The Fall of Saints (10 page)

I felt a huge boulder had been lifted off my shoulders. I started relaxing. Joe’s sunny personality had that effect. After dinner, I tucked Kobi into bed in a guest room next to mine and rejoined Joe downstairs.

“Now, why the hell didn’t you come into my life earlier, my love?” Joe asked lightheartedly as he sipped his cognac while I held a huge mug of hot chocolate.

“Zack beat you to it,” I said. “And you’ll agree he is more handsome.”

“Handsome? He has the face; I have the muscle,” he said, laughing and flexing his biceps. “But some women are attracted to vulnerable souls. Wounded souls, shall I say.”

“Zack never went to war,” I said, deliberately misunderstanding him.

“But Estonia has always been a battlefield. The Danes, Germans, Russians, Swedes, and even the Poles fought for control of this prime estate between the East and the West. A kind of beautiful rug on which to rest their feet or wipe them. The Estonians have been victims of Nazi and, after it, Soviet rule. Independence 1991. Wars leave scars on the combatants in the battlefield of history.”

“Zack is an Estonian American,” I said. “Brought up here. Never tasted war. Didn’t fight in Vietnam (too young), Iraq (too old), or any other American wars.”

“Same with me,” Joe said. “But what do you know of his father, grandfather, grandmother, and all the others before him? Trauma can be passed on to the next generation. Sins of our fathers kind of thing. I believe his grandfather would have been a young person during the Nazi occupation.”

“It’s funny you should say that,” I said, warming to the subject. “Zack’s father looked for his father, Zack’s grandfather. He gave up. Zack didn’t care for his father; he complained that Eha neglected the family for a dreamland and then the bottle. Zack has never explained what it was that turned his own father from the quest for his past to burying that past in liquor.”

It felt good. Joe was the only one with whom I could discuss Zack’s family dynamics, some at least, without a sense of betrayal.

Joe became serious. “From what Zack told me once, what Eha finally found in an obscure archive in Poland or Russia was a parchment containing his father’s scribblings. It was a mix of Darwinism, Hinduism, Platonism, and good old feudalism. Nature is built on a succession of lower and higher forms. The lower nourish the higher. Grass feeds deer. Deer feeds lion. That kind of thing. Same for humans. The lower serves the higher. Destiny.”

“Did the grandfather mean that higher-placed humans could feed on the lower-placed humans? Cannibalism?” I asked.

Joe laughed, a big bellyful of laughter, repeating the word “cannibalism” several times. “Cannibalism is enshrined in the Christian order, you know. The holy Communion. The Eucharist. Drink my blood, eat my body, that kind of thing. I am a Roman Catholic, but I never received Communion. I don’t agree with any form of cannibalism. I cautioned Zack against wasting much time on man-eat-man tendencies even if they come disguised as religion, philosophy, or some sort of idealism. I do believe in one cannibalism, though.”

“Which is?”

“‘Flesh on Flesh.’ Mutual cannibalism,” he said, and laughed again.

That was typical Joe. From the serious to the frivolous, and there was no point in trying to return him to the serious. Eventually, after more chitchat about nothing, we decided to turn in. “You know where to find stuff,” he called as I got up to retire.

Zack and I had been here enough times that I knew where the bedding was kept. Before sleeping, I tried to call Zack, but his phone was off. I wondered if he had arrived in Estonia and whether he had encountered the suited gunman.

I felt safe here and slept like a baby. But later, I woke up to some noise in the kitchen. I sat up and looked at the clock. It was almost midday. I jumped out of bed and went to check Kobi’s room. His bed was empty.

“Kobi? Joe?” I called out.

They were not in the kitchen, either. I walked into the lounge and found the French doors open. I heard some giggles coming from outside. And what a sight! Joe and Kobi were splashing in the pool. “Why don’t you join us?” asked a beaming Joe.

“She has no bathing suit on,” Kobi answered, clearly bemused.

“You can jump in with all your clothes on, we won’t care, right, Kobi?”

I just smiled and sprawled on a lounge chair. “You guys should have woken me up.”

“Your breakfast is in the kitchen,” Joe said.

Joe went away to attend to some business, leaving Kobi and me to entertain ourselves. Kobi was beside himself as he went between swimming, Game Boy, and video games. “Joe is the bestest uncle in the whole world,” he would say at intervals.

