The front desk was still unoccupied at this time of the morning. The practice officially opened at ten, and his sons were engrossed in their studies upstairs while their father set up for the day. The surgery was large, and smelled of old paper and the accumulated musk and smoke of a hundred years of life.
Dr. Levental waved me to an ornate wood and green crushed velvet chair. “What has happened to you, Alexi? I’ve heard nothing but bad news from Brighton Beach for years now.”
“This and that.” I set Binah on the floor and squatted on the edge of the seat, hands laced between my knees, back stiff. The conversation paused while the doctor watched Binah for a moment. She went under my chair and curled into a ball to sleep, which appeared to satisfy him.
“Mariya and Vassily Lovenko are both dead,” I said. “That is the worst of it.”
Dr. Levental’s features, typically still and patrician, creased with sudden grief. “Yes… I had heard that. I am so very sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral, but I want nothing to do with Yaroshenko. Nothing I hear about him is good.”
“I understand well enough,” I said. “I left.”
“You left the Brotherhood?” Dr. Levental gave me a quizzical look. “I’m surprised I am not seeing you laid out in the morgue today instead of in my office.”
“I did, a little over a month ago. It’s a long story.”
“Indeed. We can talk, but let me take a look at you while I do. I don’t like this yellowish color in your skin.”
Dr. Levental went to go and get his tools. Stethoscope, depressor. He wouldn’t let me go without an actual exam. I resigned myself to being poked and prodded, and shucked my jacket off in anticipation of being asked. He returned to me, and clicked his tongue as he fit a blood pressure cuff and got to work.
“You know, it all started so innocently enough back in the day,” he said. “The unions, maybe some protection for the businesses, some jewelry and gemstones changing hands… but now, it seems to me like it’s horror after horror. Drugs, murder, organs. Ay yai-yai. That is nothing you want a part of, Alexi. The organs of children, even. Can you believe it?”
“Children?” Intuition tingled in the pit of my belly, and the parasite stirred warningly. “When did you hear about this? Recently?”
He made an affirmative sound, pumping the cuff as he scrutinized the dial. “I heard from someone I know at Lenox Hospital that this scoundrel, Moris Falkovich, was providing children’s organs and bodies. I don’t know if you ever knew him… he was shunned for grave robbing, of all things. And all that mess he did with plastic surgery in the 80s? Good grief. But I still talk to people who know him, as I do… I have heard that he has been getting a name for himself as a pediatric transplant surgeon in recent times. A miracle-worker, they call him.”
The cuff grew tight enough to be uncomfortable, and I could feel my pulse beating in the crook of my elbow before it depressurized with a squeal. “How so?”
“I don’t know, not exactly. My friend at Lenox says that his clinic has been booking the theaters out for a few years now, but suddenly, very rich people from Arabia, from Europe and even from Israel are bringing children here for their surgery.” Doctor Levental lifted his eyes to meet mine for a moment. “My friend says that these children walk out of the hospital as if the person was never sick!”
My stomach turned. My jaw worked, and I finally sat back, pushed by the gravity of what he’d just told me.
“I don’t know what happened to the community, but I’ve been hearing that even Rabbis are involved in this business of organs. They always say: ‘The person gave this willingly, the donor is related’. But people don’t donate organs that often, Alexi. And children? Not a chance. Is that that useful to you?”
“It might be.” I had to be careful with the doctor. If anything was too useful, the price went up – though it generally remained fair. Dr. Levental charged as much as the information was worth, no more and no less. “But I came to trade for a more specific request. I need information on Celso Manelli.”
“Manelli! Oy gevalt, Alexi. You don’t ask for much now, do you?” Dr. Levental laughed, and hung his stethoscope around his neck. “Why are you looking into the Manellis if you’ve left Yaroshenko?”
I leaned forward so that he could reach my back. “He killed Mariya and contributed to Vassily’s death. I need to settle the debt.”
