Part 6 (1/2)
”There are a few places where young people in your daughter's situation will appear from time to time. Wallis dropped in at the Harmony House in Midtown last week, and one of the counselors there pa.s.sed her my card.”
Claire was silent for a moment, deep in thought.
”You haven't made much progress, then ... with the Manetti girl's case? What was her name?”
”Sophia,” Atley said. ”People call her Sophie, on the street. Unfortunately, most of our leads have gone cold. Our best shot is to have someone come forward with information to trade, and there's a pretty good chance of that. We just don't know if that will happen tomorrow or a year from now.”
”If you would keep me posted on her case, I would appreciate it. I realize the girl and I have no real connection, but ...”
”I understand,” said Greer, and he did. The victim was not Mrs. Stoneman's daughter, but she could have been.
SEVEN.
It had been a strange week for the crew, beginning with Wally's encounter in Brighton Beach and then their visit all together to the Hamlisch Brothers shop. There had been skepticism about the contents of the Brighton Beach file-on Jake's part especially-but the value of the alexandrite stone had gone a long way toward convincing them that the contents of the file were the real thing. Of course, the specialness of the stone raised more questions than it answered. Why had Yalena included the stone with the Brighton Beach file? Was it just a gift for Wally, or did the stone have some significance beyond its use as currency? Wally had no idea.
Eight thousand dollars. Eighty Benjamins, crisp and clean, far more than any of them had ever seen in one place. Wally was anxious to get started on her search, but the opportunity to spoil her friends was irresistible. Unlike Wally, the others in the crew had led lives full of sadness and violence and deprivation, and Wally now had the means to make them feel special. She decided to put off her quest for just a few days; the four of them would have a weekend full of indulgence.
The surprise was, spending money was harder for the crew than they imagined it could be. They needed almost nothing, day to day, and owning things just slowed them down. Jake and Tevin had ridiculously campaigned for a Wii video game console, and the girls humored them enough to make the trip to an electronics store on Broadway to check it out.
”What are we supposed to do with one of these?” Ella asked as they stood in the video game demo s.p.a.ce of the Midtown Best Buy. ”Lug it from squat to squat?”
”That's what shopping carts are for,” Jake said.
”Actually, no it's not. And that screen is like seven feet across.”
Wally stood by and let them duke it out-that was always half the fun, anyway. Ella's common sense won out, of course, and the guys had ended up just playing the demo machine for a couple of hours until a beefy pair of security guards suggested that it was time to move on.
The four of them did make some purchases. Ella had been coveting a pair of s.h.i.+ny new combat boots, and a trip downtown to a military surplus store fixed that, also netting a few thermal layers for everyone's outfits. The girls refreshed their supply of mascara and trashy nail polish. They pa.s.sed by a western wear store, which Tevin and Jake could not resist. They went inside and both bought real cowboy hats-Stetsons. They made it half a block down the street before Jake saw his own real world reflection in a store window.
”Oh man! I look like a douche!” he howled his buyer's remorse out loud, ignoring the looks of amused pa.s.sersby.
”Me too!” Tevin had to agree. ”That had to be some kinda trick mirror in the store. We were robbed.”
”Why didn't you two say anything?” Jake asked the girls with an accusatory look.
”I think you both look great,” Wally said with a straight face, but then her eyes met Ella's and they burst out laughing.
”You guys suck,” Jake said.
The guys went back and returned the hats to a testy salesclerk. At a motorcycle-chic boutique in the Village, Ella bought a good-looking leather vest and Jake bought a studded leather belt by the same label. At an expensive outdoor supply shop, Tevin got a stylish messenger bag with reflecting straps. Wally picked up a colorful striped watch cap, very warm, but her biggest gift came from seeing the glee in her friends' faces as they treated themselves.
They saw a couple of bad 3-D movies and ate like pigs, four meals each day, until even Ella seemed to lose interest. They went ice skating at Rockefeller, which was fun but insanely crowded. By Sunday afternoon, when the weekend of splurging was starting to feel anticlimactic, Wally had an inspiration; they jumped in a cab and headed for Madison Square Garden.
”The Knicks?” Tevin guessed, hopeful.
”Nope.” Wally kept them in suspense.
They reached the Garden and Wally led them to the ticket booth, where a video screen was playing a preview of the Cirque du Soleil show called K, which seemed to be about futuristic s.p.a.ce pirates. Wally had good memories of their performance called O, which Claire and Jason had treated her to for her eighth birthday.
”Oh, h.e.l.l no,” Jake said. ”Nothing with guys in tights.”
”Trust me,” Wally said, and bought four good seats.
The show was mesmerizing. Jake's complaining stopped from the first explosive moment of gravity-defying action, and the staging of the show was unlike anything they had seen before, better than any special effects fantasy film because it was actually happening right in front of them. Even the corny outfits-lots of colorful jockstraps and feathers-seemed appropriate. By the time they walked out of the theater, the four of them were smiling and feeling as though their weekend had been perfect. Wally was grateful for how well things had ended; the next morning her energy would be focused squarely on the search for Yalena, and she was counting on the help of her friends.
