Because It Is My Blood (27 page)

Bitter Chocolate had been failing for some time, she said. The German market was too competitive and the only way to save the Bitter business was to move it into other territories. The perceived unrest in Balanchine Chocolate since my father’s death had made America the obvious choice. She and her high school chum Yuji Ono had conceived of a plan where the two of them could create chaos in the American market and then swoop in to split up the results. She came up with the poisoning. Sophia’s wedding to Mickey Balanchine had been another bit of strategy, devised by Yuji Ono. The tainted Balanchine supply would need to be replaced with something—why not Bitter brand? There were warehouses filled with uneaten Bitter chocolate.

There had only been one problem: at some point, Yuji Ono had changed his mind about wanting to destroy the Balanchines.

Here, Sophia rolled her eyes. “He saw potential in you. And he convinced Mickey to see potential in you, too. So instead of running Balanchine Chocolate into the ground, Yuji Ono became intent upon saving it. For you, Anya. As wrongheaded as I thought that was. And I was stranded here in this awful city, married to this dull man. And so I did what I could.”

“You still haven’t said whether you tried to kill Natty and me.”

Sophia shook her head. “You are both alive, aren’t you? So what difference can failed attempts possibly make? Bygones, I’d say.”

“Your cousin was almost killed! My friend Imogen died! And for what?” I put my hands around her neck, but I did not squeeze and she did not scream.

“For all the usual things, Anya. For money. And a little bit for love.” She paused. “What if I promised to leave? What if I went back to Germany and had my marriage to Mickey annulled? You can deal with him for the death of your brother without me. Or you can just decide to call it a day. One father for one brother. What if you and I never saw each other again?”

“Why shouldn’t I just kill you?”

“Here? In St. Patrick’s Cathedral? A good Catholic girl like you? I’ll believe it when I see it.” Sophia laughed. “You won’t kill me because you are not a murderer. That is what I said to Yuji Ono after I met you the first time. The child may be brighter than her cousins but she doesn’t have the stomach for our line of work.”

“That isn’t so.”

“You think you’re tough because you sliced off that assassin’s hand. It isn’t tough to injure someone when you really ought to have killed him.

“Right now,
liebchen
, the smart move would be to take that machete from under your coat and stab me through the heart, too. But you won’t. I don’t envy you. Daughter of a cop and a criminal. How your heart must war with itself. So, you’ll let me go. You think you’re still deciding but it’s already done.”

I took my hands from around her neck, and she began backing down the aisle away from me.

I ran to her and pressed the machete into her side, the blade only piercing her cashmere coat.

“Damn. I liked this coat,” Sophia said.

“Just tell me one thing. Who helped you? You couldn’t have arranged the poisoning by yourself. You must have had someone over here. Was it Fats?”

She shook her head no, and her spider hat bobbed up and down.

“Was it Yuri? Mickey? Jacks?”

She squinted as if that would help her see me better. Her lips came together for something like a smile. “The young lawyer,” she whispered.

“Simon Green … Simon wouldn’t.”

“Simon did. He hates your father, Anya. And he hates you, too.”

“I don’t believe you. Simon Green doesn’t hate me.” I could not help but think of what Jacks had said to me.

“People have reasons for everything under the sun.” Sophia shrugged. “All our cards are on the table. Why would I lie?”

She turned and walked briskly out of the church. I wished I could have killed her, but Sophia was right: back then, I was still Catholic enough not to be able to do such a thing in church.

I hesitated. I wondered if maybe I could kill her on the steps instead.

I was about to chase after her when I felt something incredibly heavy hit me across the back of the head.

Despite my upbringing, I must admit to taking the Lord’s name in vain.

I turned in time to see a Bible coming straight at my forehead.

Just before the smack, Sophia Bitter laughed.

*   *   *

I awoke in a hospital bed. What I felt was a mild amount of pain and an incredible amount of annoyance. I had let Sophia Bitter go. Who knew where she was or what trouble she would cause next? Also, I was nearly as tired of hospitals as I had been of Liberty.