The doctor’s steady hand paused for a moment, the head of the stethoscope pressed against just beneath my scapula, and then he continued to move it around. “Well, that’s a good reason. But I can already see where this is going, Alexi. You of all people should know that there is no point to taking revenge. The Highest has many agents through which He will act.”
“Maybe I am that agent. There were two murderers: one died from an unfortunate broken window accident. Celso is still alive.”
The doctor grumbled something under his breath, and moved to the front of my chest. “I can find people who know what you want to know, but you had better dig two graves. Celso is a powerful man. Young and stupid, but protected by men who are older and smarter. Sorcerers, even. Can you believe it?”
Not that I knew anything about that. “So I hear. But the fact remains. Mariya and Vassily didn’t deserve what happened to them.”
“And neither did you.” Dr. Levental smiled, and I couldn’t read his expression. His voice, though, was blue and bittersweet. “Would you still want Manelli dead if he had harmed a stranger’s sister?”
“He’s filth,” I said. “I wouldn’t think twice.”
“But in the past, you would have delayed if there was paying business to be had from him? If someone had ordered you?”
Grimacing, I looked down. The doctor caught my chin, and tipped my head up. He had a depressor: I opened my mouth, the small of my back aching, and let him work.
“Maybe,” I said, once he was finished. “I don’t know if I ever really thought like that, to be honest. I was never like Nicolai Chiernenko, or Vanya. All I know is that I want out.”
“If you are going after Celso Manelli, you are not ‘out’.”
“Just because I can’t change my nature doesn’t mean I’m not out.”
His sigh was long-suffering and deeply felt. “Any man can change, Alexi. Even if he does carry a burden of guilt and sin.”
Except that I didn’t carry a burden of guilt, and I never really had. The very first man I’d killed had been a bully. He tried to stab me for my watch; I punched him off a bridge and slept soundly after the fact. That guy, he was a young Carl Panzram in the making. The kind of kid who threw kittens to flocks of seagulls for fun.
There were a few things I thought I felt guilt for. My mother. Vassily. Mariya. Mostly, I was angry. I was angry that I was too rigid and too slow to change to anticipate Nicolai’s next scheme, and despite myself, I was angry that someone had taken the Wolf Grove children.
“I appreciate the insight, but my goal hasn’t changed,” I said. “I need to know places. Associates. Security. Hangouts, vices, addictions… anything you can learn about Celso Manelli and the guys protecting him. I’ll pay for any of it, but I need it soon.”
“Is next Sunday soon enough?” Dr. Levental went to his desk, took out a thick file, and set it on the desk. Fifteen years of my medical record. He took a fresh sheet of paper, and began to write. “I know someone who knows someone who can probably get all of those things, but it will take time.”
“Sunday week is fine. What will it cost?”
“Well, considering your talents, Alexi, I have a request in kind. Trade that will cover the cost of finding these things for you,” he said. “Nothing dangerous, nothing that will put you under Yaroshenko’s eye.”
“Go ahead.”
Dr. Levental looked up at me from his new record, and smiled. A shy, boyish smile, almost embarrassed. He sat up and back, lacing his fingers over his buttoned black coat. “Well, you see, I have been getting into sports in my old age.”
“Sports?
” I moved to stand, but the doctor waved me down. Maybe it was some ingrained respect for my elders, but I promptly returned to my seat. “You never struck me as the kind of person to be found at a Mets game.”
His smile grew. “More exciting than that, Alexi. Fighting. There is a big mixed martial arts syndicate in this city now. I am sponsoring a young up-and-coming bull in the ring and playing his numbers with some very wealthy people. It’s a bit of fun, but besides that, there is a prize being offered by one man, Lior Ostmann, for one of the syndicate fights. Fifteen thousand dollars, quite a lot of money. The semi-final match is on this Saturday, and I have gotten word that the man my boy is fighting is very strong. Too strong, strong enough that he has to be cheating. We don’t know how, but he’s been crushing the roster since he joined up. It’s killing the business.”
My mouth twitched at the corner. “How unsportsmanlike.”
