Orest Stelmach - The Boy Who Stole from the Dead

Engines screamed in the distance. Victor thought his imagination might be running away from him. The noise grew louder. Victor glanced at Johnny with disbelief.

Johnny had one foot stuck outside the table in case he needed to make a move. Victor realized the abomination wasn’t wearing tennis shoes because he was an American slob. He was wearing them in case he needed to run. In the unlikely event his plot was foiled and he needed to fight.

The Gun ran to the front window. The Ammunition checked out the back door.

“Cops,” they said.

They ran back into the kitchen. Both of them had their guns bared. They pleaded with their eyes for instructions.

Victor offered them a soothing expression and motioned for them to put the guns on the table.

He turned to Johnny. “How did I miss this?”

“Once, when Bobby was out on a date with Iryna, she went to the ladies’ room and left her cell phone on the table. Bobby checked the address book. There was a phone number for a Rotciv Randob.”

“Rotciv Random,” the Gun said. “I know that name. Rotciv Random’s battle number three was a Super Mario game.”

“I said Randob,” Johnny said. “Not Random.”

“Rotciv Randob,” Victor said, “is Victor Bodnar spelled backwards.”

“Bobby knew who you were from the year before. When you and your cousin Kirilo—the one you murdered in the butcher shop basement—chased him around the world. And once he saw your name spelled backward in her phone directory, he knew Iryna belonged to you all along.”

Tires screeched. Doors opened outside.

Victor said, “You seem to have forgotten the role I played in getting your witness to speak the truth.”

“Who’s going to believe you? I’m not going to back up your story. The witness sure isn’t. It’s your word against ours. And who are you exactly? Are you even a proper citizen? I never shared anything confidential with you. If one of your boys took a look at one of my files while I was in the men’s room, that’s not on me. You came here tonight to threaten me. To extort my client’s private property. I’m protecting myself and my business.”

Someone pounded on the front door. “Police.”

Johnny stood up.

More pounding, this time on the front and back doors.

“You realize this isn’t over,” Victor said. “I survived the gulag . I will survive American prison.”

“Ten to twenty is a long time,” Johnny said. “Good luck with that.”

Victor thought of Tara and his grandson. Then he remembered his own words, the ones he’d spoken. If he’d survived the gulag, he could survive an American prison. But survival wasn’t enough. He’d be damned if he spent his last days in a prison cell away from his family. He needed to escape. Was that even possible? Everything was possible, he reminded himself, especially for a man who could disappear by standing sideways.

Ten to twenty years implied he was about to be accused of a serious crime. But he’d never serve a year. He didn’t know how or when, but he’d make his escape.

And then he would seek compensation from those who’d put him behind bars. The ponytailed lawyer and the son of the best confidence man the Soviet Union had ever seen.

That’s who’d outsmarted him, he realized.

A child.

Two members of the Elizabeth Detectives Bureau and Narcotics Unit interviewed Johnny. After they left, he called the James brothers and thanked them for their help. They’d purchased five ounces of heroin from one of their old suppliers on Johnny’s behalf for nineteen thousand dollars. Then they’d planted the drugs underneath Victor’s Lincoln Town Car the night before. Victor parked on the street, and at 3:20 a.m., most Manhattan side streets were usually empty.

Anyone caught with five grams of heroin in the state of New Jersey was charged with intent to sell. The cost had wiped out half of Johnny’s savings excluding his equity in his house but it was a bargain. The only other solution he could conjure was killing the twins and Victor and Johnny simply couldn’t contemplate it. He could rationalize putting murderers in a prison to protect Nadia. Couldn’t he? But taking a life—any man’s life—was an entirely different matter.

He had two double bourbons to calm his nerves before he went to sleep. As he drifted, he comforted himself by reviewing the to-do list that defined his existence. He’d vowed to protect Nadia by removing Victor from her life. Bobby had set up Victor by telling Iryna he’d mailed the locket to Johnny, which was a lie. It was with his possessions in jail. Check. He’d promised to secure Bobby’s freedom. The DA wanted to talk. It was just a matter of time. Check. And he’d assured Nadia he’d find out the truth about the locket from Bobby. Check.

There was nothing left to do but get the girl.

NADIA AND MARKO returned home on Sunday. Marko drove home to Connecticut. Nadia dumped her bag in her apartment and burst into action. Her primary objective was to help secure Bobby’s freedom. Her secondary objective was the locket.

Nadia called Johnny and told him everything she’d learned about Valentine’s past. She presented her evidence in a way that would help Johnny persuade the district attorney that the dead man had been a sociopath. She recounted Headmaster Darby’s stories of his horrific conduct at the Felshire School, and described his sordid relationship with his stepmother, Natasha. Both of those sources would verify that young Valentine had been self-indulgent and ruthless. He was also an avid hunter with his father’s bent Cossack morals and quick temper.

The district attorney was not surprised by Johnny’s revelations. He gave Johnny full discovery of the state’s case. It turned out Valentine had been arrested twice since moving to New York. Once for assaulting a female passenger who pushed him to get onto a crowded train, and a second time for threatening to kill a man for not thanking him for holding a restaurant door open for him.

The Fordham hockey coach signed a sworn statement that he saw Valentine and Bobby collide in a hallway after a hockey game. Valentine reacted furiously, the coach said. The odd thing was that he appeared to have initiated the contact. Iryna corroborated the story after a brief discussion with Johnny, who offered to help her earn American citizenship as long as she stayed away from Bobby.

The district attorney wasn’t sure which event incited Valentine—the girl’s rejection or the bump with Bobby. It didn’t matter. It was apparent that Valentine became obsessed with exacting a measure of revenge. He followed Bobby one night when he was going to meet Iryna for a date and attacked him. Bobby defended himself with the only weapon he had on his possession, a screwdriver. The district attorney asked Johnny why his client was carrying a screwdriver. Johnny responded with a sliver of truth. Bobby had been locked in a trunk as a child. The event had traumatized him, and he’d been carrying a flashlight and the tool that could have secured his release ever since. The kid had issues. Which of us was perfect? Johnny said.

That was the only part of Bobby’s actual childhood that needed to be revealed. The witness saw the fight, watched Bobby walk away, and stole the knife and rifle. The latter showed the magnitude of Valentine’s sickness. It was as though he was hunting a human being, the district attorney said. He’d prepared himself to shoot from a distance or kill at close quarters. The district attorney also admitted his star witness was not a bastion of integrity. He’d earned a poor reputation during his brief stint as a cop, primarily for abuse of power. He’d been asked to leave the force or face an investigation for accepting a bribe. The witness had been clean since then, though he seemed to live beyond his means as a part-time security guard and actor.