Kill and Be Killed

by Louis Begley

  What was I to do? I cursed some more, rushed to the garage, Feng two steps behind me—just to make sure, sir, we don’t have company—got into the car, drove back with Feng to my building to pick up my bag, said goodbye to Feng, told John the Serb on duty, resisting the urge to remind him to be sure to so inform Jovan, that I was off to Sag Harbor for the weekend, and stepped on the gas. I’d be damned if I’d let that stupid girl get to the house before me.

  Good try, Captain Dana! At least I didn’t get a speeding ticket. A cute green-and-black Mini was parked smack outside the house. Without Heidi. Where the hell was she? In the house, idiot, where else? Following Harry’s custom, I put my car into the garage, dropped the door shut, and went into the pantry and then the kitchen directly from the garage. There was Heidi at the table, decked out in russet tweeds, having a companionable cup of tea with Mary. She offered me her cheek to peck and shook her head pityingly while I embraced Mary, exclaimed over the pregnancy that was just showing, asked after her husband at the pet shop, and announced that based on her emails I assumed the house was very much in order.

  It’s in better shape, Jack, than it’s ever been, she told me. I wish poor Harry, God rest his soul, could see it. Everything is just the way he wanted it. José Rodriguez has been working really hard—repainting, changing window frames where needed, fixing the cupboards. He’s covered your and Harry’s entire list. Would you like to check it out now or later, after you and Heidi have had lunch?

  I nodded. Later would be better, I said. Heidi and I have a lunch date.

  And would you like a cup of tea right now?

  You bet, I said. And for you, a gin and tonic?

  Wouldn’t I love that? But doctor’s orders!

  She patted her tummy.

  Right! How about Miss Heidi? To help her forgive me?

  To my relief, she laughed!

  Your partner will have a martini while you wash your hands et cetera, she said, provided you haven’t forgotten how to make one. You’re so full of surprises. Who’d have thought that on top of everything else you’re a slow driver!

  I’ve put Heidi into the big guest room, Mary broke in.

  Let’s make a change, I said. Let’s move her into the master bedroom, perhaps it’ll improve her disposition. I’ll take the guest room.

  It was Heidi who went upstairs to do her et cetera. While I was making the drink, Mary cocked her ear to make sure she could speak without being overheard and said, She’s very pretty and very nice. I’m glad for you, Jack.

  She is all that and more, I replied, but it’s not like that and it’s not going to be like that. She’s Kerry’s best friend. You heard her: we’re partners. We want to figure out what happened. We don’t believe Kerry overdosed any more than Harry committed suicide. It’s the same goons. They killed her because she and Harry were like two fingers. She knew too much.

  I’ve been praying for her soul, Mary said. She was such a good person. Harry really loved her!

  So did I, Mary, so did I. It broke my heart when she left me. And now you run along home and give my congratulations to Brian. Is the pet shop open tomorrow? Yes? Then I’ll try to drop in.

  And I’ll see you here tomorrow, she said, not too early so Heidi can sleep in.

  I knew there was nothing to be gained by arguing with her. If she decided she needed to come in on Sunday, she would, no matter what I told her. So I kept quiet and, instead, gave her a hug.

  You’ve got a talent for finding the sort of housekeepers my mother would kill for, said Heidi when she reappeared in the kitchen and had taken a sip of her martini. And your martini’s up to par. There may be some hope left for your case. Do you want to start telling me why you decided to dump me in the city?

  I can, in four words: I want you alive. The party has gotten rough, and something tells me it will get rougher. Unless you’re not hungry, perhaps I should hold the longer version for lunch.

  Good thinking, Captain! I’m always hungry.

  The American Hotel had been my uncle Harry’s canteen, where he was fussed over as a beloved habitué. He took me there at least once every time I visited, and I continued to drop in for a meal and sometimes a drink after he was murdered. The headwaiter’s chatty amiability was consequently pleasant, but not surprising. Although I hadn’t reserved, assuming that Heidi would stay in the city, he led us immediately to a corner table in the back room with no neighbors on either side.

  Your uncle’s favorite table, Captain, he assured me, as he did every time he placed me there, no noise and no one who can listen to what you and the young lady say to each other. I hope we will be seeing her here often.

  We ordered. Another martini for Heidi and one for me.

