David Duffy - Last to Fold

“N… no. I smoke some grass. B… b… big deal. You’ve been talking to m… my mother. She’s got no c… clue, n… never has.”

“What about the rehab?”

She didn’t register surprise that I knew. “Tha… that’s her, too. She p… panics over everything . Smoke a joint and you’re h… h… hooked on heroin. It’s easier to go along, s… sometimes.”

It might have been the stutter—damned hard to fake—but I believed her. “You were totally out of it when I found you Wednesday. Blotto. Roofies, the doctors said.”

“I know. They t… told me, too. But I didn’t… I’d never touch something like that. That’s c… c… crazy.”

I still believed her. “Could Ratko, I mean, Alexander have—”

“No! He’d n… n… never. We w… were…”

Now she was protesting. I didn’t believe her, and she didn’t believe herself.

“Did he give you anything to drink? There was a can of Diet Coke by the bed.”

She thought for a minute. “Yeah. I w… went back to the bedroom, and he c… c… came back after me, w… with the Coke. Said I looked d… dehydrated from the heat.”

“Did you drink it?”

“I g… g… guess so, y… yeah.”

“He drugged you, Eva. I’m sorry to say that, but it’s the only way it makes sense.”

“B… but w… w… why? We were f… friends. We w… w… w… He loved me!”

She all but yelled the last part, another protestation. She caught herself and looked around, afraid to draw attention. No doubt she’d loved him.

“Where’d you meet him?”

She shook her head. “T… t… tell me what happened. At the l… l… loft. You s… said you would.”

“You’re right, I did. I got there around eight forty-five. I found two men in the hall outside the bedroom—Alexander and your grandfather, your biological grandfather.”

“Wha… what?”

“You recognized him. He scared the daylights out of you. Why’s that?”

“Grandpa? He was there?”

“That’s right.”

The fear was back. She pushed her chair away from the table. “I have to go.”

“Wait.” I took her hand, gently, but ready to hold on if she tried to run. “He’s not here now. He can’t hurt you. Don’t you want to hear the rest of the story?”

She tugged a little, then relaxed and pulled her chair back. “Okay.” She started to sit, then straightened again. “W… wait. How do you kn… know my grandfather?”

“I’ve known most of your family for years, long before you were born.”

“H… how?”

“We all used to work together—in Russia.”

She backed away. “That m… means you w… w… were…”

“Don’t worry. Not anymore. I live here now. I work for myself. I took you out of there, remember? I didn’t leave you with him.”

She sat down slowly, still unsure.

I went on with the story. “Ratko was already dead. Iakov was wounded. There were bullet holes in the bedroom door. I think you heard the shots, got the gun, fired through the door, and someone fired back at you. There were two more bullet holes in the wall behind the bed. I think you must’ve hit whoever it was, because I could find only one bullet hole in the hall.”

She shook her head. “I d… don… don’t remember.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself. Rohypnol is a powerful amnesiac. You were aware something was going on, something that frightened you. So you got Ratko’s gun.”

“Why do you keep calling him Ratko?”

“His real name was Rad Rislyakov. People here called him Ratko Risly because he looked like Dustin Hoffman in the movie Midnight Cowboy. Any idea who could’ve shot him? Or your grandfather?”

“No.”

“You know he gambled?”

“S… sure. B… but he said he w… was over that.”

“You believe him?”

“Y… yes.” She seemed sincere.

“When you were with him, did he ever seem nervous or afraid? Like someone might hurt him?”

“No. I n… n… never n… noticed anything like that.”

I still believed her.

“Did you know he had an apartment in Chelsea?”

She paused, then shook her head. I wasn’t sure she was telling the truth.

“When did you meet?” I asked.

“W… wait. Wh… wh… what were you doing there—at the l… loft?”

“Looking for Ratko.”

She shot me a look just short of “Duh!”

“Sorry—but if I tell you, you’re not going to like it.”

She didn’t hesitate. “You’ve already d… done the w… w… worst you can d… do.”

I was trained to keep people talking. Coax, probe, know when to apply pressure. Work the psychology. Take advantage. Manipulate hopes, fears, and insecurities. I used to assuage my conscience with the assertion that it was all in service of a cause. The cause turned out to be bullshit, but at the time it was still a cause. Now? Why was I ripping up this girl’s life? She’d already spent most of it a trauma victim. Her boyfriend—that’s how she thought of him—had been using her. I’d more or less exposed that part of him. Now I had the chance to show her what a thoroughly nasty shit he was and drag her mother into the muck at the same time. Eva had never done anything to me, at least consciously, probably never done anything to anybody. I could’ve—should have?—walked away and left her to pick up the pieces. Instead I pushed ahead with the demolition, as I knew I would. If you’re afraid of wolves, don’t go into the forest, as we say.

“You know what phishing is?”

She nodded slowly.

“Ratko—Alexander—phished your father. About four months ago. He bugged all the computers in the apartment. He found something he was using to blackmail your mother.”

“She t… t… told you this?”

“No. She tried to keep it a secret. She’s still trying. You know Ratko was an identity thief. You worked his UnderTable account.”

She looked away and back again. “He said… he said it was a victimless c… crime. Credit cards, b… bank accounts, they all have in… in… insurance.”

“So some nameless insurance company is going to pay your hotel bill here.”

She looked away again. “Okay. He sh… showed me once. He was sh… sh… showing off. It was the f… first time I ever used it. I needed m… money, s… someplace to go.”

“Why not home?”

That got me the “duh” look again.

“Why’d you run from the hospital?”

She hesitated, then looked away. “I was scared.”

“Of what?”

She didn’t answer and kept her eyes away from mine. “How much tr… trouble is my d… d… dad in?”

“A lot. Yet he’s worried about you more than anything. Probably do him a ton of good to see you.”

She nodded at that.

“What frightened you at the hospital?”

She looked at the floor.

“What did you mean by that note, the one in your apartment—‘You should have left me with Lena’?”

The shriek was muffled by the sob that came right on top of it. “N… nothing.”

“We both know that’s not true. You told your mother the same thing the last time you had a fight.”

She turned jittery, fearful. “Who told you that?”

“Your father.”

“I w… want to g… g… go now.”

She was halfway out of her chair, eyes darting left and right, around me. Her entire demeanor changed—from sorrowful and curious to caged and cornered. I was losing her. I took one more shot.

“Did you know Ratko worked for your father, your real father?”

“Whaaa?!” She swung back toward me, every inch of her trembling.

“What’s the matter?”

She shook her head violently as she backed up, knocking over her chair. She was out of my reach before I could stand.