I kept my mouth shut.
“Lily will be all right. Just give it time. Hey, I saw Beth. I went over to the Millers. They love her staying there and I took Beth out to the movies with our kids. She ate the popcorn and the M&Ms. She likes to mix them together. She knows all the Disney tunes by heart. And then we took them all to Serendipity to eat those frozen chocolate things.”
“Tell me the truth.”
“She’s marvelous. The kids adore her. We’re all humongously grateful to you for letting us enjoy her.”
“Thanks, Patty. Thank you.”
“Listen, doll, Lily will be all right, Artie. Truly. She’ll get better, you have to fucking believe that a hundred per cent.”
As soon as I finished with Patty, I got a message. Carol Browne was in Paris. She wanted me at her hotel. It was a summons not a suggestion, but I had other business. I had to find the creeps fast. Whatever Browne needed would have to wait. I called Tolya, woke him up, asked him to sweet-talk Browne or bully her. I believed the old guy, Alpert; I had to believe him.
I also wanted a weapon. The next time I ran into someone like the bastard who slapped me in Pigalle, I wanted self-protection.
Momo Gourad told me Levesque was involved with prostitutes; I was working Levesque’s case; because of it, Lily got hurt. I had to find out what happened and fast, fast, or I’d never get Lily back. Hurry, I thought.
*
“Lily?”
Her skin felt fragile, thin and cold. Her eyes were shut, but for the first time I knew she could feel my hand. Later, she reported to the English-speaking nurse that she liked me. She felt she had seen me somewhere before, this man with the brown hair, the blue eyes and the smell. It was the smell that attracted her, as if she knew me and my smell, but she didn’t know my name or who I was. She didn’t know how long she had been in the hospital or what happened. The first time she had opened her eyes, she saw Tolya Sverdloff in the chair, face like Mt Rushmore, holding her hand. She knew who he was. Later, she forgot.
“Lily?”
“Beth?”
I told her Beth was fine, staying with her best friends.
She said, “Who are the Millers?”
I told her my name again after that, and kissed her head, but her eyes were closed. For a while I just listened to her breath.
12
“What do you need?”
There was a Dirty Harry poster on the wall over Gourad’s desk at the precinct.
“What can I do for you, Artie?” He seemed troubled and remote.
“You know something about the creep who did Lily that you’re not telling me.”
“I’m telling you what I can.”
“Tell me some more. He’s a pimp? An enforcer?”
“Probably both.”
“Where’s he from?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe some kind of border thug.”
“What’s that?”
“They skirt the edges of established gangs, they like to work places you can disappear easy, the Czech-German border, Ukraine, Bosnia. All these places are good for whores.”
“I met your friend.”
He lit up. “Katya?”
“Yes.”
“I’m doing what I can. I want him worse than you, I want these guys to stop dumping girls in Paris.” He fiddled with a coffee mug. “We pick up the girls, we get blamed by the left, we don’t, we get blamed by the right. You came by for something, Artie? I have to go arrest some boys for dealing Prozac. Important stuff, you know.” He was sarcastic as he picked up his cigarettes.
“Let me put this theoretically, OK, Momo? Off the record. Can we do that?”
“I’ll try.”
“Suppose there was a guy in Europe, someone who knew how to handle it, and he knew it wasn’t exactly kosher, but he wanted something so that he could take care of things.”
Momo, who had worked in America, knew what I meant. “Go on.”
“He wanted something that would help him work a case, especially if he was thinking of traveling some.”
“I guess,” said Momo, shaking a cigarette from the pack and tossing it to me, “I guess he’d go to the fringes of the flea market at the Porte Saint-Ouen. I guess he’d maybe look for one of the Russians who keep some shitty stores up there, or maybe one of the stalls where under the counter you could maybe get that kind of thing. For cash, of course.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s nothing. I know you personally are not thinking of carrying a weapon in Paris, isn’t that right, Artie? Because you know it’s illegal.”
“Absolutely right.”
He changed the subject. “So Lily is better. I’m happy.”