Later, I made dinner for three. Exhausted from all the excitement, Kobi ate early, so by the time Joe returned, he was fast asleep. After dinner, Joe and I retired to the lounge. He opened a bottle of wine, and we got to chatting, in between calls to and from his women.

“How do your girlfriends stand these phone calls?” I asked.

“They don’t. That’s why they all leave me after a while.”

“Do you get lonely?”

“Sometimes,” he said, looking straight ahead. “But you know, I am not the settling kind. I would get bored. If I were with you, it would be different.”

“Oh, Joe, you would have tossed me aside after two months.”

“No, you are different. I hope Zack knows and appreciates his Cleopatra. Otherwise, here comes Mark Antony!”

I was used to this kind of talk from Joe, even in Zack’s presence. I didn’t think he could help himself. Unlike Melinda, I did not encourage it. I yawned and stretched and got up from the couch, remarking on how tired I was.

Joe stood up, too. “Are you sure you don’t want another glass of wine?” he asked.

“Not a good idea. My head is swirling.”

As I started walking, my knees buckled a little bit and I stumbled, but Joe was on hand to help me. He was so close, I felt his breath on my cheek. His clothes smelled of Clive Christian cologne. He continued to hold my waist even after I was steady. I gently but firmly removed myself from his embrace, said a hurried good night, and retreated to my room.

The way he touched me made me understand why women ended up in his bed. Swirling thoughts, but I eventually nodded off.

I am not sure what woke me up; I sat up and felt around for my cell phone. Two missed calls from Zack and one from Melinda. I would call them in the morning, I thought as I put the phone back on the table. It was well after midnight.

I lay back down and was about to succumb to sleep when I heard movement downstairs. Then some whispering. I smiled at the thought that even so late in the night, Joe was talking to some girl, most likely persuading her to come share the bed I had declined. The phone conversation, though inaudible, was interfering with my sleep, so I got up to close the door completely. Bits and pieces reached me.

“Yes, you guys are being careless. If that information gets out, we will lose the . . . I will do the best I can to calm things down . . . I will talk to her tomorrow, but you guys are messing up . . . we need her . . . yes . . .”

Could he be talking about me? I wondered. I edged forward.

“It seems . . . on to some lead, she’s narrowing down on . . . we have to stop her.”

It dawned on me how naive I had been. What was I thinking? Joe was Mark’s friend. The reference to Mark under the guise of Antony. I should have understood the hint, the Freudian slip. No wonder he had been defending Mark for the past two days. And what did he mean by “we have to stop her”?

I did not wait to hear the rest. The one person I had always counted on for help was now my enemy. Part of the “they” Ben had alluded to.

I dressed and grabbed my handbag and the duffel bag with Kobi’s games. I slid the cell phone into my jeans pocket and waited. I must have waited about an hour after Joe was done with the phone call. Now I had to make sure he was asleep. I tiptoed across the hall to Kobi’s room and put my hand over his mouth and woke him up.“Sshhh,” I whispered.

He looked confused but remained quiet. Carrying him, I tiptoed down the stairs past the lounge, through the kitchen, to the garage. I put Kobi in the backseat of the car and asked him to put on his seat belt. I jumped into the driver’s seat and fumbled in my purse for the keys. I was shaking uncontrollably. After what seemed like a lifetime, I found them. I started the car, and as I began to reverse, I remembered that the garage door locked itself automatically at night. I had no idea how to disable it.

I turned around, trying to figure out what to do, and saw Joe coming toward the car. His eyes looked bloodshot, or maybe it was the light bouncing off his red silk pajamas. He was saying something, but I didn’t stop to hear. I may have been naive, but I was no fool. I locked the car right before he placed his hands on the door handle. Our eyes met for a split second. I read trouble. He seemed frustrated, almost desperate. I had never seen that look on his face.

“Mugure, it’s okay, what are you doing?” he shouted, trying to soften his murderous look.

“Your schoolboy charm is not going to work on me again. Open the damn doors or I will drive through them,” I shouted at him.

I did not wait for his response. I reversed the car and slammed it into the doors. They made a deafening sound but did not yield an inch. “Cover your ears, Kobi.”