Early Monday morning, Wally turned her attention once again to the contents of the Brighton Beach file. She was determined, this time, to keep her emotional responses to the items in check and try to view the file with scientific objectivity. As the others looked on, she laid the items out on the floor of the lobby and went over each piece closely, disappointed again by their terrible condition. In many cases the bad quality was due to water damage, but not all: some of the older doc.u.ments had faded so badly that they were illegible. Most were in Russian anyway, and although she could afford to hire a translator, she doubted the ancient doc.u.ments would have much relevance in the search for her mother. If her interpretation of the letter was correct, the contents of the file were meant to fill in blanks in Wally's own history, not help locate Yalena.
Wally came to the two stapled pages that looked like a photocopied newspaper article. ”There's stuff still legible here.”
”That name ...” said Tevin, reading over Wally's shoulder. A partial line was still clear and un-smeared on the page, revealing what looked like most of a name: -amin Hatch. ”I bet that first name is Benjamin. Benjamin Hatch.”
”Hold on a second ...” said Jake, and he disappeared out the emergency exit, returning a few seconds later with a stack of newspapers tied together with string, probably bound for the recycling Dumpster. Jake ripped through the twine-his athlete's muscles kicking in-and went through the pile, pulling out one example of each local paper. ”We don't know if the article is from a New York paper, but we can find out.”
”Right,” said Wally. ”Smart, Jake.”
”See how much I have to offer, Wally?” he said with a wry look. ”I'm not just pretty and powerful. I have a brain, too.”
”You've really opened my eyes here, Jake,” she answered. ”Keep it up.”
Wally and Jake were often tied up in some sort of power struggle, but when it was time for him to step up for the group-or her-she had always been able to count on him. It made Wally feel grateful that he was pitching in to help now, however skeptical he was.
She held the fragment of the newspaper article up to each of the local papers in turn-the Times, the Post, the Voice, the Daily News, the Journal-and the type and format clearly matched one.
”Wall Street Journal, definitely,” Ella declared.
”We can check their archives at the library,” Tevin said.
They reached the Bloomingdale Library by ten o'clock and were first in line for an Internet terminal. Jake and Ella went to kill time in the periodical section, while Tevin went with Wally to her a.s.signed computer, where she logged on to the Wall Street Journal archives. She searched for Benjamin Hatch and soon there it was, an article in the Small Business section of the Journal, May of 1992. It was a human-interest story mostly, relaying the experiences of entrepreneur Benjamin Hatch, who had tried to start an import-and-export firm in the new (back then) post-Soviet Russia. Hatch had encountered many problems, citing outdated business practices and corruption.
Hatch was described as a native New Yorker and former teacher. According to the article, Hatch's business idea was to buy and relabel an inexpensive brand of vodka, popular in Russia but unknown outside the country. The packaging would be upmarket and s.e.xy, and the advertising campaign would play on the idea that the vodka was a fresh, undiscovered treasure from behind the Iron Curtain. By the time of the article's appearance, Hatch's scheme had already fallen apart, though he gave very few details on the causes for his failure.
It was still unclear what connection there was between Hatch and Wally's Russian mother, Yalena, or if he would know anything about how to find her. But there had to be a reason, Wally figured, why the Journal article on Hatch had been included in the Brighton Beach file. The only way forward was to find Benjamin Hatch and ask him. A Google search for Hatch yielded no results, other than the same Journal article, so Wally made the decision to spend $79.95 at one of the Internet's Friend Search sites, which basically amounted to online stalking. The results came up within seconds, but unfortunately the search located 183 Benjamin Hatches of appropriate age (thirty-five and older) living in the U.S., many in far-flung destinations, including Hawaii and Alaska.
”Too many Benjamins,” Tevin said. ”Never thought I'd see the day.”
Wally and Tevin met up with Ella and Jake outside the library and gave them a look at the long list of Benjamin Hatches.
”d.a.m.n,” Ella said, perusing the long list. ”So many.”
Wally pulled out her new cell phone. ”Panama says I've got over a thousand minutes on here.”
Mentioning Panama's name reminded Wally that he had been her initial connection to the Brighton Beach shop. Panama was wired in with most every black-market operation in the city, so Wally made a mental note to question him about the place later on.
The crew headed back to the bank and began calling all the numbers, the phone's charger plugged into an outlet on the bank floor the entire time. They took turns at it, relay style, reading off a script like telemarketers. ”h.e.l.lo, may I speak to Benjamin Hatch? h.e.l.lo, Mr. Hatch, I'm calling on behalf of a friend, Yalena Mayakova. No? Sir, by any chance did you ever live or do business in Russia or the Soviet Union? h.e.l.lo?”