“She’s awake, I guess that’s better.” I leaned over the desk. “I need this case solved, Momo. I need it for her. If I don’t find out who did it, she won’t get better. Talk to me. Who beat up on her?”
“If I knew, I couldn’t necessarily tell you.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“I want him to show me who’s running the whores in and out of Paris.”
“You said Levesque was involved.”
“Was. Levesque’s dead. You want to come home for supper tonight?”
“Monique’s cheese soufflé?”
” “Yeah, and the kids.”
What about Katya? I wanted to say, but it was what a stupid prude bastard would say and I kept my mouth shut. “When it’s over. Thanks.”
“Artie?”
“Yeah?”
“The flea market operates weekends, mostly.”
“Today’s Monday.”
“Monday’s OK. Some stuff is open Monday.” ;
“One other thing.”
The phone rang; he picked it up and covered the mouthpiece. “What’s that?”
“Katya. What’s her real connection with all this?”
Momo didn’t answer.
At the Porte Saint-Ouen I got out of the Metro. I had my briefcase, which I’d picked up at the hotel. For this job I needed a clean weapon from a guy who only wanted my money. I skirted the edges of the vast flea market. People emerged from the maze of stalls lugging crystal chandeliers and ancient suitcases.
Somewhere I could smell the potent grease of lamb cooking. I couldn’t remember when I ate and I was hungry. Around the Metro were people selling mis-matched shoes, old tin cans, war medals; there were stalls that cut keys and repaired TVs. Down one narrow alley, where the gutters overflowed with slush and garbage, the signs were in Russian. I tried a couple or three shops.
The fourth had a front window with a crack in it. Inside, the counter, the window sills, the chairs were piled with plastic boxes, chipped cups, styrofoam containers, and in them were findings; bits and pieces for broken jewelry could be purchased here – little stones, fittings, clasps. A sign in Russian announced it was also a pawn shop, and when a short guy emerged from a back room, I talked Russian to him. I told him exactly what I needed.
He said his name was Federov but everyone called him Ferdy. I showed him cash and the money made him eager, but I didn’t want to make conversation, I didn’t have time. Dr Alpert’s words played over in my head – not much time, a week, a few more days.
Ferdy knew exactly what I wanted. There was no bullshit here, at least. He put his newspaper down and went into the back.
It was always risky. They could pick you up on weapons charges and toss you on a plane home, but I wasn’t going anywhere without a gun. In France at least, unlike England, the cops carry.
Ferdy reappeared with a little .22, a piece of garbage. I waved it away, pulled out some more money. He looked again and produced the weapon that I wanted: a Gluck in good condition that fit my hand. I paid, put it in my briefcase with the ammo he sold me, and left.
Up here in this crappy quarter of Paris, the Russians were obviously poor. Not like the bastards Momo mentioned, or Tolya’s friends who lived in mansions in the 16th Arrondissement or the big hotels. People like Ferdy didn’t take their vacat
ions in St Barts, they didn’t get their suitcases at Vuitton.
Tolya could have found me a gun, of course. Tolya would have contacts in Paris like he has everywhere, but I didn’t want his people, not this time. His people were rich and polite, killers who skied in Gstaad. You had to play the part with them. You had to go begging. I didn’t have time and I wasn’t in the mood. I’d met some of them in London once. I wasn’t exactly popular with the rich Russians in London and I figured they had friends in Paris and the friends would know who I was.
On my way to the Metro, I stopped and ate a steak and drank a glass of wine. In the mirror over the bar, I stared at myself. If Alpert was right, I had a few days to figure it out.
Was Alpert just a crazy old bastard like Patty Finkle said? I felt he was right. Lily is a woman who needs to look things in the face; she always says she hates not knowing. More than revenge, more than killing the prick who did it to her, I had to know. She had to know. On the train I sat and thought about it, but as soon as I got out and onto the street, the phone rang. It was Carol Browne. She was furious. I had been out of touch. I was off the case. I had promised her I’d close it, this Levesque thing, but I never called back. When Browne finished her rant, I buzzed Tolya and asked him to get on her.