  What’s happened to your hollow leg, I asked, when she said, seeing me look for a bottle of red wine that wouldn’t break the bank in the wine list as long as the Manhattan telephone directory in the old days, that just a glass of red wine would be enough for her.

  Screwed on firmly, she replied, but if I’m not too sleepy after lunch I’ll scoot over to East Hampton to say hello to the parents. My mom got all excited when she heard I was in Sag Harbor—staying with you. Right away, she wanted me to bring you over, but I said that was impossible, even if it’s a command performance. In the afternoon, I told her, the great novelist writes! That didn’t stop her; she said, Then bring him to dinner, but I was like Easy, Mom, easy, I think he’s accepted an invitation from his next-door neighbor. Or do you want to go to dinner there? I could tell her I was wrong.

  No, you were one hundred percent right. We’re indeed going to dinner at Sasha Evans’s, a great old lady and Harry’s best friend.

  Good. To tell you the truth—I read my mom like an open book—my spending the weekend at your house immediately gave her the Big Idea. You see, she knows what you look like; she’s seen your photo on your book jackets. She thinks her deviant daughter may be at last on the straight and narrow!

  Would that were so! A path leading straight to me!

  Not this weekend, partner! But apropos of nothing, Dad has arranged the security. Starting tomorrow evening, when we get back to the city. He wanted his squad—that’s what he calls it—to get over to Sag Harbor, but I said until tomorrow evening you’ll look after my security!

  She actually put her hand over mine and patted it! But retracted it immediately as the waiter brought two salads and two glasses of Pinot Noir, and said, So talk! Talk already!

  I did, after pausing for a moment to organize my thoughts. The increased attention to me—if that’s what you want to call it—was one aspect; my weird telephone conversation with Abner was another; and the visit to the Rat and what I learned there about Kerry, and the identity of the man I believed strongly had murdered her, were the third. Perhaps because she was a woman, perhaps because Kerry had been so utterly open with her about everything, including sex, I didn’t censor the account. I gave up on Kerry’s dignity and mine. Was that a mistake? By the time I finished, Heidi was crying. This time I put my hand over hers and squeezed, repeating, the way my mother used to, Now now there, now now…

  It’s all right, Heidi said finally, after she’d blown her nose into a little embroidered handkerchief she found at the bottom of her bag. I had to know. I think you really did figure out what happened that night, why she went with Boris, what they did. I saw that police report. Simon never told you, perhaps they didn’t tell him, perhaps, poor guy, he didn’t get it. She and that son of a bitch did anal too. Vigorous! More like assault and battery. We’ve got to find him. Lena—that’s often a Russian name—she’ll lead us to him.

  I’ve got Martin Sweeney on it. And his partner, Lee. I think that’s the best—unless you think you can get the district attorney or whoever to reopen the case and really look. You and I wouldn’t know where to look.

  Let’s stick with your guys. We’ll see how they make out. But you, Captain, I think you’re in serious danger.

  I laughed. That seems to be the unanimous opinion. Th
e thing is, I’m used to bad people trying hard to kill me. Brings out the best in me.

  Very funny.

  It isn’t, but it is a fact. I’ve been hoping that one of those bastards—Jovan or whoever—will strike this weekend. With you here, it’s more complicated. If you’re going to East Hampton, don’t you think you could just stay there through Sunday? Rendezvous in the city? I love your company, you know that; I’m talking about getting the job done and avoiding damage to civilians. You know how they’ve drummed that into us.

  Ha-ha-ha! No, Jack. I want to be with you. I’m not a civilian, I’m your partner, and I’m not chicken. You do Krav Maga? I’ve done karate since elementary school. I’m a serious black belt. I’m a crackerjack shot too!

  Sweetie, I said, no, sorry, Heidi, these guys—Slobo, probably Boris, surely Jovan—are professional killers and torturers. Karadžić’s men or worse. Jovan won’t put on a white karate suit and circle around looking for an opening. He’ll use a knife or a gun. With a little luck, I can pull this off. You can’t.

  We won’t argue anymore, and I won’t stay away.

  All right. We won’t argue. Dessert?

  Since it’s Sabbath, this bad little Jewish girl says yes. Chocolate cake and then a double espresso.

  I told the waiter the chocolate cake was for one. I’d have another Pinot Noir. And we’d have two double espressos.

