owed my roof—you know, my pimp—because Pasha said he would pay him off, set me up in an apartment and pay for design school. He was serious. I asked him why, and he said because he could see I was a good person. Would you do that? Would you bet on someone like that?"
"I don't think so."
"Well, that was Pasha." She took a long draw on her cigarette.
"How old are you now?"
"Twenty."
"And you met Pasha..."
"Three years ago. When we were talking on the phone at the bar, I asked if he preferred a redhead, because I could be that, too. He said life was too short, I should be whatever I was."
The longer Arkady stared at the screen, at Pashas hesitation on the threshold of his apartment, the less he looked like a man afraid of a black mood. He seemed to dread something more substantial waiting for him.
"Did Pasha have enemies?"
"Naturally. Maybe hundreds, but nothing serious."
"Death threats?"
"Not from anyone worth worrying about."
"There were attempts in the past."
"That's what Colonel Ozhogin is for. Pasha did say one thing. He said he had once done something long ago that was really bad and that I wouldn't love him if I knew. That was the drunkest I ever saw him. He wouldn't tell me what and he never mentioned it again."
"Who did know?"
"I think Lev Timofeyev knew. He said no, but I could tell. It was their secret."
"How they stripped investors of their money?"
"No." Her voice tightened. "Something awful. He was always worse around May Day. I mean, who cares about May Day anymore?" She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "Why don't you think he killed himself?"
"I don't think one way or the other; I just haven't come across a good enough reason for him to. Ivanov was clearly not a man who frightened easily."
"See, even you admired him."
"Do you know Leonid Maximov and Nikolai Kuzmitch?"
"Of course. They're two of our best friends. We have good times together."
"They're busy men, I'm sure, but can you think of any way I could talk to them? I could try official channels, but to be honest, they know more officials than I do."
"No problem. Come to the party."
"What party?"
"Every year Pasha threw a party out at the dacha. It's tomorrow. Everyone will be there."
"Pasha is dead and you're still having the party?"
"Pasha founded the Blue Sky Charity for children. It depends financially on the party, so everyone knows that Pasha would want the party to go on."
Arkady had come across Blue Sky during the investigation. Its operating expenses were minute compared to other Ivanov ventures, and he had assumed it was a fraud. "How does this party raise money?"
"You'll see. I'll put you on the list, and tomorrow you'll see everyone who's anyone in Moscow. But you will have to blend in."
"I don't look like a millionaire?"
She shifted, the better to see him. "No, you definitely look like an investigator. I can't have you stalking around, not good for a party mood. But many people will bring their children. Can you bring a child? You must know a child."
"I might."
Arkady turned on the chair's light for her to write directions in. She did it studiously, pressing hard, and, as soon as she was done, turned off the light.
"I think I'll stay here by myself for a while. What's your name again?"
"Renko."
"No, I mean your name."
"Arkady."
She repeated it, seeming to try it out and find it acceptable. As he rose to go, she brushed his hand with hers. "Arkady, I take it back. You do remind me of Pasha a tiny bit."
"Thank you," said Arkady. He didn't ask whether she was referring to the brilliant, gregarious Pasha or the Pasha facedown on the street.
Arkady and Victor had a late dinner at a car-wash café on the highway. Arkady liked the place because it looked like a space station of chrome and glass, with headlights flying by like comets. The food was fast, the beer was German and something worthwhile was being attempted: Victor's car was being washed. Victor drove a forty-year-old Lada with loose wiring underfoot and
"I don't think so."
"Well, that was Pasha." She took a long draw on her cigarette.
"How old are you now?"
"Twenty."
"And you met Pasha..."
"Three years ago. When we were talking on the phone at the bar, I asked if he preferred a redhead, because I could be that, too. He said life was too short, I should be whatever I was."
The longer Arkady stared at the screen, at Pashas hesitation on the threshold of his apartment, the less he looked like a man afraid of a black mood. He seemed to dread something more substantial waiting for him.
"Did Pasha have enemies?"
"Naturally. Maybe hundreds, but nothing serious."
"Death threats?"
"Not from anyone worth worrying about."
"There were attempts in the past."
"That's what Colonel Ozhogin is for. Pasha did say one thing. He said he had once done something long ago that was really bad and that I wouldn't love him if I knew. That was the drunkest I ever saw him. He wouldn't tell me what and he never mentioned it again."
"Who did know?"
"I think Lev Timofeyev knew. He said no, but I could tell. It was their secret."
"How they stripped investors of their money?"
"No." Her voice tightened. "Something awful. He was always worse around May Day. I mean, who cares about May Day anymore?" She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "Why don't you think he killed himself?"
"I don't think one way or the other; I just haven't come across a good enough reason for him to. Ivanov was clearly not a man who frightened easily."
"See, even you admired him."
"Do you know Leonid Maximov and Nikolai Kuzmitch?"
"Of course. They're two of our best friends. We have good times together."
"They're busy men, I'm sure, but can you think of any way I could talk to them? I could try official channels, but to be honest, they know more officials than I do."
"No problem. Come to the party."
"What party?"
"Every year Pasha threw a party out at the dacha. It's tomorrow. Everyone will be there."
"Pasha is dead and you're still having the party?"
"Pasha founded the Blue Sky Charity for children. It depends financially on the party, so everyone knows that Pasha would want the party to go on."
Arkady had come across Blue Sky during the investigation. Its operating expenses were minute compared to other Ivanov ventures, and he had assumed it was a fraud. "How does this party raise money?"
"You'll see. I'll put you on the list, and tomorrow you'll see everyone who's anyone in Moscow. But you will have to blend in."
"I don't look like a millionaire?"
She shifted, the better to see him. "No, you definitely look like an investigator. I can't have you stalking around, not good for a party mood. But many people will bring their children. Can you bring a child? You must know a child."
"I might."
Arkady turned on the chair's light for her to write directions in. She did it studiously, pressing hard, and, as soon as she was done, turned off the light.
"I think I'll stay here by myself for a while. What's your name again?"
"Renko."
"No, I mean your name."
"Arkady."
She repeated it, seeming to try it out and find it acceptable. As he rose to go, she brushed his hand with hers. "Arkady, I take it back. You do remind me of Pasha a tiny bit."
"Thank you," said Arkady. He didn't ask whether she was referring to the brilliant, gregarious Pasha or the Pasha facedown on the street.
Arkady and Victor had a late dinner at a car-wash café on the highway. Arkady liked the place because it looked like a space station of chrome and glass, with headlights flying by like comets. The food was fast, the beer was German and something worthwhile was being attempted: Victor's car was being washed. Victor drove a forty-year-old Lada with loose wiring underfoot and
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