He laughed. “Literally?”
“I wish.”
Coming out of the hospital later, I bumped into Tolya going in. He had moved Lily to a room on the ground floor. It had two big windows facing the courtyard. She was sleeping. The nurse told me she had talked a little, then fallen asleep from the effort.
“I don’t like the room,” I said to Tolya.
“I fixed it. It’s better. Light. Nicer room.”
“It’s too fucking exposed.”
“No. This is better. I can keep a guy in the courtyard all the time. Also, if there’s trouble we can get her out fast.”
“Don’t be so fucking melodramatic”
“How come you’re mad at me all the time?”
“I’m just mad at everyone.”
“I got three guys on this, around the clock. Trust me.”
Tolya always has muscle on call, a network he taps into, most of them Russian guys, ex-weightlifters. Big ugly guys. Now I was grateful.
“By the way, I fixed your Ms Carol Browne,” he said.
“How?”
He laughed. “Never mind how. I just fixed it. You’ll be OK with her for a couple days.”
“Come on.”
“I hired her.”
“Don’t fuck with me.”
“I told her. I say, Carol, I hear you are number one woman from Keyes Security, I don’t want some underling, I want you, so I put her on big job and paid her double. I dropped few names, she was impressed. I even bought her lunch.”
“You’re nuts.” Sometimes I loved this guy. He laughed.
“What job?”
“I made up some crap about Russian gangsters.”
“She’ll buy it?”
“Sure, she’ll have a check on her desk tomorrow morning.”
“You’ll stay with Lily a while?” He nodded. “I’ll stay.”
“Until I get back?”
“Yes, Artyom. I will.”
There were messages from Joe Fallon and Momo Gourad, but nothing from Martha Burnham. I left Tolya and went to her shelter, she wasn’t there; I went to McDonald’s. Through the window I saw her, head down, sitting opposite a young woman who looked rough.
I tapped on the glass and Martha looked up, her face blank. Maybe she needed glasses. Maybe she didn’t recognize me. Again I tapped on the window, then I went inside. Martha saw me coming.
She got out of her seat, pulled the girl with her and disappeared into the back. For a few seconds I stood there. Martha was in the toilet downstairs.
I waited in McDonald’s with a gun in my pocket. Eric Levesque, my dead guy with the bank account, had run a model agency that was a front for whores. Lily found out and someone beat her up for it after she visited her old friend Martha Burnham, who was hiding from me in the toilet in a fast-food joint in Paris.
The junkies glanced at me sidelong from their coffee when I suddenly ran for the stairs. In the bathroom, a couple of girls, smoking weed, looked up, furious. They filled the doorway, they didn’t let me through. I looked over them and saw that Martha was gone. There was a back way out where they put the garbage.
13
“Let me get you a room here.”
“For Chrissake, Tolya, I have my own fucking room, OK?”
After I left McDonalds, I took a taxi back to the hospital, discovered he was gone, and followed him to his hotel. His suite had a parlor with a mural on the wall, a bar spread out on a white linen cloth and a bathroom as big as my apartment in New York.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“It’s OK,” he said.
“You said you’d stay with Lily.”
“I left Lily with twenty-four-hour private nursing, plus security on rotation. Around the clock. She’s alright.”
“Can you find out if there’s anything on a cop named Gourad. Homicide guy, maybe. Vice. I’m not sure. He says he’s working Lily’s case. Maurice Gourad. They call him Momo. Get him. He has Lily’s file and I want it.”
“You look like crap.”
“Thanks.”
“I left my best guys with her.”
“All right, OK. I fucking heard you the first six times.”
Tolya looked surprised. I could hear how cold my voice was. I was tired. I had nothing to bring Lily, no story, no nothing. It was late. “Listen, I think I better go get some sleep.”
“So how come you’re here?” He reached over to the bar, picked up a pair of miniatures and with one hand, like a chef cracking a couple of eggs, emptied the Scotch into a glass. “Drink something. You’re OK?”
