Dying for the Past (30 page)

sixty-four

I ran to the
lounge where Bear and Angel were talking.

“We've got this all wrong, Angel. Dobron wasn't the killer,” I said. “It was—”

“Ruth-Ann?” Angel said, looking past me.

Poor Nic stood in the doorway behind me. He shoved Ruth-Ann Marcos into the room at gunpoint. Behind them, a pretty, dark-haired woman followed along with André Cartier. Poor Nic waved the girl to a chair and kept the gun trained on Ruth-Ann. “Detective Braddock, please place Miss Marcos under arrest. I don't enjoy holding this gun.”

Bear's mouth dropped. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, lord, I screwed up, Angela. I really screwed up,” André said, walking over to her and giving her a big, long embrace. “I was so wrong. I trusted her, Angela.”

“Detective,” Poor Nic said, “if you will call your office, you will find one of her men just tried to kill young Victorio Chevez at the hospital. My men were waiting and interceded. We have also detained the others, too, and they are with Agent Dobron. He is well.”

Angel stood up. “But, they were escorting him to the Washington FBI office, Nicholas. What are you doing?”

“Stopping the madness.” Poor Nic kept his gun on Ruth-Ann who stood silent beside Bear. “I may be an old man, but I still know Washington is east. They were heading west into the mountains. No, Angela, they were taking Agent Dobron elsewhere and not for interrogation.”

Bear took Ruth-Ann by the arm. “Sit down, Ruth-Ann.”

“You're going to listen to this thug?” she yelled. “André, don't listen to him. I'm a—”

“Spy.” Poor Nic's words were ice and steel. “From a long line of spies. No, Ruth-Ann, you will not be continuing your treason as a Senator.”

I said, “Bear, Angel, you have to hear this.” I told them everything
I'd learned from Doc and Vincent—the condensed version. And each time Poor Nic or Ruth-Ann started to speak, Angel held up her hand to silence them—awkward as it was. When I was through, I dropped into a bar stool.

Angel looked at Ruth-Ann. “You killed them all didn't you—Grecco, Viktor, Petya, even Frannie Masseria? And you used André. You set him up with Bonnie to get the book. And when you killed Stephanos, you framed him for the murder to confuse things.”

André's voice was dry and hollow. “She and I drove together to the gala from DC. She must have planted the driving glove and left the .22 bullet in my car. I was so naive. She told me Dobron set me up, so I continued to lie for her—to find the book.”

“You see,” Poor Nic said, “Murder is like a magic trick. If you manipulate the audience, you can make anyone believe whatever you wish. She used you, André, to find the book and frame Dobron. And you were her unwitting theatrical assistant.”

Bear shook his head. “What's your proof, Nic?”

Poor Nic raised a finger. “Well first, you should call your office. Then, we'll see.”

Bear made the call on his cell phone and he took his time. When he was through, he looked at Ruth-Ann and took out his handcuffs. “Nicholas' boys just dropped off your two men along with Agent Dobron at our office. They checked Ruth-Ann's men out—one of them is on work-release from Federal prison—he shared a cell with Petya Chernyshov two years ago.”

“Ah, then you have your proof,” Poor Nic said. “You see, Bonnie and Stephanos
were
searching for the book. And they did make a deal with Agent Dobron. Stephanos was in trouble with the wrong people. Agent Dobron, of course, told Ruth-Ann about them and it all began.”

“Thank God he's all right.” Angel turned and smiled a fake, plastic smile at Ruth-Ann. “Are her men talking yet, Bear?”

“How foolish.” Ruth-Ann laughed. “Russians don't talk. Ever.”

Bear gritted his teeth. “There's always a first time, Ruth-Ann.”

“What about Chevy?” Angel asked. “Why did he steal the book from André? Was he involved with her, too?”

All eyes fell to Ruth-Ann again but she remained defiant.

“We'll have to wait and see—if he pulls through,” Bear said. “Without his statement, we won't know.”

“Now, as for more proof, Detective Braddock,” Poor Nic said, nodding to the dark-haired girl sitting across the room. “May I introduce Katalina Kishkin. Granddaughter to Vasily Kishkin—of whom you are familiar.”

“You're Vasily's granddaughter?” Angel asked. “Ruth-Ann has been looking for you.”

