The Sea Beach Line (36 page)

We lay on the mattress for a few minutes without speaking. Rayna leaned down and kissed me on the forehead. I pulled her down toward me and kissed her on the lips. She started kissing me back.

As soon as we started kissing, my erection pushed up through my thin cotton boxers. Rayna put her hand on top of it, gave a few tentative strokes, then gripped it tightly through the fabric.

“Are you sure you want—” I was surprised, but excited.

“You don't want me to?”

“No, I do, I just don't want you to if you don't—”

“No, I want to. I was afraid you were gone. And now I'm happy you're here in my hands.” I didn't say anything else. She slid her hand into my boxers. Her hand felt good, after so many nights and weeks of forbearance, and I wasn't going to say anything that would make her stop. We were both quiet for a few seconds while she tugged, then I started breathing heavily, and came quickly, inside my shorts.

We started kissing again, and I dipped my fingers into Rayna's panties, just under the waistband. She pulled back for a moment, then pressed forward, and I pushed my hand down further. We kept kissing while I fingered her. After a few minutes, she came with a shudder.

Rayna pulled my hand away from her, and turned away from me on the mattress. She made a little sniffle, and it dawned on me that she was crying. The thought that I had done something to hurt her was terrifying to me.

“Are you okay?” I said. “I didn't . . . I'm sorry if . . .”

“No, no. It felt good. It's good. It's just . . . a lot.”

I thought about trying to comfort her further, but I didn't know what else to say. I went to the bathroom to wash myself off and put on a clean pair of boxers.

By the time I came back to our space, Rayna was asleep. I kissed the back of her neck, and closed my eyes. I saw the swirling background of the painting we'd stolen, but no figure in the center. I had come down from the adrenaline of the crime, the buzz of the vodka, and the excitement of fooling around with Rayna. I was exhausted. I couldn't dwell on Roman's words. He was drunk, boisterous, and full of shit. I couldn't forget his words either. All I knew for sure was that Rayna was here with me. I took solace in that.

17

RAYNA AND I ARRIVED
on the street three mornings later to find Mendy's cart standing unpacked in his spot. I looked around for him and saw that he was sitting on a bench in the plaza talking to a man wearing a wool cap low down on his ears. Their backs were facing me, and I couldn't really make out anything about the guy besides the hat, but a stack of large-format books stood between them on the bench, so I assumed Mendy was making a deal with him.

Mendy glanced back to check on his stuff, and saw Rayna and me.

“Oh, good morning!” He stood up. “Our mutual friend here was looking for you.” The other man rose slowly. Something was so familiar about his broad frame and his achy movements. Had my father finally returned? I had been wrong to doubt. I stepped toward him. No, this man was too short. He turned around and I saw his face. It was Goldov.

“Izzy,” he said.

“How have you been, Goldov?” I said, coldly. I had been suspicious of Goldov's motives since our first meeting, when he harped about money, but after hearing Yemaya's story about the love triangle
between her, Al, and Goldov, I knew that Goldov was completely untrustworthy.

The fact that he seemed to be friendly with Mendy even made me a little unsure about Mendy—despite the fact that Mendy was one of the kindest men I'd ever met. But like Mendy himself had said, you never know what's going on with people.

“Unwell, to be honest,” Goldov said, answering my greeting as if it were a genuine question. “My lungs, you see. But don't worry about me. I've survived worse. So. Rumors are true. You have taken over Pan Edel's book business.”

“Yes, I have.”

“Like father, like son.” I shrugged. I didn't know if he meant it as an insult or not. “Chip off old block.”

“I guess so,” I said.

“And does this mean you have taken on his business debts as well?” Goldov remained steadfast in his position on Al's disappearance. I was no longer so sure of mine. Why did I see Roman and Goldov again and again, but no glimpse of Al?

“Children shall not be put to death for their fathers,” I said.

“
Shto
?”

“Is that why Mendy said you were looking for me?”

“Eh? Oh, no, no. I was only making joke about debts. Come, step to the side with me so we can speak more privately. Excuse us for a minute, Mendy.” Mendy turned his attention back to evaluating Goldov's art books, while Goldov and I stepped into the secluded corner of the plaza behind NYU's ornamental shrubs.

“It is actually I who am paying you today,” Goldov said. “You see, I come up primarily for Mendy to take a look at some books I had to sell, but also to deliver this to you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a white envelope. “From our common associate, Roman.” Roman had said that he would send me compensation for the Navy Yard job once he received payment from the job's client, but Goldov was a surprising courier. I took the envelope and put it in my pocket.

“I understand you helped arrange a recent acquisition for the Galuth collection,” Goldov said. Of course. The painting of the rabbi
actually was a Galuth. If I had trusted my eye, I could have made this connection for myself. “Our collection extends beyond what is displayed in the gallery. I handle payments, and other details, for the museum's benefactor. Roman knows that I am coming up here to meet with Mendy, so he asked me to deliver your portion of the fee directly.”

“I see. Well, thanks. I appreciate you bringing me this.” Goldov wasn't listening to me anymore. He was too busy staring past me at Rayna. She was turned away from us, putting our books out on the table. I didn't like the hungry way he looked at her, as if he had some claim on her. I wanted to hit him, to tell him he had no right to look at her.

“Who is that young woman?” Goldov asked.

“Just a friend of mine. No concern of yours.”