“No.”
“We’ll eat.” Tolya thinks if you don’t eat you can’t think.
I was too tired to argue.
“What do you feel like?”
“I want to work the case. I want Lily back.”
“It’s nine o’clock at night. You have to eat.”
“Fine, we’ll eat.”
“Get yourself cleaned up and we’ll get out of here,” he said. He took the phone out of my hand. He pushed me towards the bathroom.
I had a shower, then we went downstairs to the bar and sat in red plush armchairs. Tolya ordered drinks and snacks and said, “So Lily. It was a way of warning you.”
“Yes. You ever hear of a guy named Eric Levesque?”
He shook his head.
“You know people who run women. Come on, Tolya, you know all the creeps.”
“This is not my area of expertise,” he said, sipping a Bloody Mary. “What about this Gourad? The cop? Tell me what you already know.”
“Like I told you, he’s young, smart, he’s married, he’s in love with a Russian, a Natasha. Calls herself Katya Strogonoff. Real name’s Slobodkin. You know her?”
“I met her. She looks good, but she’s on the make. He’s an idiot. You want to eat here?”
“Let’s go out.”
Tolya picked up his phone and made a call. “Come on,” he said. “We’ll go eat. It will clear our head. I swear to God, you’ll love this place.”
I was in jeans. “Let me stop and get some clothes.”
“For this place you don’t need to change. Later you’ll change,” he said, and I didn’t ask what for.
The black Mercedes was waiting outside with a Russian driver. Tolya gave him directions, and we pulled away from the hotel. My glass was still in my hand.
“You have some business in Paris?” I said.
“Come off it, Artyom, you know what my real business is.”
He opened a small bar in the back of the car, retrieved a can of cashews, unzipped it, took out a handful of nuts and ate them. “Better,” he said.
“So what is it, your business?”
He licked the salt off his finger a
nd laughed. “Keeping you alive.”
The night was frozen, the stars very sharp in the clear, frigid sky. Paris was all lights as we crossed the city. The car finally turned into a narrow side street and pulled up in front of a restaurant.
“Not your usual thing,” I said, glancing at the place.
Tolya likes his restaurants with a lot of gold; he likes them showy.
“This is better. Wait.” His face lit up, expectant. Inside, the headwaiter greeted Tolya like his long-lost brother. At the table reserved for us, automatically I took the chair with its back to the wall and Tolya sat down opposite me.
The waiter brought us a brick of warm, unctuous foie gras. There was fresh toast to go with it; the smell of the bread made me hungry. Tolya waved aside the menus and talked French to the headwaiter. Food arrived. It was like a drug. For an hour we ate.
It was pretty much the best food I ever ate in my whole life, the foie gras, the roast chicken, the shoulder of lamb with its crackling skin that slid off the meat, the potato cakes, and, after, crème caramel. We drank plenty of wine and ended up with old Armagnac; the fumes that came up from the glass were potent. If you drank enough, this stuff could make any problem disappear. I drank.
Tolya gestured for the bottle and the waiter put it on the table. “Better?”
“Much better.”
“They do it different from anyone else,” Tolya said. “The French, when they cook it right, the food is different. Better. Before they gave most of the country away to McDonald’s and Pizza Hut.” He looked at the remains of his dessert. “I always want to eat this food. You want anything else?”
“You must be kidding.”
“I’m going in the kitchen to tell them, OK?”
“Sure. You got a number for your guy, the one you left with Lily?”
He took out his cell phone, punched some buttons and handed it to me. I went outside the door and skidded where snow had frozen. The trees were festooned with little icicles.
Tolya’s guy said Lily was sleeping. I told him to get the nurse, who also said Lily was asleep. I wanted to be there. I was like a kid with an obsession. I wanted to be there and I wanted to be away so I couldn’t see her bruised face and broken hand. For the first time since I got to Paris, I was mildly drunk.
Skin Trade Page 12
