Last to Fold (31 page)

The glass was empty. I refilled it, staring at the page, waiting for things to clarify. They didn’t. Eventually I decided to try getting dressed. The room spun when I stood. I waited, and the spinning slowed. I could make it to the bedroom. Wrong. Three steps, and dizziness swept down my body, starting at the top. I remember the nausea and hitting my face on the corner of the coffee table as I fell, the same side Sergei worked over. I don’t remember throwing up again or passing out on the rug.

That’s where they said they found me.

CHAPTER 28

Americans put a high value on efficiency, and the medical industry, with dubious justification, prides itself on leading the way.

The first thing the youngish lady doctor said was “You’ve been thoroughly examined and treated. Two cracked ribs, concussion, six stitches on your face, twelve more along the jaw. Various contusions and lacerations. You can go home as soon as you feel ready.”

To that I could add a nasty hangover that was fighting a war of supremacy with some powerful painkillers. Hard to tell which was winning. I wasn’t even in a position to process her diagnosis.

I lay in a curtained-off space in a room that smelled like a hospital. Noises all around, bad sounds. People in pain, groans, cries, the occasional scream. I felt just like they did. The lady doctor asked how I’d acquired my injuries. I told her I’d fallen, twice. She asked how much I drank on a regular basis. I shrugged and replied not too much, for a Russian. She looked skeptical and repeated I could go home anytime. I think she was using the word “could” in the sense of “free to” rather than “able to,” because I could barely move. My left side felt paralyzed. My head pounded as the battle raged. The rest of me just ached, until I tried to reposition something—then whatever it was shrieked with pain. On the other hand, I had no desire to stay here any longer than necessary, so I gave her my best smile and hoped she’d go away so I’d have time to think.

She did. Not long after, the curtain parted, and Foos and Victoria stared at me with a mixture of concern, annoyance, and—on Foos’s part—bemusement.

“You are some kind of mess,” Victoria said.

Foos held up a foam cup. “Coffee. They say it’s okay to drink if you feel like it.”

It took me a minute to grasp that they were there.

“What…”

“Don’t try to talk too much, sugar,” Victoria said. “Doctor says it’s bad for the stitches.”

Foos just grinned his lopsided grin and held out the cup. I took it, gingerly, after he peeled back the opening in the plastic top. The coffee was hot and tasted remarkably good.

“Where am I?”

“NYU Hospital,” Victoria said. “You remember the ambulance or the emergency room?”

I shook my head. The painkillers were winning the war, for now.

“You remember our date? You stood me up.”

I shook my head, more slowly this time.

“This morning, eight thirty, at your office. Identity theft tutorial.”

“What time…”

“Coming up on 4:00
P.M.
Monday.”

Shit. I tried sitting up but didn’t get very far. I tried again with the same result. Sweat broke out on my forehead.

“You sure you’re up to this?” Foos said.

I had the hazy memory of a country song. A rabbit’s being chased by a dog, and the singer asks him if he’s going to make it. The rabbit states the obvious—“Got to.”

“Got to,” I said. There was a reason, too, if I could only remember what it was.

Aleksei. Petrovin.

“Phone,” I said to Foos.

He handed his over, and I called my machine. Sure enough, Petrovin had called back that morning. “I will be delighted to assist if I can. You can reach me at this number, as you know.” He didn’t leave the number, because I already had it. At my apartment.

I pushed my legs over the side of the bed and let gravity pull them toward the floor. The rest of me had no choice but to follow, although my ribs howled in protest. My entire upper body felt drenched. Foos no longer looked bemused, and Victoria looked frightened.

“I’m okay,” I lied. “Doctor said go home. Where are my clothes?”

“You weren’t wearing any when we found you. I brought these. You oughtta add some color to your wardrobe.” She put a shopping bag on the bed.

“You mean…”

“I’ve seen it all, shug. I’ll wait outside.”