I had hoped that the loud bang would make Joe open the doors, out of fear of waking the neighbors, but he didn’t. I engaged first gear and drove forward with force. Joe was out of sight. Where had he gone? If he had a gun, we were done for.

I looked to the side and saw him hunched over as if looking for something. I didn’t wait to see what. I put the car in reverse, floored the gas pedal, and rammed into the garage doors. They gave a little but remained intact. I saw Joe approaching the car. I couldn’t see if he was holding anything. He came running, waving, in front of the car. I narrowly missed him.

I put the car in reverse and stepped on the gas pedal again. I got a glimpse of Joe. What was he trying to do? I hit the doors again, and they gave a little more. One more time, I thought. Then Joe positioned himself in front of the car. He appeared to be holding something. I put the car in first and drove with such force that he had to escape by sprawling across the garage. I reversed once more and this time tore into pieces what was left of the garage door. The car swerved, but I managed to regain control and drive off. When I got to the road, I slowed down.

“We are safe now, we are safe,” I said, looking in the rearview mirror. Kobi was not there. “Kobi?” I called out in a panic. I came to a screeching halt, unbuckled my seat belt, and looked in the back. I saw his little head sticking out. He had ducked under the seat. “It’s okay to come out now, Kobi,” I said.

A screeching sound made me look over my shoulder. The red sports car pulled up, almost touching mine. “Buckle up, Kobi, buckle up,” I shouted, and sped off.

I floored the gas pedal. A light turned red in front of me. Joe was closing in. I ran the red light and turned right. I didn’t see his car again until I was on the road leading to Interstate 95 South. My SUV was no match for his sports car, and before I knew it, he was tailing us. Then Joe moved into the left lane. We were parallel again. He rolled down his window, shouting inaudibles. The exit to New Rochelle was about two thousand feet away. I put the turn signal on. Joe scrambled to change lanes. I drove into the exit lane, Joe following. As soon as the road started to fork, I swerved the car left and got back on the highway as Joe sped off in the exit lane toward New Rochelle.

I kept driving till I reached the New York Palace Hotel on Madison Avenue and stopped right outside the entrance.

9

I
managed to get Kobi to sleep at about two thirty in the morning. Only then did I allow myself to go over what had happened. Once again I thought of the hotline to Ben. A cautionary voice whispered the obvious: Something terrible had happened after I met with him. Yet what he had told me about the existence of a gang of “they” beat in my head like a drum. I called Zack. I felt tears of gratitude and relief when he answered.

“Why are you whispering? Is everything okay?” he asked.

“We just survived a car chase.”

“A car chase? In a film?”

“No, running from Joe.”

“What? Where are you? Where is Kobi?”

“We are fine. We just checked in to the Palace Hotel about an hour ago. But listen. Joe is working with Mark,” I blurted out.

“Hold up, honey, what are you talking about?”

“Someone has been stalking me and sent me a surveillance video of myself. I was scared. I took refuge at Joe’s. Then he tried to hurt us.”

“What? Joe is a good guy, Mugure. I have known him for years. Are you really sure?”

“Are you doubting your wife? This has been the cause of our problems: You trust acquaintances, doubtful friends, strangers more than your wife.”

“I’m sorry, Mugure,” he said with a touch of pain. “But it’s hard to imagine you and Joe in a car chase. That stuff happens in Hollywood.”

“I’m not asking to you to imagine. This was not Hollywood.”

“I know but, Mugure . . . Joe, why would he chase you? Look, I am sure there’s an explanation for this.”

“Zack!” I interrupted, “I haven’t lost my mind.”

“I am sorry. Listen very carefully. Do not go back to the house.” He paused, then continued, “I need you to go to a place they cannot find you.” I wasn’t sure if he believed me or was just humoring me.

“Zack, do you think Joe is Mafia? He’s Italian, you know,” I started, but he interrupted me.

“Not every Italian is a member of the Mafia. My mother is the granddaughter of Italian immigrants, and she was not one. Besides what would the Mafia want from you?”

“You, Zack, you! Maybe they are after you and trying to get at you through me. Are you sure you have never been involved in shady business? Have you encountered the suited gunman?”

“Mugure, I can take care of myself. And please get this Mafia business out of your head. Otherwise, you will be seeing the Mafia in every Italian. I have not seen anybody following me. The gunman was bluffing.”