocket I had the keys to Hank’s rental property over by Fresh Kills. It would be empty for a couple of weeks, Hank had said. A beach was close by, some creeks too, where you could fish, a small boat tied up to the dock out back of the house. A quiet street, Hank had said. Not many neighbors.

  I looked over at Billy who was tossing donut crumbs into the water. Maybe he could see fish below the surface.

  Tuesday, four days earlier, we’d been on the beach at Coney Island. Went over to Brighton Beach where we had supper and walked around, then I had dropped Billy at the Farones’ house where I left him for a while when I met Sonny Lippert.

  What time had Stan Shank started following us in his maroon car? What time did I leave Billy at his parents’ house that night, what time did I get back there and when did Shank call? How long was Billy alone?

  I tried to work out where Shank had been when the boy on a skateboard was murdered, beaten, slashed and left near a garbage can over in Midwood. Reported as a gang crime. What time did it happen? Was it dark already? Had it been dark when I got to the Farones’ house?

  I was pretty sure it had been dark, but I couldn’t remember turning on the lights when I went into the house. Couldn’t remember if Billy had put the outdoor lights on when he went for a swim. Maybe he swam in the dark. I remembered: there had been a light on. I had watched him from the kitchen window.

  “Artie?”

  “What?”

  “I said your name twice and you didn’t answer,” said Billy.

  “I was just drifting,” I said. “Thinking.”

  “What about?”

  “Nothing.”

  A sharp breeze whipped against the boat and against my face. I zipped up my jacket. Billy looked up at me from his seat on the ferry bench and smiled. He really was a handsome boy.

  But what kind of knife did the Midwood gang use on the little boy on the skateboard? Someone had beat him over the head, but there had been knife marks too.

  The ferry maneuvered into position to move into the slip; the boat’s wake frothed up like egg whites.

  “Shouldn’t
we get the car now, Artie?” Billy said. “Isn’t it time?

  I followed Billy down the stairs to the lower deck. A few cars were in front of us. While the ferry bumped the last few yards to the slip, we leaned against the hood of my car and shared a cigarette. The boat thumped against the wood of the pier. I tossed the cigarette butt overboard into the scummy water.

  Stuff that had happened over the last three or four days, kept running in my head, like your tongue working at food stuck between your teeth. Billy had denied he’d been out of the apartment Tuesday night while I was drinking champagne with Tolya.

  Tuesday night. Swore he didn’t go out, and Jorge, the doorman at Battery Park City had also said he didn’t think Billy went out. Wasn’t sure. Jorge had gone on a dinner break. There had been something in the apartment when I got back, though: the way magazines on a table near the front door seemed to have shifted; a different smell. The next morning Billy brought me orange juice, but now I recalled there hadn’t been any juice in the fridge. I’d forgotten to buy it.

  Did Billy go out? Did he pretend he was in all night when he had really wandered over to Chinatown? But the boy in Chinatown kicked to death, that came later, didn’t it?

  Other gaps occurred to me. And the way Billy had begged for some time on his own. He wanted me to trust him so bad. Even Tolya had said the kid needed some freedom. There were the dolls. There was the frozen baby with the nut-like face. I didn’t want to think about her.

  Where the hell was Luda? I was afraid to ask Billy if he knew where she was. Afraid he would lie. Afraid he would tell the truth. Afraid, and this was the thing I really believed most, that Billy had nothing at all to do with any of it and, if I asked, he would resent me for the rest of his life.

  I unlocked the car, Billy slid into the passenger seat and I got behind the wheel. I reached for the radio, but Billy put his hand on mine and said not to put it on, it was so peaceful without the noise, and then he popped the last piece of donut into my mouth, said he had been saving it for me. He crumpled up the donut bag, scrunching it into a tighter and tighter little ball, and tossed it from hand to hand, looking out of the window, humming, glancing at me, smiling, but restless.