Robert Tanenbaum - Counterplay

There were questions Karp would have liked to ask his cousin, and to be honest, in the brief instances they’d been together, he’d found that he liked his Brooklyn relatives. Yet, at the heart of it all, he was ill at ease with the whole criminal enterprise business. The relationship, which both sides understood, would always remain at arm’s length.

Moreover, ofttimes, he wondered how many people they might have killed. Probably no more than Marlene, he mused, which caused him to wince. His wife’s propensity for acting the part of the avenging angel made it difficult to point the finger at others sometimes.

Marlene had taken the boys to see their great-great-uncle and cousin by herself. She’d started to explain to Vladimir that Butch would have come except he had to work, but the old man put a finger to his lips. We are family, and I understand why these meetings are…difficult for him. When you see him, give him my love…an old man’s affection for his brother’s grandson. And thank him for loaning his beautiful wife and darling boys for a few hours to brighten an old man’s afternoon.

From his large but not ostentatious home in the middle of the Russian community, they’d walked past the knish shops and furriers to the boardwalk along the beach. Marlene had done her best to ignore the dark sedans that slowly preceded and followed them, as well as the two burly Slavic types who walked behind them at a discreet distance as if out for a mob-guy stroll.

Vladimir wore a light-colored linen suit with a black beret, which she discovered was his favored mode of dress when out for his daily walk along the boardwalk. While the twins ran off to play along the breakers on the beach, the old man and Marlene got a chance to talk about his role in the community. She noticed how ordinary people greeted Vladimir warmly and treated him with extreme deference, but it didn’t seem borne of fear so much as genuine affection for a benefactor.

Yes, they don’t see me as a…a gangster, he said. I dislike that term myself. It is for people who seek a life of crime because that is what they want-it is the way they are made. I suppose it can be argued that I didn’t have to lead this life either. For instance, my brother, your husband’s grandfather, he was a success as an honest businessman. But I came later, with no money and up against a lot of…of discrimination because I was “stupid” immigrant, a Russian Jew, maybe a Bolshevik…. I did not feel I had the choice if I wanted to support my family and myself, and to protect them from bad men with evil intent who would have preyed upon us. It has been this way for many people when they come here-the Irish, the Italians.

Vladimir had walked a little farther, pointing and laughing at where the boys chased through a crowd of protesting seagulls. He stopped and looked out to sea, as if to imagine those ships full of immigrants. We had to organize ourselves, the strong leading the weak, when the larger society wouldn’t help. I made my living by sneaking people into this country, yes, for profit, but I also feel good about that. And I make money off such things as gambling and some of man’s other vices-but those are his choices, I am merely a provider of goods and service. Never drugs, and I would not demean women by making them prostitutes. And if I have…at times…resorted to violence, it has only been in defense of me, my family, or my people. As such, I offer no apologies and any sins I have committed will be judged by God.

Marlene had been over to visit the old man several times since, occasionally running into Yvgeny, who had always treated her warmly. Then one day, while drinking tea with Vladimir at his restaurant, he’d suddenly asked if she and Butch would consider coming to dinner at his house.

I wouldn’t ask…or risk my nephew’s reputation if I did not think it important to discuss something directly with him. It is the sort of thing best discussed in person and not over the telephone lines.

Marlene had accepted. Later, when she told Butch, he’d agreed with an uncharacteristic solemn nod.

As the cab rolled over the Brooklyn Bridge, the couple grew silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Then Butch said quietly so that only his wife could hear. “Fey was murdered last night.”

Marlene blinked hard once. “How?”

“I don’t know much,” he said. “Jaxon called just a few minutes before you arrived and didn’t want to talk until we’re face-to-face tomorrow. But apparently, Fey was strangled…with rosary beads.”

“Kane,” she said, echoing his response a half hour earlier.

“Yeah, looks like it,” he answered. “I’d like to know how Kane found him. The feds had him buried pretty deep.”

Marlene wasn’t so surprised. “The feds had a traitor who got a bunch of kids murdered and Fulton shot to help Kane escape.”

“Yeah, but Michael Grover’s dead, and supposedly he didn’t know Fey’s whereabouts. Anyway, I’ll know more tomorrow.”

Marlene stared out her window. She clutched her handbag to her lap, glad of the heavy presence of the Glock inside but upset that her family was in danger again. “It’s getting dark outside,” she said wiping at the tears that had formed in her eyes.

When they arrived in the Karchovskis’ neighborhood, the streets were oddly empty of cars and pedestrians. As they pulled up to the house, a large man whose head seemed to almost disappear into his massive shoulders waddled out from the gated courtyard to pay the cabbie and escort them into the living room of the house. He then waddled back the way they had come without saying a word the entire time.

They didn’t wait long. Vladimir Karchovski soon appeared, leaning on the arm of his son, Yvgeny. He immediately disengaged himself and came forward to hug Marlene and kiss her on each cheek. He then greeted Butch in the same way. “Welcome, welcome to my home,” he said and led them to the sitting area.

Marlene took a seat on the couch next to the old man. Butch and Yvgeny remained standing, which gave her a chance to compare the two. They were nearly identical in height, weight, and age. Anyone who did not know them might have guessed that they were brothers, maybe twins. They both had high, wide cheekbones and would have had the same eyes, gray flecked with gold and curiously slanted, except that Yvgeny had lost one of his during a battle in Afghanistan and now wore a black patch. They were both handsome men in a rugged way, and even the scars from the burns on his face did not subtract from the overall attractiveness of Yvgeny. Careful, old girl, Marlene cautioned herself, keep thinking this way and you’ll be fantasizing about a Marlene sandwich.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Vladimir said.

“Uh, they aren’t worth that much,” she replied, wondering if the old man’s sly smile meant he’d read her mind.

A chessboard was set up on the coffee table in front of the couch. When Yvgeny noticed Karp’s attention drawn to it, he asked, “Do you play?”

Karp shook his head. “Not really. Or perhaps I should say ‘horribly,’ a real amateur…a sort of ‘last man standing’ strategy that would get me whipped by either one of my sons.”

“Ah, but so very American,” Yvgeny said, picking up a silver cigar box and opening it to offer one to Karp, who declined, and to Marlene, who accepted. “The subtleties don’t interest you, you’d rather…how do you say it…‘slug it out.’ Always rushing in where the proverbial angels fear to tread.”

“Are you saying Americans are fools?” Karp asked with a smile. He knew his cousin was trying to bait him and he was willing to rise to it for the time being.

“Perhaps,” Yvgeny said. “Or maybe just naive, a sort of innocent belief in yourselves. But there must be something to it that allowed the United States to become the most powerful nation ever on the planet, more powerful than even the old Soviet Union. Maybe it is your bigger-than-life mythology…good guys in white hats always beating the bad guys in black hats…you don’t believe you can lose, and so you don’t lose. You are always so reluctant to start a fight-or, more importantly in today’s world, to strike first-even though you know you are being threatened. It is almost as though you cannot fight back until pushed nearly to the brink of not being able to fight at all.”