“Did you tell the police detective who interviewed you that you thought you’d been drugged?” Marlene asked.
“No. It did not come up. He did not seem too interested in what I say, except the part where…” Alexis stopped talking and looked at his wife and then back to Marlene. “Helena has not heard most of this next part. Only that this woman claims I raped her.”
“I’m afraid she’s going to have to know the whole truth now,” Marlene said. “If this goes to trial, she will learn anyway, and it’s best if she doesn’t look surprised and hurt in front of the jury.”
Alexis nodded and looked at the ground so it was at first difficult to hear him. “She gave me oral sex.”
“What?” Helena asked, her voice barely audible.
“When I was in my chair and feeling woozy, she gave me oral sex.”
Helena looked stunned and then angry. But Marlene pressed on. “Did you ejaculate?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “She would not stop.”
Helena set her teacup down with a crash. “She would not stop? Poor Alexis, you could not push her away? She excited you enough that much? Perhaps you did nothing to resist?”
Alexis said nothing.
“Well, the legal question is, did you force yourself upon her at any time?” Marlene asked.
“No.”
“You didn’t tie her up?”
“What!” Helena exclaimed.
“No.”
“You did not rape her vaginally or anally?”
“I never did these things,” he said, starting to seethe himself.
“She says he did this?” Helena asked Marlene.
“Yes.”
“Does she have proofs?”
“There is evidence that she had sex in this manner. There are also traces of Alexis’s semen found on her blouse.”
“This is not possible!” Alexis cried. “I did not…have sex in this manner or do this on her blouse.”
“Then how do you explain these proofs,” Helena demanded.
“I cannot,” he admitted.
“There is also a question of a beer glass found in your office with Ms. Ryder’s fingerprints—as well as yours—and lipstick stains,” Marlene continued. “It contained traces of the drug.”
“Aha!” Alexis shouted. “There is proofs that I am telling these truths. I never touched her beer glass, only the one she handed me.”
“There’s no way to prove that Alexis,” Marlene said. “Only one beer glass was located, and it had both of your fingerprints on it. Her version of the story checks out, including a witness who has come forward to say he saw Ms. Ryder on the night in question and that she claimed to have been raped by her professor.”
“But her story is lies,” he complained.
“Except that you accepted this oral sex from this woman…and her kisses,” Helena cried and began to sob.
Alexis stood and went over to his wife. “It was not like that,” he said and touched her shoulder but she angrily pulled away from him.
Marlene watched the couple and felt like a heel. But she also believed Alexis. If he’d tried to lie about the blow job or had tried to introduce some silly explanation, she’d made up her mind to walk away and leave him to his fate. But while he was defensive about his actions, which was normal under the circumstances, he’d answered truthfully with his wife sitting across from him.
“Helena,” she said, “if Alexis is telling the truth—and I have to say I believe him—there are other explanations for these proofs, as you call them. But it’s going to be tough to convince a judge and jury so we’re going to have to decide if you want me to help and if you want to be part of this.”
Alexis looked at her gratefully, but Helena just nodded as tears spilled down her face. Marlene was about to tell them that she’d decided to accept the case as their lawyer when Gilgamesh lifted his head and looked at the front door while letting go a low rumble that sounded like a diesel truck trying to start on a cold day.
A moment later, there was a knock on the door. Helena stood, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve, and went to answer.
Marlene noticed that Helena didn’t look out the peephole before reaching for the doorknob. Definitely not a New Yorker, she thought, as Helena opened the door.
A large man—approximately the same size as an NFL linebacker with his pads on—pushed through the door with his right hand inside his suit coat. However, Gilgamesh had risen to his feet from next to Marlene and was already within closing distance before the man realized that the dog would be on him before he could get the gun out.
So, bud, now you know how a gazelle feels in that moment when it finally sees the lion in mid-pounce, Marlene thought.
The man froze, his jaw twitching and his eyes on the dog. Another man stepped in behind him and then moved to the side, speaking to the dog. “Hello, friend,” he said. “There is nothing to worry about here.”
As tall as her own husband, the second man had none of the fear in his voice that was playing over the first man’s face. Nor was he threatening, which Gilgamesh seemed to recognize, and to Marlene’s complete shock, he sat down wagging his tail and gave what she thought of as his happy bark.
“May I,” the second man said to Marlene, indicating that he wanted to approach the dog.
“Sure,” she said. “You two seem to be old friends.”
When the second man approached Gilgamesh and knelt to scratch beneath his collar and accept the obligatory lick, Marlene had a chance to study the scarring she’d noticed on his face; her eyes were drawn, of course, to the black patch he wore over his right socket. He’d obviously been burned. She glanced down at his right hand, which did not flex or change positions as he tickled the dog. Extensively. But he’s still a hunk, she thought as he stood up and faced her so that she could see what he must have looked like before the accident.
“A magnificent animal,” he said. “I may need to visit your farm someday on Long Island and find myself a similar companion.”
“We could probably work something out,” she said, wondering why it was that every stranger in town today seemed to know her and her business but deciding not to give him the satisfaction of asking. “But this one’s been acting strange all day. He wouldn’t have attacked you or your friend over there—who, by the way, can pull his hand out of his coat—without the command from me, but he acts like you two came from the same litter.”