It took time, sweat, and a lot of help from Foos to thread two legs into some trousers and two arms into a T-shirt. When Foos opened the curtains, Victoria was gone. I was happy to rest against the bed while we waited for her return. She came back scowling. “You’d think a goddamned hospital would have a goddamned wheelchair you could borrow.”

“Maybe you should launch an investigation into outpatient practices,” I said.

“Don’t think I ain’t gonna look into it. You sure you can make it?”

“Feel better already,” I lied again.

I took a step to prove it. Foos caught me before I fell.

“This is silly,” Victoria said.

“Let’s go,” I said to Foos. “I’ll explain later.”

Somehow they managed to carry me out of the hospital and pack me into a cab, Victoria issuing orders the entire way. The painkillers helped. Foos squeezed into the front, and Victoria sat beside me. The driver took off like the rabbit chased by the dog. I yelped when he hit the first bump, and Victoria shouted at him to slow down. He used his lack of English to ignore her. The name on his license was Slovakian. I said in his native tongue, “My friend here is with Immigration. You don’t take it easy, I’ll make sure she has you on the first boat back to Bratislava.”

He dropped his speed by half. Victoria looked at me.

“What’d you tell him?”

“Used one of your lines. Slovaks scare easier than Russians.”

They got me upstairs to my apartment and tried to park me on the sofa, but I excused myself and hobbled to the bedroom to call Petrovin. This time he answered. I did my best to keep my voice low and level and pain-free.

“I need to track down a rumor. I’m told someone took a shot at CPS headquarters Saturday morning. The intended target was an officer named Tiron, Aleksei Tiron.”

A pause. “Why call me?”

“You’re CPS.”

“How—”

“Your cell phone. Calls to your office. Here in America, the land of the free can be an overstatement.”

“I’ll bear that in mind. You have access to some significant capabilities.”

“Will you check on Tiron?”

Another pause. “I know Tiron. I’m sure I would’ve heard if something happened to him.”

“That’s a relief. I’d still like to confirm he’s okay. I’d also appreciate knowing whether there was a shooting or the whole story is somebody’s idea of a bad joke.”

“A strange request, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“I’ll explain when I see you next. It has to do with our friend Barsukov.”

“I see. How do you know Tiron? Shall I give him a message?”

“He’s … the son of a friend. No message.”

Victoria was on the sofa, and Foos was in the kitchen. The culprit vodka bottle was standing on the counter amid the dirty dishes. I swore I would lay off the sauce for a while, but I knew I was lying as I did so. Foos held it in my direction. I shook my head. He put it in the freezer and moved the dishes to the sink. I sat next to Victoria. Petrovin’s news had alleviated the worst of the pain, but I still hurt all over.

Victoria said, “I feel terrible about Saturday night. I didn’t want to leave. That man, he practically carried me out of there.”

“I know. Thanks. It’s better that you did. Lachko was trying to intimidate both of us, for different reasons. As you saw, he’s not subtle, and sometimes he gets carried away.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“We had a one-sided conversation, Lachko, Sergei, and I. When they got bored, they dumped me somewhere off Ocean Avenue. I took the subway home.”

“You took the subway?”

“I told you before, Russians are stubborn. That was before I slipped and hit my head on the coffee table. I did that all by myself.”

“With a little help from the vodka bottle, I think.”

“Drinking beer without vodka is just a way to spend money.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“What it says. Russian proverb.”

“Russian horseshit. You probably already had a concussion, so a couple of shots is just what you needed.”

“I realize the visual evidence doesn’t support me, but I do an okay job of taking care of myself.”

“You sure know how to pick your friends, too.”

“Careful,” Foos said from the kitchen.

“Present company excepted, of course,” Victoria added quickly. “Did Barsukov say anything about Risly?”

“Ahhh, that’s why you’re so attentive. The depth of your concern is touching.”

“Hey! That’s not fair. I called you three times. Who do you think got you to the hospital?”