I needed to get going. I stood, feeling a bit woozy. I hadn’t been at the hospital long, so I was still in my clothes. I found my shoes (though not my machete) in the closet. I went into the bathroom to take stock of my injuries. There was a huge bump on my forehead and another one on the back of my head. I couldn’t see the second one as it was covered by hair. Other than that, I seemed to be in one piece.

I poked my head out the doorway. There didn’t seem to be any nurses around, so I made my move. I walked down a hallway, then past the reception area. No one noticed me. In the waiting area, I could see Daisy Gogol and Natty. My sister’s face was red and tearstained while Daisy’s was pale and tense. I didn’t want to be stopped, but I also didn’t want them to be too concerned.

I went up to them. “Shh,” I said.

“Annie, what are you doing out of bed?” Natty yelled.

“I’m okay, but I have to go,” I told them.

“You’re not making any sense,” Natty said. “Who hit you? What happened?”

“I’ll explain everything later. I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Natty insisted. “You don’t look
at all
fine. If you don’t go back to that hospital room, I swear to God, Anya, I am going to scream.”

I looked at the reception desk. Despite my sister’s increasingly hysterical tone, we still hadn’t aroused much interest. It was a busy hospital in a crime-filled city, and the staff was used to filtering out the cries of the agitated.

“Natty, I have something I need to take care of, and it absolutely cannot wait.” I turned to Daisy. “Would you happen to have my machete?”

Daisy Gogol did not choose to answer my question. Instead, she looked from me to my sister. “I feel awful, Anya. I shouldn’t have let you go to church without me. I thought you’d be fine. It is church after all.”

“It’s fine, Daisy.”

“I understand if you need to fire me,” Daisy Gogol said.

I didn’t want to fire her, but I did want to know if she had my weapon.

“I do, Anya,” she said. “But I can’t give it to you.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” I said.

“I’m sorry. My job is to protect you, not facilitate you.” Daisy Gogol lifted me off the ground, as if I weighed nothing—and trust me, I did weigh something; I may have been small, but I was also dense (yes, occasionally in the other sense of the word, too)—and carried me back to the desk. “This girl has had a head trauma, and she’s gotten out of her room,” Daisy Gogol said to the nurse.

The nurse looked insufferably bored with us, as if giant women toting around smaller women was a regular occurrence. She instructed Daisy to carry me back to the room, where a doctor would be in to see me shortly. As we were traveling down the hallway, I weighed my options. I could not overpower Daisy Gogol, but I was fairly confident that I could outrun her.

She placed me on the bed gently, like I was a beloved doll. “I am sorry, Anya.”

“I understand.”

“But I do know a thing or two about head traumas, and you need to be monitored for the next day at least. Whatever has happened can surely wait until you’re thinking more clear—”

I sat upright and pushed her as far as I could. I didn’t make much of an impact, but she was stunned enough that I had time to run out of the room. “Take Natty home!” I called as I fled.

Since I didn’t have my machete, the first place I went was Fats’s speakeasy. I’d need backup before going to deal with Mickey and Sophia. “Annie, what brings you?” Fats asked.

I had run from the hospital and I was scant of breath. “You were right. Sophia Bitter planned the hits. And I think she was responsible for the poisonings,” I said.

Fats poured himself a shot of espresso. “Yes, that makes sense. Do you think Mickey was in on it?”

“I’m not sure. Sophia says he was the one who killed Leo in retaliation for what Leo did to Yuri. The truth is, she might have just been lying to get the heat off her for Leo’s death.”

“And the easiest way to do that is to point the finger at her husband.” He paused to look at me. “Jesus, kid, what happened to your forehead?”

“I got between a sinner and her Bible,” I explained. “I want to go confront Mickey, and I need you with me.”

Fats nodded. “I’ll get my gun.”

When we got to Mickey’s brownstone, a servant answered the door. “Mr. and Mrs. Balanchine just left. They said they were going to visit her relatives.”

I said to Fats that we should go to the airport, but he shook his head. “We don’t even know which one. Maybe the best thing that could possibly happen is the two of them leaving town. Think of it, Anya—if the two of them stayed, we’d have an internecine war on our hands. With them out of the picture, it’s back to business as usual and that’s a very good thing.”

“But I want to know for sure if Mickey killed my brother!”