The man laughed and motioned the other man to take his hand off his gun, which he did but couldn’t stop looking at the dog. The laugh was a pleasant one, not forced, but at the same time she got the impression that he didn’t laugh often.
“Dogs are just so much better than we are at instantly knowing who is a friend and who is a foe,” he said. “If he thought I was a danger to his lovely mistress, he would have torn my throat out when I came in the door. Although, getting older, I sometimes think there is something to reincarnation, so perhaps we were once brothers in arms. Yes, yes, I believe I see in his eyes an old sergeant who served with me in Afghanistan. The one who saved me so that I could spend the rest of my life half blinded and looking like this.”
As he said that his crippled right hand went up to his face. “But then I see that we share a similar fate regarding our right eyes.” He turned back to the dog. “May I know his name?”
“Gilgamesh,” Marlene replied, thinking that if this man was this attractive after he had been burned, he must have been a god before.
The man arched his eyebrows. “Ah, the ancient Sumerian warrior,” he said. “Very appropriate.” He looked over his shoulder at the first man. “It’s okay, Milan, the big puppy dog won’t bite you so long as you are well behaved.” The man nodded but still kept his eyes on Gilgamesh.
“Now do we get to know your name?” Marlene asked. But the answer came from behind her.
“His name is Yvgeny Karchovski,” Alexis said without enthusiasm. “He is a…what is the word, a gangster, a criminal. Unfortunately, he is als
o my half brother, though it has been many years since we’ve seen each other, which has been fine with me.”
Looking at Yvgeny, Marlene thought she saw something akin to pain cross his face at Alexis’s words. But he inclined his head to her and said, “I would argue with some of the semantics—I consider myself a businessman who operates within certain gray areas of law—but generally what he says is true.”
“Yvgeny,” Alexis continued, “this is Marlene—”
“Ciampi,” Yvgeny finished. “The beautiful, adventurous wife of the district attorney of New York, Butch Karp. I know of your husband.”
“Yeah? Not in a professional capacity, I hope,” Marlene said.
Yvgeny smiled. “No, I know better than to conduct my business in Manhattan and thus have never had to worry about your husband. No, let us say we have some history and people in common, but is best that I leave this discussion for another day.”
Yvgeny turned to Helena, who had backed up against a wall in fear when the first man came through the door, then remained there looking befuddled by the conversation that followed. “And this must be the lovely Helena, my sister-in-law,” he said, embracing her and kissing her on both cheeks. “Is it the name that creates such a face as to launch a thousand ships?”
Helena smiled shyly. “You are kind, sir.”
“You’ve never met?” Marlene asked.
Yvgeny exchanged a look with Alexis, then shook his head. “Regrettably, my brother and I were raised in separate households and we’ve, um, lost touch over the years. I was already living here in the United States when they became engaged, and apparently my invitation to the wedding was lost in the mail.”
“It was so far to travel, brother,” Alexis said. “And I would not have wanted to distract you from your business.”
Yvgeny gave Marlene an apologetic look. “My brother does not approve of the family business—”
“Not my family,” Alexis retorted.
“Yes, yes…he wants nothing to do with me,” Yvgeny said. “But come, brother, there is no need to burden these lovely women with our estrangement.” He turned and gave a little bow to Helena and Marlene. “However, I was wondering if I might speak privately to my brother for a few minutes.”
“I have no desire to listen to what you say,” Alexis said.
“No, but I will say it to you anyway if…”
Marlene decided to intercede. The appearance of Yvgeny had not, of course, healed the rift between Alexis and Helena. But she wanted to talk to Helena privately herself and said to the younger woman, “Why don’t you and I and Gilgamesh go for a walk and give these two a chance to chat?”
“I don’t need a chat with him,” Alexis said.
“No, Alexis,” Helena replied. “But I need the fresh air…and time. So you talk to your brother and Marlene and I will walk the dog.”
Defeated, Alexis nodded. “Do you also wish for me to be gone before you come back?”
The tears rushed back into Helena’s eyes, but she shook her head. “Nyet. I may wish it later, but I am thinking now that we need to have our own little chat after I’ve had time to consider this.”
After the women left with the dog, Alexis angrily faced his brother. “How dare you come to my home uninvited,” he said. “I have told you that I want nothing to do with you. I had hoped that you did not even know I was in this country.”
Yvgeny motioned for Milan to leave the room. “Even if I did not know before, I could hardly have missed it in the newspapers of late—the Russian Casanova case, I believe they call it,” he said. “But I’ve come to offer my help.”
“I don’t want it,” Alexis said.
“No, no, of course not,” Yvgeny said. “It would be like accepting tainted money. But tainted by what? Do you even know what I do for a living?”
“Other than break the law, including murder?”
“Your definition of murder in this case might be called self-defense by others,” Yvgeny said. “It’s a hard world, populated by evil men who we have sometimes had to defend ourselves against. But I ask again, do you know what I do for a living? I do not make a living killing, that is just an unfortunate and regrettable part of doing business.”
