“I … Maybe he planned to someday, but he didn’t live long enough. The story I was told was that Simon Green’s father had worked for your father. The father died on the job, and when the mother died, too, your father thought it was his responsibility to take care of him. He was a good man, your father.”
“Why do you say ‘the story’? Stop being vague, Mr. Kipling.” I was covered in sweat and my head felt like it might explode. Something fierce and terrible was beginning to burn within me.
Mr. Kipling walked over to the window. There was a distant look in his eyes. “The day you met Simon, he had been wanting to meet you for so long. But I always kept him from you.”
“Why? Why did he want to meet me? Who was I to him?”
“Have you never noticed the resemblance?” Mr. Kipling turned. “The eyes and the skin. Does he not look like your cousin Mickey, your cousin Jacks? Does he not look like your brother? Your father? Green was his mother’s name.”
“Is he my father’s son?”
“I don’t know for sure, Anya. But I have arranged everything for Simon. His schooling. This apartment. And I did these things because your father told me to.”
I felt ill. “You had no right to keep this from me.” I’ve always thought it was preposterous in a story or a movie when someone throws up upon hearing dramatic news, but I really did feel like I might. (Of course, it might also have had something to do with the blow I’d taken to the head.)
“Sophia Bitter says that Simon Green helped plan the poisoning last fall,” I said to Mr. Kipling.
“Simon is a good boy,” Mr. Kipling said. “He would never do something like that. I’ve known him his whole life.”
I looked at Mr. Kipling’s threadbare head. I loved that head. It had been one of the few constantly good things in my life. That is to say, what I needed to do next wasn’t easy for me. “I believe that you have made an inexcusable lapse in judgment, Mr. Kipling, and I can’t have you working for me anymore.”
Mr. Kipling thought about what I had said. “I understand,” he said. “Anya, I do understand.”
At that moment, Simon’s cat came into the room. “Here, Koshka,” Mr. Kipling called. The cat approached him warily, and Mr. Kipling lured her into a pet carrier that was sitting on Simon’s bed. “When he called, Simon asked me to take care of the cat,” Mr. Kipling explained.
I left Simon Green’s apartment. Mr. Kipling did not try to stop me.
“So, what’s next?” Fats asked me on the trolley ride across the Brooklyn Bridge to Manhattan.
I shook my head. The sun was going down on what had been a fruitless afternoon, and I was discouraged. I had wanted a big scene where I confronted Mickey and Simon, and maybe only one of us came out alive. Instead, they had both disappeared. “I’m surprised Mickey left,” I admitted.
“We don’t know what Sophia told him,” Fats said. “And you haven’t been around to follow it, but the Balanchine distributors are pretty frustrated with him at this point.” Fats looked at me. “Kid, don’t be blue. As far as these things go, this is a pretty happy ending. You sniffed out the bad eggs, sent them packing, and everyone lived.”
“Except Leo.”
“God rest his soul.” Fats crossed himself. “I’m telling you, your dad would have been proud. He didn’t believe in violence.”
I may have snorted.
“Sometimes he had to use it, but it was only ever a last resort for him.”
“Just because Mickey is gone, I don’t want Balanchine Chocolate to die. I don’t want Daddy’s company to die,” I said. I knew that Mickey and Sophia’s departure had made Balanchine Chocolate even more vulnerable.
“The key thing now is to establish a new leadership as quickly as possible. We can’t have any appearance of dissent.”
“Fats, do you think you’ll really be able to do a better job running Balanchine Chocolate than Mickey did?”
“No one can say for sure, Annie. But, if you back me, I’ll do my best. I’m honest, and I know the tribulations of chocolate better than anyone.”
It was true. Fats had run his speakeasy successfully for years, and he knew all the players. I realized now that Yuji Ono and Yuri and Mickey had probably just been flattering me to suggest that I should run Balanchine Chocolate. Because I was young and ignorant, they had been able to use me for their own ends. I had allowed myself to be flattered and had ended up being foolish yet again. “Why do you even care if I back you?”
“You don’t know the chocolate business, but the rank and file still care what you think. They remember your daddy, and they’ve seen your face in the news, and I would appreciate your support.”
“If I do back you, what happens to me?” I probably sounded childish or at least teenage-ish.
We were just about over the Brooklyn Bridge and back into Manhattan. Fats put his hand on my shoulder. “Look, Annie. See that city. Anything can happen there.”
“Not for me,” I said. “I’m Anya Balanchine. First Daughter of the chocolate mob. I have the name and the rap sheet to go with it.”
Fats stroked his goatee. “It’s not as bad as all that. Finish school, kid. Then come back to me. I’ll set you up with a job if you still want one. You can learn the ropes. Maybe even find out what it is they do in Moscow.”
At that point, I had to get off the trolley to switch to the bus that would take me back uptown. Fats said that there would be a meeting at the Pool the next day, and that he would really appreciate it if I would come.
“I’m not sure I want to back you,” I said.
“Yeah, I can see that. Here’s what I think you should do. Get a good night’s sleep, and when you wake up in the morning, ask yourself what it would be like to be free of Balanchine Chocolate forever. Your brother’s dead, and the players are gone. You back me tomorrow, and I’ll make sure that no one ever messes with you or your sister again.”
I arrived at the apartment around ten o’ clock. Daisy Gogol and Natty and Win were waiting for me, and no one looked pleased.
“We should take her immediately back to the hospital,” Natty said.
“I’m fine,” I replied as I collapsed onto the couch. “Exhausted, but fine.”
Daisy Gogol shot me an evil look. “I could have stopped you, but I didn’t want to hurt you. I’m not accustomed to being pushed by people I’m supposed to be protecting.”
I apologized to Daisy.
“At the hospital, they said someone was supposed to watch her to make sure she didn’t go to sleep.” Natty stood up from the couch and crossed her arms. “I’d watch her but I don’t even want to look at her.”
“I’ll do it,” Win volunteered, though he didn’t sound particularly enthused about the task.
“Listen, Natty, don’t be cross. I think I found out who tried to kill us.” And then I told them what I had learned that day.
“You can’t keep going on like this,” Natty lectured me. “Running around and not telling anyone where you’re going or what happened. I’m tired of it. And, for the record, I don’t want to end up with no brother and no”—her voice broke a little—“sister either, Annie.” I stood to embrace her, but she pulled away, then ran down the hallway to her bedroom. A second later, I heard the door slam.
I turned to Daisy. “You can go home now, if you want.”
Daisy shook her head. “I can’t. Mr. Kipling called to tell me I should stay on guard overnight. He was extremely concerned about your safety.”
“Fine, but you should know that I had to dismiss Mr. Kipling this afternoon.”
“Yes,” Daisy replied, “he said that, too. He told me that he would be personally covering my salary.”
Daisy went to the hallway to stand watch.