“She looks familiar to me.” I tensed with fear. Rayna had seen Goldov in her father's court, so he could have seen her there too. Rayna fled her father's house because bad things had happened to her there. The other night, she had become distraught at the mere mention of her father. I didn't want any part of her father's world finding her. Did the old painter really request blessings from rabbis? It seemed out of character, but I didn't know the man very well.

Another possibility occurred to me. Goldov lived with Galuth's painting, after all, and saw it every day. If Rayna bore as much resemblance to the actual painting as she did to Al's sketch, then of course she looked familiar to Goldov. This was actually much likelier, as Goldov was in constant contact with the painting. Regardless of why he recognized her, I didn't like for Goldov to dwell on the question, or pry into my life. As much as I wanted answers, it was more urgent to keep Goldov away from Rayna.

“She just has one of those faces,” I said.

“Perhaps.” He bit his lip, but it didn't seem that he was able to place her. This was a relief.

“Goldov,” Mendy hollered. “Are we going to make a deal on these books, or what?” Goldov walked back to Mendy, and I went over to Rayna.

“Who were you talking to?” Rayna asked. She didn't seem to have seen his face closely enough to recognize him, but she was curious about my conversation. I considered telling her he was the man from the sketchbook, but I didn't see any reason to frighten her. She was the one who had wanted to shut the sketchbooks, to not pursue these connections. It wouldn't be right to lie to her, but I didn't need to go out of my way to upset her either.

“He works with my father's friends, from the other night. He used to work with my father. Can you do me a favor? Can you go to the store and get us some black tea?”

“You don't think I should finish with this box first?”

“Could you go now? I need the caffeine.” I wanted to make sure Goldov wouldn't get a chance to come over for a closer look. Rayna put down the box, and went off toward the deli on Broadway. Before she returned, Goldov concluded his business with Mendy and left the street.

My cut from the heist turned out to be sixteen hundred dollars. I thought Roman had said that I would be getting an even two grand, but it was possible that I was mistaken, or that Roman had exaggerated, or spoken imprecisely. Either way, it was a hell of a lot of money for moving a painting from one closet to another.

I didn't call Roman to confirm I'd received the money, or to verify the amount. I didn't want to talk to him or Timur at all. There was a strong possibility that they had been lying to me about my father all along. That didn't necessarily mean that my father was dead, or even that Roman and Timur, or at least Timur, didn't know where he was. It did mean that I couldn't trust them.

Rayna and I took a couple days off from the street to enjoy the unearned money. I was happy for the break. It was almost summer, and the streets were getting hot. A brawl broke out at the Cage—the fenced-in public basketball courts on the corner of Sixth Avenue and West Fourth Street, across from Abdul-hak's still-shuttered
newsstand—and two teenagers got stabbed. Tempers were running short up and down West Fourth Street. Mendy got in a shouting match with Jersey Steve—as near as I could tell, over something that happened four years earlier—and Hafid got into a shoving match with a customer from out of town. I had begun to feel less and less comfortable reading on the street, even light crime books during the afternoon lull, for fear something would go down when I wasn't watching my back, and I hadn't been able to finish
Knickerbocker Avenue
. The night after Goldov paid me, I stayed up late reading.

Arturo's reign as don lasts less than a year. The military police seize an important heroin shipment at McGuire Air Force Base. Arturo hears clicks on the line, and sees suspicious vehicles patrolling the neighborhood. The local precinct is on Arturo's payroll, but whatever is happening is clearly a federal operation that the NYPD hasn't been apprised of. Sicilians have been arrested and deported, and Arturo fears that they have given information on his operation. He begins to suspect his own lieutenants. After all, he betrayed his don when he was a lieutenant.

As the net closes in, Arturo and Isabella decide to flee to Asia. They pack their suitcases, bringing enough cash to live in luxury on a Thai beach for twenty years. The feds are waiting for Arturo at the airport. He is prepared to shoot it out with them, but when he realizes that his sweet Isabella has led him into a trap, the fight goes out of him. Arturo accuses her of being disloyal, but Isabella says she was acting out of highest loyalty; she has sacrificed her true love to avenge her father's death.
Knickerbocker Avenue
ends with Arturo, now old and gray, baking bread in the prison kitchen.

Rayna looked at the money suspiciously, but she already knew I was involved in something shady, and I soon convinced her to help me spend some of it. For the first time, we went to an actual restaurant together, a nice old Italian place in the West Village. We ate olive salad, marinated eggplant, and pasta with white sauce, and drank a bottle of good red wine.

Rayna bought two new dresses, more brightly colored than the dark ones she'd worn threadbare, and convinced me to buy myself
a shirt, purple fabric with darker purple buttons and a stiff collar. I also bought myself a herringbone newsboy cap, which looked a little more dignified than my dirty Yankees cap. I bought Rayna a bouquet of Japanese irises, and we walked all around lower Manhattan feeling light and unbound.

I remembered a time when Al had made a bunch of money—I have no idea how. He and my mother picked Becca and me up from school in a rented car in the middle of the day, and took us down to the Jersey Shore. Becca and I ate handfuls of saltwater taffy, and rode a roller coaster over and over. My parents sat on the boardwalk, drinking beer out of big Styrofoam cups.

They were happy that weekend. This was why people did crime, so they could live the good life while others were slaving away. I didn't know if I wanted to work with Roman again, but I didn't think I'd been involved in my last heist. Maybe I'd still have a chance to go on a job with Al.