Alexis shrugged. “Not that I care, but smuggling…black market.”
“All right,” Yvgeny said, “that is partly true. But what do we smuggle?”
Again the question met with a shrug. “What does it matter? It is illegal. You are a common criminal.”
Yvgeny surprised him with his next question. “Do you and Helena wish to remain in the United States…perhaps become citizens?”
Alexis scowled but nodded. “Da …yes.”
“Why?”
“Not that it’s any of your business but I would say because I wish for opportunity to pursue my dreams, my work, and still eat.”
Yvgeny pursed his lips. “Then it would not surprise you that many other peoples wish this same opportunity. But you are big, important professor of poetry, an artist, so they welcome you with open arms, give you a nice, well-paid job. Someday they let you become a citizen…lots of stories in the newspapers and on television about the great Russian poet who wanted to be an American. But is not like that for everybody who wants to come to this country, who wants this same opportunity. So my family business is to smuggle them here, find them work, give them hope…and for this you look down your nose at me and call me a gangster.”
“I’m sure you don’t do this out of the goodness of your heart,” Alexis said.
Yvgeny chuckled. “No, you are right. We, I, am well compensated. Sometimes they pay in advance, or sometimes we take a little from their paychecks at a time.”
“And the black market in Russia?” Alexis asked. “Aren’t you a wanted criminal in Russia? How can our country push through proper economic reform so that poor people can hope for better times when crime bosses and smugglers own the politicians, the police, and even the military?”
“Yes,” he said. “We smuggle goods into our country. But isn’t that the American way? The law of supply and demand. People who make money should be able to purchase these things without passing through the gauntlet of politicians and bureaucrats, not to mention those police and military officials you speak of, all with their hands out.”
“Oh, it is fine for you to talk about corruption,” Alexis said. “But you just exploit people like any of them so that you can live in a fine house and drive fancy cars.”
Yvgeny spread his hands. “Put it like that and I am guilty as charged. I prefer to think of myself as a businessman who provides a service and has a right to recompense. Is that not also the American way?”
“I think that’s the same argument drug dealers use,” Alexis sneered. “Addicted children demand their products and they are merely supplying that demand.”
Yvgeny’s eye flashed with anger. “Do not, brother, compare me with drug dealers. I do nothing to harm people unless they attack me or people I am responsible for. I do not deal in drugs or prostitution or force people to pay me so they can have a business. It is easy for you because you are desirable to look down your nose at people who would not be allowed to pursue these same dreams because they did not have your advantages.”
“What about the American people, don’t they have a right to control immigration?” Alexis asked.
Yvgeny shrugged. “Yes, and they do. Many more try to come to this country than arrive. If a boat or truck carrying my customers is caught, they are turned away. But they will continue to try to come. Some, like my grandfather, arrived at Ellis Island and were given papers that allowed them to live freely. Others come and are forced to live in the shadows as second-class citizens who do all the dirty jobs no one wants and are mistreated by employers who refuse to pay and threaten to call the immigration authorities. This country needs these people, they are the fresh blood and fresh ideas. At least I provide them with the documents to allow them to live openly, pay taxes, and know that their children born here are Am
ericans.”
Finally, both men seemed to have run out of steam. Yvgeny broke the silence first. “Come, let us discuss this some other day; perhaps you and Helena will join me for dinner at my house in the near future. But I did not come here to argue immigration policy. I came to offer my help as a brother. You are in trouble because of this woman’s accusations, no?”
“That’s my own problem. I’m taking care of it.”
“It is your wife’s problem, too. Perhaps you should think about what happens to her—three months’ pregnant—if you go to prison or are deported.”
“Leave my wife out of this.”
“It is not up to me to leave her out of this. The difficulty will be getting you out of this. I may be able to help.”
“What are you going to do, have the woman killed?” Alexis sneered.
Yvgeny laughed, but this time it was not as pleasant. “You watch too many American gangster movies, Alexis. I was thinking more along the lines of helping you disappear. You could start over again.”
It was Alexis’s time to laugh. “And what, work as a cabdriver or a day laborer?”
“There are worse things to be, Alexis,” Yvgeny said. “One of them is a prison inmate. But if you insist on remaining yourself, perhaps you could go to a country where they would not extradite you to the United States.”
“Yes, I hear Cuba is a wonderful place for Russian poets.”
“They have nice beaches, a university…and I could help you with funds so that you and Helena and the child, my niece or nephew, by the way, could live in style.”
“No, thank you,” he said. “I have done nothing wrong. I will trust to the American justice system.”
“The American justice system,” Yvgeny scoffed. “There are many things to like about this country, but that is not one of them. I seem to keep having this conversation with my family, but the American justice system is as corrupt as anything in Russia. At least there, you know what prosecutors, defense lawyers, and judges are on the take because they all are. Here you roll the dice, or, if you have the money, you simply buy your way out of trouble. So if you will not accept my help to escape, how about my financial help to buy your American justice. And there are some things I have learned that might be of interest.”
Fury (The Butch Karp and Marlene Ciampi Series Book 17) Page 27
