David Duffy - In for a Ruble

The fists balled again. But his temper was spent, overwhelmed perhaps by years of denial and deception. Perhaps that was unfair—I’d never been through this particular kind of hell.

“When Daria… We all jumped to the same conclusion, of course. But there was no evidence. Walter denied everything. Julia said he was never around. We didn’t focus on the question of whether Julia, with her twenty-four–seven schedule, would know. Maybe we didn’t want to. I’m not sure now. It’s all a blur. Pauline broke down. She blamed me, blamed the whole family, and I don’t fault her for that. Especially since…”

She was right, of course, but I didn’t say it.

“I truly didn’t know about Andras. He seemed a normal kid. Maybe too much involved with his computers, but I took that as a positive. He was applying himself to something, he was good at it. His grades were good. He was talking about Stanford or Cal Tech. I had dreams of… I had dreams…”

He got ready to weep again. Hard not to feel for him, but he was avoiding the point.

“Go back to Tuesday,” I said.

He took a minute to shift gears.

“I had the man who was following you watch Walter’s building. He called me when Walter arrived. I went over. You told me how he’d helped the tall man bug my system. I was furious. I confronted him in that… hovel. I’d never been there before. It underscored everything about him, the fraud, the deception. He tried to evade, obfuscate… He did everything he could to say it wasn’t him. I wouldn’t let him get away with it. When we got to where he’d been for the last week, I lost it. Just went berserk, I guess. We fought. The next thing I knew, he was slumped over the desk, not moving. If you ask me now how it happened, I couldn’t tell you. It was… It was just one of those things.”

Murder. Just one of those things. Andras had used almost the same language, talking about the Players.

I got up and walked. Kline and Motherwell and Malevich fired truth, albeit abstract truth, from the walls. Easy for you, I thought. You just had to get it onto canvas. Of course, they had to live it before they could paint it.

Leitz sat motionless at his desk.

“What now?” he asked, pained but resigned.

He was asking me to face the same question he’d wrestled with. Who do you hurt least?

Leitz was a murderer. On the other hand, the world was better off without his victim. Victoria would tell me that didn’t matter, and she’d be right. Also hard to ignore that Leitz’s actions had set off the chain of events that brought us here today. There were plenty of victims, including his own son and the kids at the Crestview playhouse.

I’m used to making my own decisions, but I’m no good at being a judge. The ones we had in the Soviet Union were corrupt—they had no concept of justice, they did what they were told. Victoria put her faith in the rule of law, which intentionally took decisions like this out of the hands of individuals like me. I could see the purpose of that, but I wasn’t quite ready to abdicate.

“The first thing now—is Andras,” I said. “I need to get back to him.”

“Wait! You haven’t told me where…”

“Don’t intend to. I’ll take care of the kid for the next few days. You’re in no shape to protect him. If you want to do something, think about coming clean with your family, then the cops. You’ve all got a ton of healing to do, assuming we get through this. It’ll also go a lot easier if you go to the police before they come to you.”

“But… What about…?”

“Jail?”

He tried to nod, but couldn’t manage.

I left him waiting for the help that wouldn’t arrive.

The snow was already sticking as I walked to Victoria’s place at Third and Sixty-fifth. She welcomed me with a big hug and a long kiss and a wrinkled nose.

“You don’t stink this time, but I can feel it—you’re exhausted.”

“Won’t lie.”

“Want something to eat?”

“Sure.” Breakfast seemed a long time ago.

She led me through the living room to her dining area. I hadn’t been in her apartment before. I was struck by its temporary feel. Neutral everything—furniture, fabrics, decorations, not unlike the Regency Hotel or Julia Leitz’s office. Here, they all but announced, I’ll be moving on . Question was, where—and when?

“I got sandwiches from the deli. Something to drink?”

“Beer?”

“Is that a good idea? Never mind, I thought you’d ask, so I got that too.”

She brought a bottle of Heineken, a tasteless brew, but I wasn’t about to say so.

“Perfect,” I lied.

She smiled, and I reached for her hand.

“I’m trying,” she said. “But, as you pointed out, you don’t make it easy.”

“I’m trying too,” I said, biting back doubt. “I’m not very good at it.”

“You can say that again.”

“Want to hear about Stamford?” Get the sincerity ball rolling.

I took a long swallow of Heineken. It tasted better than I remembered.

“Go easy, shug. If I know you, you’re not done for the day.”

She didn’t know the half of it. I put down the beer and picked up a sandwich. In between bites, I told her about Batkin, what he’d said about the BEC, Irina taking off, Thomas Leitz and Nosferatu, and Andras—the note and the overnight odyssey from the Regency to the Doubletree to the Super 8.

“Did you really have to call Nosferatu and rile him up?”

“I wanted the kid to hear what he’s up against and I wanted Nosferatu chasing me.”

“Exactly my point.”

“He doesn’t know where we are now.”

“He knew where to find you that night he beat you up.”

She was right. Arrogance… I chewed another bite of sandwich.

“What are you going to do about Leitz?”

“Don’t know.”

“He should be prosecuted. He could maybe plead it down to manslaughter, but he’s looking at prison time for sure.”

“I figured that.”

“And?”

“I told him to go to the police. But he’s got a terminally ill wife and a seriously screwed-up kid. Not going to do anyone any good if he’s in the slammer.”

“That’s not the point, and you know it.”

“It is the circumstance.”

“Circumstances get considered at sentencing time. The law says you can’t go around breaking people’s necks.”

She staked out the position I expected her to, and I couldn’t argue against it. But coming from a system where the law could be made up on the spot by anyone carrying a card that said ChK, GPU, NKVD, KGB or FSB, I had a hard time seeing it with such absolute clarity.

“I can tell we’re gonna keep having this argument,” she said.

“That’s a good thing, from my point of view.”

She smiled. “At least you’ve answered one question.”

“What’s that?”

“Why they did it—the kids. Some kind of power trip.”

“I don’t follow.”

“You said they were all abused—that was the common bond—usually by a family member or someone close to them. The abuse wasn’t just physical—it takes its psychological and emotional toll too. This was their way of getting back at their abusers. They owned these guys, their customers, psychologically speaking. They told them when to tune in, made them shell out thousands—tens of thousands—to watch. They were the performers, but that didn’t bother them. It was all about control, psychological control. Power trip, like I said.”

“Huh. I hadn’t thought about it quite that way. I wonder… Remember the other day, we talked about how Irina’s the one calling the shots but I couldn’t see her motivations? I think you just put your finger on it.”