“Yes, indeed. I want you to go and have a talk with this man. Convince him that professional sports might not be a good career for someone like him. I’ve written you his name and address, and you can take it from there. Tell me if you need money to motivate him into losing on Saturday.” The doctor tucked the note he was writing into a plain white envelope and stood, every inch the Hasidic gentleman. “Now, so you know… your blood pressure is low, and I think you have poor liver function. You need to eat more, sleep more. Eat good food, vegetables and lots of meat and fat, and take milk thistle. You have a little bit of a chest infection. I want to run a blood test to make sure it’s nothing serious.”
“I will. And of course. If he has a price, are you fronting?” I took the envelope and stowed it in my jacket pocket while Dr. Levental went to go and get the strap and tray.
“Of course. But try to make it substantially less than the prize. The fighter only gets five grand anyway.”
It was a decent trade, and not one that was likely to set me back much. Dissuading people from pursing activities not in the best interests of paying parties was my bread and butter, and big-headed, testosterone and money-driven men weren’t usually difficult to convince. Strip away the tough-guy persona, and they had no plans or contingencies, only their fists and their fantasies of alpha-male domination. Their dreams of winning the big fight were generally short-sighted, and easily replaced by tax-free cash on the side. If that failed, inducing helpless terror was a sufficient substitute.
Once my blood was drawn and sealed, Dr. Levental saw me and Binah out into the waiting room. His son was there at reception, shy and darkly handsome in his skullcap, and he glanced up at us and smiled as we passed by. At the door, I turned to face the doctor and offer to shake, but he pressed a second envelope into my hand instead. The elder’s face was graven.
“There is one other thing,” he said. “This is the current address I know of for Moris Falkovich. You said my gossip on the subject might be useful.”
“Yes.” I took the second slip, and stowed it with the first. “But not for me. I know people who are searching for missing children. Children with organs capable of performing miracles.”
He frowned. “And you are helping them?”
The imagery of my dream returned: a crowd of children, bodies red with blood, their eyes missing. Their sightless stares had not felt like an accusation; they had felt like a plea. They were waiting for us. “Yes. If I can.”
The doctor nodded, his mouth a grim slash drawn under his beard. “I don’t like to speak badly of someone, Alexi, even if they have turned their back on my community. But Falkovich? If he is doing what I now believe he might be doing, he deserves whatever is coming to him.”
Chapter 22
Binah and I returned to Strange Kitty, and walked right into a raging hurricane of conflict.
Jenner, Mason, Zane and Duke had their backs to the pool table, facing down Spotted Elk, Michael the Pathrunner, and a rag-tag collection of other people, some of whom I recognized from the convocation. The rest of the Tigers lounged, loomed, and leaned around the room. There was a heavy silence from their side of the clubhouse: this was their territory, and their leaders, and they were not impressed. Aaron stood off to the side in plain-clothes, rubbing the back of his hand nervously. Talya was seated at the bar, looking sullen in a sundress and sneakers, but Ayashe was notably absent.
“You can’t just assume control of this investigation with a band of vigilantes and destroy potential crime scenes without keeping us in the loop!” Spotted Elk was holding a space of his own in front of the bar, voice raised. He was turning hoarse, like he’d been shouting for a while. “That’s not how it’s done, that’s never been how it’s done, and it shouldn’t be how it’s done!”
“Then stop being such a panty-waisted wimp, get off your hands, and fucking do something.” Jenner had her arms crossed, boots planted.
“The FBI has already arrested one suspect who might be involved, based on the forensic evidence–”
“And they’re going to be too late.” Jenner switched to hands on hips. “It’s two weeks as of today, and you know as well as I do that every day that passes is another day for some son-of-a-bitch to be making more skin-flicks with our kids.”
Michael saw me first, glancing up and across to meet my eyes.