  Then I said, Heidi, explain it to me. Why did Kerry, beautiful, brilliant, good-hearted Kerry, turn herself into a doormat for those men? Forgive me, much worse, a urinal? How could that be? No matter how hard I try, I can’t fathom it. You know all about the sex between her and me, so you know there was never, not for a second, anything sadistic in it. Nothing remotely kinky. It was tender, classical—I don’t know what other word to use—and yet I believe, I’m certain of it, that she liked it. She’d come in a way you can’t fake. More than once she came before I did. What was going on then? Or rather, what happened to change all that after she decided to leave me?

  I can’t explain, and honestly I think nothing happened. Or maybe everything. Here’s the best I can come up with. I told you the first time we met that she’d been in and out of therapy forever. Depression. Anxiety. Mood swings. All the demons, all the meds. On top of that—I think it started at Jones & Whetstone, but I could be wrong—coke. Because it was in style. Because she’d go to parties, real parties, not like anything at the Rat Hole, run into some lawyer at her firm or another and get laid, and coke made it more fun. Or was supposed to. I don’t know much about her and E or Molly or whatever this other shit was. I’m sure—no, how can I be sure of anything?—she didn’t do heroin. I’ve told you Kerry had her life divided up in compartments. How much did she hold back even from me? To what extent had she resented my family’s wealth, my self-assurance? There must have been such resentments, and defenses that went with them. You want to know what happened to turn her into a Rat Hole slut? You like psychobabble? No? I don’t either. I think it all boils down to low self-esteem. So low it was nonexistent. Nothing could be bad enough for her. Why just then? It may have been some crazy idea that she’d kicked you in the balls and you didn’t deserve it. But look, Jack, don’t pay any attention to me. I’m brokenhearted, just like you.

  Yup, I said, let’s go home. I should have paid closer attention. Especially when she went overboard with her apology for not standing up to that bastard Hobson when he spread the lie about Harry’s dementia being the reason he forced him out of the firm. She needed her income from the firm to provide for her truly demented father and her mother. There was nothing culpable about her behavior. But how analytic was I supposed to be? I loved her more than I had ever loved any woman.

  I took her home the long way, meaning we went entirely out of our way, to the very end of the Long Wharf, and stood there awhile, looking out over the water. Seagulls were going crazy. A boat must have dumped some garbage. I wasn’t going to tell her about the Mashomack Preserve at the near shore of Shelter Island, or how I had hiked there with my mother and Harry, or how I had hoped one day to hike there with Kerry. A tune from On the Town wafted through my mind. A duet. The man regrets he’s not had the time to wake up and see his girl without her make-up. She regrets not having seen him dry the dishes. It’s sad, but—

  Oh, well, they console each other, we’ll catch up

  Some other time.

  Nice music, Leonard Bernstein had never done better; nice words, Betty Comden and her partner, Adolph Green, had never done better either. They’d all been friends of Harry’s, and I used to see Betty occasionally, at her Bridgehampton house, when I stayed with Harry. Only for Kerry and me there’d never be some other time. Abner Brown had taken care of that.

  Heidi took my arm. We retraced our steps and continued to the house. I felt heavy, more weighed down than anytime during Corps Infantry training. She sensed my mood and didn’t speak. I offered her another double espresso, which I succeeded in making in Harry’s machine.

  She went upstairs to wash her face. When she came back, she announced she was ready for her coffee and even East Hampton.

  We were again sitting in the kitchen.

  Heidi, I can’t help it, I blurted, there is something I need to know. Are you in therapy? Are you on meds? Do you do drugs?

  Tears ran down my face.

  Hush, Jack, she said, hush! What kinds of questions are these to ask Mrs. Jonathan Krohn’s talented deviant daughter? Yes, I’ve been in therapy. I’d guess that any girl like me—I mean generally of my background, class, et cetera—would be if she discovered she liked girls. I’m not in therapy now, and I’m off meds. In fact, I feel very good, except when you stand me up. And no, I don’t do drugs. I tried to smoke pot in senior year of high school—I went to one of those super snotty jobs on the Upper East Side—and in college, and it never did anything for me. I’m scared of the hard stuff. It may be the only thing I’m really scared of. So I stick to martinis and red wine. Oh, white wine is all right too! And now, Jack, really hush, or I’ll get cross.