“I understand that, Annie. But what would knowing really matter? Sophia said he did. And Mickey is gone. You drove them out of town, so you got to take some comfort in that because that is all the truth you’re going to get for now.”

This seemed incredibly naïve to me. Just because they had left town didn’t mean they’d be gone forever. “We need to go see Simon Green,” I told him.

“The lawyer? Why?” Fats demanded.

I told him that Sophia had said that he was involved in the poisoning. “Fats, have you ever heard a rumor that Simon Green might somehow be related to us?”

Fats cocked his head and screwed his mouth into a skeptical ball. “Annie, there’s always rumors about us. And most of them you don’t got to bother paying no mind to.”

But I wouldn’t be deterred.

At Simon’s building, we walked up the six flights of stairs. My head was starting to pound and I was wishing I’d had the foresight to ask someone at the hospital for an aspirin before I’d run out.

We found that the door was open, and Mr. Kipling was standing in the center of the room. He must not have been there too long, because he was still out of breath from the stairs. “He’s gone,” Mr. Kipling said. “Simon Green’s gone.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

Mr. Kipling nodded to Fats, then held out a slip of paper to me:

Dear Mr. Kipling,

I am about to be accused of a crime, and I must now leave in order that I may clear my good name.

You have been like a father to me.

Please forgive the short notice.

Please also forgive me.

Simon Green, Esq.

“Do you have any idea what this is about?” Mr. Kipling asked me. “Anya, what happened to your head?”

I answered him with a question of my own. “Mr. Kipling, why are
you
here?”

“Simon Green told me to come, and I did. I should ask the same question of you, I suppose.”

I told him what Sophia Balanchine had said about the poisoning and Simon Green hating my father and his children.

Mr. Kipling looked at Fats. “Would you mind giving us a moment alone?”

Fats nodded. “I’ll be in the hall if you want me.”

Mr. Kipling shook his head. “No, Anya. She’s wrong. Simon Green loves you. And I love Simon.”

I reminded him of the day of his heart attack. “Did you ever wonder if it was a setup?”

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t watch what I ate and I didn’t take care of myself.”

“You should have heard Simon Green in court that day. What if he was being incompetent on purpose? What if he
wanted
to get me sent to Liberty?”

Mr. Kipling said that I sounded paranoid, insane.

“He knew the most intimate details of my business. He knew where all of us were. He knew everything, Mr. Kipling! If he was in partnership with Sophia Bitter the whole time…!”

“No! He would never have partnered with Sophia Bitter.”

“Why?” I asked.

“He would never have partnered with her because of who he is.”

“Who is he, then?” I demanded. “Mr. Kipling, who is Simon Green?”

“My ward,” Mr. Kipling replied.

“Who was Simon Green to my father?”

“Before he was my ward, he was your father’s ward.”

“Why was he my father’s ward?”

“Anya, I promised,” Mr. Kipling said.

“Is he my…” I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t bring myself to say it. “Is he my half brother?”

“It’s so long ago. What difference can dredging up any of this make?” Mr. Kipling said.

“Tell the truth!”
I shrieked.

“I … You see, Anya, there’s a very good reason Simon Green could never have been involved in anything that would harm you.” Mr. Kipling took his mini-slate out of his wallet. He turned on the slate and showed me the screen. On it was a picture of my father standing next to a little boy. The boy was Simon Green. I recognized the eyes. Light blue like Leo’s and Daddy’s. “Your father … Well, you could say he adopted Simon. He took him under his wing.”

“I don’t understand what ‘you could say’ means. He either adopted him or he didn’t. Why would he have adopted him and never told any of us about it?”

“I … Maybe he planned to someday, but he didn’t live long enough. The story I was told was that Simon Green’s father had worked for your father. The father died on the job, and when the mother died, too, your father thought it was his responsibility to take care of him. He was a good man, your father.”

“Why do you say ‘the story’? Stop being vague, Mr. Kipling.” I was covered in sweat and my head felt like it might explode. Something fierce and terrible was beginning to burn within me.

Mr. Kipling walked over to the window. There was a distant look in his eyes. “The day you met Simon, he had been wanting to meet you for so long. But I always kept him from you.”