“Yes, this is true—she wishes to kill me.” Katalina stood up and walked over to Ruth-Ann. She leaned in and kissed her on both cheeks, saying in a thick, Russian accent, “Hello cousin, how good it is to see you.”

Ruth-Ann's glare was ice.

“Cousin, please.” Katalina patted her cheek. “Viktor—he like me very much. He tell me he will kill this Stephanos Grecco. He tell me he kill Grecco for you—my cousin—for much money. Tell them how you send Anatoly to kill me, too. Please. I am asking nice. Tell them or I make you tell.”

Ruth-Ann threw her head back and laughed. “You betrayed us. You sold our blood out for them. For what?”

“To end madness.” Katalina leaned into Ruth-Ann again. “When would it end? Our family has hunted for book for generations—killed so much. Who can count? We thought it was over
when the old woman went away. But no. You had to find it. You had
to kill much more.”

Bear said, “What about André and Stephanos?”

Katalina patted Ruth-Ann's cheek again and smiled. “
Da
, yes. She try make deal with Stephanos. Book has her family inside. Book tells whole story; story she not want in news I think. Story about her family before the big war and about restaurant—Quixote's Windmill— and how they are spies all this time. They always spies. Even today, my cousin, she is spy.”

“Since the '30s?” Angel asked. “All this time? And Ruth-Ann is one of them?”

“
Da
, of course. Our family—her family—come to this country before war. My family come from Russia. Ruth-Ann's from Cuba. They become one family. All spies. This book, it tells; it has her secrets. And to keep secrets, she kill Stephanos, maybe later Bonnie, too, and frame Dmitry.”

“Ah, so Dobron is innocent?” Bear rubbed his jaw. “Dammit, I owe him an apology.” He winked at Angel. “Naw, he'll get over it.”

Katalina gave a dismissive wave. “Perhaps, if you think he kill these people. Dmitry is good man—he try help me but my cousin made it impossible. I don't know more, by then, I was hiding. But Viktor and Petya—they are dead. Who else would kill them? Must be my cousin—the she-bitch-killer.”

Ruth-Ann jumped from her chair but Katalina was too quick. She lashed out and struck Ruth-Ann with a vicious punch to her face, knocking her back into her chair. “You cow. This country good to me. To all of us. You don't know—you were not sent home to live so long as me. If you had been, you too would see truth and would help end this madness.”

“I could have been a United States Senator. Think what I could accomplish.”

“No, my cousin, no. When I learn you with Anatoly, I knew what you would do with power.” Katalina turned away. “No. If I not stop you now, I would kill you later.”

“No.” Ruth-Ann's chin rose and her eyes turned hard and black. “You would have failed.”

Katalina nodded to Poor Nic. “Nicholai, I wish to go. Please. I cannot
stand to be by her.”

“Nicholas,” Bear said. “You've been hiding her all this time? She's
a federal witness.”

“Katalina is the key to ending Ruth-Ann's power. She had to be protected and the feds who wanted her were not to be trusted.” Poor Nic's eyes softened. “And Detective, an old man has a right to be chivalrous, does he not?”

Bear looked over at Ruth-Ann and shook his head. “Yeah, sure Nicholas.” He turned back to Poor Nic. “I have men outside. She'll be safe with them until Agent Dobron can move her.”

Katalina shrugged and nodded. “Yes, Nicholai. I am safe with them. The queen bitch—she is no more.”

Bear went into the hall and returned with Spence and a uniformed deputy. They introduced themselves to Katalina and gestured toward the door. Before she followed them out, Katalina went to Poor Nic and gave him a big Russian hug, kissing him on his cheeks.

“Nicholai, you are good man. I am in your debt. When this through, I wish to visit.”

“Then I will look forward to that day, my dear.”

Spence led Katalina Kishkin out the door as a deputy fell in behind them.

I said to Bear, “Ask Poor Nic where the book is.”

Bear did. “Nic, Captain Sutter said your men brought in Marcos' men and Agent Dobron. Funny, though, no one had the book.”

“How odd.” Poor Nic walked over to Angel and kissed her on both cheeks as Katalina had done him. “My dear, it has been a pleasure once again.”

“Nicholas?” Angel eyed him. “What about the book? The FBI will need it to go after Ruth-Ann's connections.”