  One more stupid question, Heidi, after which you can bop me with any one of those cast-iron pans. Do you have somebody? I mean a girlfriend, you know, or something like it.

  Why should I bop you? It’s a legitimate question. I don’t. I did. Sometimes I wish I still did. I pick up people sometimes. Like a lawyer outside my firm—I don’t believe in firm romances even for straights—some lawyer I meet on some case if we’re not adversaries, girls I meet when I travel. In bars. I haven’t gone online or stuff like that. Those bars, yes, sometimes they’re lesbian bars. And now, Captain, I’ve got to get going. When’s dinner? Seven-thirty? I’ll be back in plenty of time.

  Drive carefully, I said. It doesn’t matter if you’re late. As you look at this house, Sasha’s is the first house on the left, in case you are late and I’ve already gone over there.

  Don’t worry, I’ll be on time, but I’ll call if I’m late. Hey, is there a gas station on Route 114 between here and East Hampton, other than the one on the right-hand side, soon after Division Street?

  I don’t think so, I said. What’s wrong with that one? I’m pretty sure it’s open.

  It’s one of Father’s crazy quarrels. Years ago, I don’t know how many, the people over there did something or other that pissed him off when he wanted to get one of our cars inspected. So he forbade me, my mother, and my brother ever to get gas there. He’s the sweetest of men, but once he gets a bee in his bonnet it’s like forget it. This was before he hired the guy who takes care of everything now, like New York State inspections, the upkeep of the property, whatever.

  And you can’t just get your car filled up and say nothing?

  It would make me feel bad.

  Well, I said, there’s a gas station on the Bridgehampton–Sag Harbor Turnpike, just as you’re leaving town. Turn left on Main Street, keep going, and you’ll get there.

  That’s out of my way. In that case I might as well go to Route 27. Shit, I’m really not sure I’ve
enough gas for the round-trip. I should have stopped and gotten gas, but I wanted to get here ahead of you! What about your car? How much gas have you got in it?

  More than half a tank.

  Would you lend it to me? I’m a careful driver!

  All right. I laughed. Just this once.

  Great! Here are the keys to the Mini, in case you want to go to a bar and pick up boys. Just make sure they’re out of here by the time I come back.

  We went into the garage, she got in behind the wheel, I pressed the button to open the door, and off she went, not exactly peeling rubber but almost. Harry’s precepts and force of habit: I pressed the button again and closed the door. Then I called Sasha, and explained I had a houseguest, Kerry’s best friend.

  Bring her, she said, of course bring her.

  —

  Now I had no excuse. I had to prepare for Jovan’s visit and, once that was done, get down to work. I’d work in the studio, I supposed, where Harry was murdered and where I killed Slobo. It’s where the curse still lay heaviest on the house. Very fitting, I said to myself; if I’m lucky, that’s where I’ll also take care of Jovan.

  If I were alone I think I’d have followed the tactics that had served me so well with Slobo: leave the front door unlocked, oil the hinges of the other doors downstairs so they don’t squeak, make it as easy as possible for the fucker to get in. Then, once he’s in, go for him and hope for the best. I got the WD-40 and did the doors very carefully. Yes, that might still be the way, when Heidi got back and she and I were coming home from Sasha’s dinner. I would have left just enough lights on in the house to confuse him. Was I out? Was I there? What was the Mini doing outside? He’d try the door, find it unlocked, go in, and wait. Meanwhile, on the assumption he was there, I’d put Heidi in her Mini, for a quick getaway if necessary, with her phone fired up, and enter the house alone, also through the front door. I wasn’t going to play games. If he was there, I’d find him and kill him. Cut his stomach open, that would be the preferred way, so he could still talk. I hadn’t brought the curare darts or the dart pistol I had on hand for Slobo. Just my Colt, the Ka-Bar, and the switchblade. If he wasn’t in the house, I’d get Heidi from the Mini. When we were ready to retire, I’d leave the front door open and count on the creaky stairs and my light sleep. She’d be in Harry’s room; I’d be in the guest room across the hall, and I’d have my .45 with me. If Jovan managed to get in and come upstairs, I’d shoot the bastard. Period. In the knees, if possible, again so he could talk. If for any reason he stayed downstairs, I’d go and get him.