Spotted Elk took a step towards her, face flushed with rage. “You destroyed a key piece of evidence when you went charging in like a pack of wild animals. And now you think that you have the right to trample the changing grounds of the Ross family without oversight – a location which is, I might add, probably a crime scene – in the hope of ‘discovering’ something no one else has found? If Aaron hadn’t come forward… what are we going to tell the FBI if we destroy more evidence? That film could have been used to make mass arrests, Jenner. They could have found and arrested the man-”
“We found the man. He’s permanently arrested,” Mason rumbled.
“Only one is dead. His friends are still at large, and we have not even found one child,” Michael said. His calm voice pierced the hot tension like a flush of cold water. “John has the right of it.”
“I can’t believe this.” Jenner threw her hands up. “So what are you going to do? Tell the FBI the location of a changing ground?”
“I won’t break the covenant if we don’t have to.”
“No, John. You DON’T break the covenant.” Zane said. It was the first time I’d heard him speak up in one of these arguments. “Changing grounds are secret for a reason.”
“This is true,” Michael said. “We cannot release details of anyone’s territory, even when they are dead.”
Jenner sneered. “So in other words, you’re not going to do anything. You throw a tantrum when we offer to go, and you throw the book down when I suggest you go to the FBI. So what are you going to do?”
“We are living in America under American law!” Spotted Elk snapped. “Roving bands of hunters worked when this world was undeveloped, Jenner. It doesn’t work anymore. We need to leverage our allies and resources, or they will pick us off one at a time.”
“Or they’ll take us out all at once because we’re sitting on our asses and not doing anything useful,” Jenner replied. “You really think that the FBI and the cops aren’t tied up with the mob? You think the Vigiles are our friends? What makes you think that their money isn’t what’s bankrolling this shit?”
“Now wait just a second there,” Aaron said. No one but me seemed to hear him.
“Because I’m not paranoid beyond reason,” Spotted Elk replied.
“Witchhunters spent three hundred years chasing our asses down. You really believe that the Government arm of the Venator Dei is just going to make friends and let live?” Jenner’s eyes blazed. “You’d think being born into a tribe this lifetime would have taught you something about the authorities in this country.”
Spotted Elk’s expression darkened. “That was a low blow, and you know it.”
“I know it’s the truth. Me and my family saw plenty of what the Government had to offer in Vietnam.”
“Stop this now.” Michael held his hands up, and moved from his place. “I’ve heard enough.”
An uneasy silence fell. Spotted Elk ground his teeth, stepped back, and finally noticed me. Jenner followed his line of sight, and then turned back to Michael.
“Both of you make important points. It is true we cannot break the covenant and reveal the territory of any person, living or dead.” The Pathrunner spoke intently, but with authority. “The accord with Federal law only goes so far. Changing grounds are sacrosanct, unless they constitute a crime scene. And this one may very well provide clues or evidence for the Federal and state police.”
“Pathrunner, with all due respect-” Mason started forward.
“Wait.” Michael turned dark eyes on him, and the larger man fell back. “What we can do is appraise the changing ground and then report anything we find to Ayashe, who will relay it to her organization. The three most senior representatives from the primary Waw-Ropor are here already. I suppose a compromise can be made, if I, John and Jenner go to the changing ground and make our assessment together. If we find anything unusual, we can report it to the authorities.”
“So basically, exactly what we were going to do anyway, but you’re going to babysit us the whole time,” Jenner said. “Fine, whatever, but I want to stay here to plan a contingency with the club. I’m nominating that Mason to go in my place.”
“Suits me,” Mason replied. “Ain’t like I never been bushwhacking before.”
Spotted Elk looked less than thrilled, unable to meet anyone’s eyes as his lips twitched and his hands pawed restlessly in his pockets. “Very well. I accept this suggestion, but I need to go back to my home to get ready first.”
“The changing ground is a three-hour drive from here,” Michael said. “Take whatever you feel you need to prepare yourself. Let us aim to spend an hour there, to return by ten or eleven p.m.”
“About frigging time.” Mason rolled his eyes and pushed off from the edge of the pool table, shambling off into the house.
Stained Glass: An Alexi Sokolsky Supernatural Thriller (Alexi Sokolsky: Hound of Eden Book 2) Page 21