Poor Nic touched Angel's face and smiled. Then, he turned to Bear and extended his hand. “Detective Braddock, do not trouble yourself. I'm sure the book will surface soon—perhaps two, maybe three days. The necessary contents will be provided to Agent Dobron. You have my word.”

“The necessary contents?” Bear shook his hand. “What about the rest?”

“Do not concern yourself.” Poor Nic walked to the lounge door and turned around. “I would like to have known Oliver's family, Angela. I believe they, like me, were good people. Complicated, perhaps, but good people.”

I said, “He knew all along who my family were. Angel, ask him—”

“Nicholas, wait.” She was way ahead of me. “I'd like to know about his family, too. So—”

“Another time, my dear. I have some reading to do. Call on me soon, perhaps next week. I have some photographs and letters I think will interest you. A few things Frannie left with me.”

Bear held up a hand. “Wait, Nic, I can't let you keep the book.”

“No? But, Detective, who says I have it?” He smiled and winked. “The book has protected the Calapreses for decades. It must continue to do so for a short time longer. Do not attempt to intercede, Detective. I am still a complicated person, remember?” And with a sly, thin smile, Poor Nicholas Bartalotta—retired gangster and good-fairy extraordinaire—walked out.

“Angel, let's go home,” I said as Bing Crosby crooned
I'll Be Seeing You.
Vincent, Doc, and Sassy appeared around a table in the rear of the lounge. “Hey, Vincent, isn't that tune a little after your time—in the forties?”

“It is,” he said. “But it's not after your grandfather's time.”

I watched Hercule sitting beside Sassy and basking in 1939. “Traitor. Nice legs and a pretty smile, eh, boy?” I winked at Angel. “Just saying.”

Sassy giggled. “Hey, Tuckie. The Cuban fella left you something behind the bar—one of his doohickies.”

I went behind the bar and looked around. Tucked beside several old, empty whiskey bottles, hidden among some bric-a-brac, was a small, digital video camera.

“Angel, a little help?”

She came over and pulled the camera from its hiding place and turned it on, flipping up the view screen for all of us to see.

Chevy's face appeared on the screen. “Hey, ghost-man, I know you'll find this. I didn't mean to hurt your wife, man. Things got out of hand. But I'm making it up to you. See, I found some good video—stuff I didn't know I had. I shot it before your big party, man. But first, I'm gonna get the book everyone wants so much so I can catch the Grecco-dude's killer. She thinks I'm selling the video and the book for twenty-five g's. Fat chance, man. I'll get her, Braddock, and when I do—this makes us even, man. Deal's a deal. And when you see who it is, man, are you gonna owe me forever.”

The video went dark and started again, this time, it was secreted somewhere looking down into the lounge. The screen was an eerie green and gray—night-vision video—of a man and woman standing behind the bar. I recognized the man right away. It was Viktor, the hit man. He spoke to the woman and then disappeared into the wine closet where the secret door led to the upstairs rooms. The woman waited a second and looked around the lounge—when she did, she turned and gave the camera a picture-perfect profile.

Ruth-Ann Marcos.

Angel switched it off. “There's more on there. Seen enough, Bear?”

“For now.” Bear was nodding and smiling. “You got it, Chevy. Deal's a deal.”

I said, “Chevy's a good guy, Bear. Give him a break.”

“I will.”

Sassy giggled again. “You stayin' for a drink, Tuckie? Or you going home with the missus?”

“I have to go, Sassy. But I'll be back later to have a few with you, Doc, and Vincent. If it's okay with him.”

“Anytime,” Vincent said, raising a glass with Doc. “We're family, after all.”

Angel looked around the room but didn't see anything. “You done flirting, Tuck?”

“Yeah, let's go home.”

I looked at Sassy, Doc, and Vincent. They were my family. My past—a gutsy, hard-living gangster and a feisty surgeon during a time when the world came apart. Frannie and Ollie—my grandparents—broke molds forged by family before them. But nothing could stop the past from catching up to them—to all of us. I don't know what became of my dad. Perhaps Vincent and Doc will tell me. But the others—Doc, Vincent, Sassy, even Frannie Masseria—they died for their past.

In the end, I guess we all answer for what we've done and where we came from.

My family did.

Now though, being dead isn't all bad. I've got family around—the living and the dead. In time, perhaps, I'll have to choose between them. When the time comes—if it does—I don't know which I'll choose. But for now, Angel and Bear still need me here.