“She’s telling it straight, Turbo,” Foos said. “You’d still be out cold on the rug.”

“Sorry. Meant it as a joke. Barsukov didn’t kill Risly, if that’s what you’re asking. Risly was his protégé, or that’s the way he looks at it. He was also a golden-egg-laying goose.”

“We reckoned he was the point man on the money laundry.”

“You were right. How’d you get onto that, if it’s not a state secret?”

“We’ve been running a joint investigation with your CPS for more than a year now. They’ve been able to track large sums of money moving in and out of Russian banks. Some of it originates in Russia, some moves in from Asia and the Middle East. It moves out again to the kind of places you’d expect—Switzerland, Liechtenstein, Cayman Islands. We got a break when things in Liechtenstein loosened up, and we could see that money moving into the U.S. in thousands of small chunks. We also found funds headed the other way. But we lost the trail here. Then we got lucky about six months ago. Two of your countrymen got in a fight at an East Village bar. They were drunk. Big surprise.”

I let that pass.

“One of them pulls a knife and cuts the other across the chest. Not so bad that it kills him, but enough to require a couple yards of stitches. So one gets taken to the hospital, the other to the precinct house, and miracle number one, the cops at each compare notes on what they found. Both men carrying BlackBerrys, and both BlackBerrys have identical long lists of messages, and the messages are tables filled with some kind of code. The cops didn’t know what to make of it, but they sent it up the line, where, miracle number two, a lieutenant figures this might be bigger than a bar fight and orders the BlackBerrys returned to their owners, after they’ve been bugged. He also orders the owners released, which was easy because when they sobered up, nobody pressed charges. He also ordered them followed. Miracle number three, he calls us.”

“You used up your quota,” I said.

“You got that right. These two Russians ain’t the swiftest bears in the forest, and they go blithely about their business over the following days and weeks like nothing has happened. So we know they spend most of their day at banks and ATM machines, depositing and withdrawing money. We know the money ain’t theirs, but we don’t know who the accounts belong to and how they can move around as much dough as they do, in such small increments. Nobody can have that many bank accounts. And we can’t subpoena every transaction of every bank, every branch, every day.”

“Not even under the Patriot Act?” Foos said, making no effort to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

“What’s wrong with the Patriot Act?” she said.

“Perhaps you haven’t been properly introduced,” I said. “Victoria de Millenuits, this is Foster Helix. Foos, Victoria.”

“The Foster Helix?” Her head swung back and forth between the two of us. Foos tried to look innocent, something he’s not good at. I’m sure I just looked frightful.

“The Foster Helix,” I said. “Privacy advocate, STOP founder and CEO, thorn in the side of government agencies everywhere.”

“God damn it! You should’ve warned me. I could lose my job telling him what I just told him. I mean, Jesus, I work with guys who want to bring back the electric chair, just for him.”

“Music to my ears,” Foos said. He gave her a mischievous grin. “But you don’t need to worry. We’re all friends here. Right, Turbo? Mind if I sample your vodka?”

“Help yourself.”

“Victoria?”

She looked at me. “Don’t suppose you have any wine?”

“Sorry.”

“I’ll have mine on the rocks, then.”

“Turbo?”

“None for him,” she said.

I looked back at Victoria. “Maybe I can do without your concern.”

Foos brought her a glass. It looked good.

“Do you know that goddamned foundation of his has filed a half-dozen amicus briefs in cases we’ve got under appeal?” she said.

“I thought it was more,” I said. “Did I mention I’m on STOP’s board? Foos, Pig Pen, and me. You’ll like Pig Pen. He’s the secretary.”

“Shit. It’s a good thing for you y’all are in the kinda shape you’re in.”

Foos arched an eyebrow at her logic. “I’m outta here. Gotta meet someone. Need anything before I split? Can you make it to the bedroom?”

“Think so.”

“I’ll take care of him,” Victoria said. Things were looking up. Not that I had strength to do anything about it.