Solemn. That was the only thing Ace could think of to describe how this place felt. Other people were scattered here and there, voices hushed, looking at the last concrete column brought out of the rubble. Names and messages were scribbled all over it. One message was FDNY Ladder 3. Ace wondered if any of those men had survived. He knew how a survivor would feel if his brothers in uniform fell, leaving him still standing. It had happened to him a couple times.
They reached the Before 9/11 section in the Historical Exhibition. Models of the World Trade Center buildings sat inside glass boxes. Descriptions and pictures of it being constructed were nearby. Flyers announcing business conferences and dinner parties spoke of the excitement and energy that had once filled this place. That morning, a Tuesday, if he remembered correctly, those nearly three thousand people had boarded planes, gone to work and reported to duty not knowing that another ordinary day would be their last.
At the Events of the Day section, they stopped at the crushed Ladder 3 firetruck. Sailor read the description silently.
“They all died,” she whispered. “All eleven of them.”
Ace nodded. He couldn’t speak.
“They were so brave to go into those buildings. Like you are.”
His jaw tensed, and he swallowed hard. They still had a lot to see. He couldn’t let himself fall apart at the seams just yet. Not in front of Sailor.
Sailor squeezed his arm, looking up at him with a look of wonder and a tremulous smile, as though she hadn’t witnessed such emotion before. And then he realized she probably hadn’t.
Finally, he took a deep breath and spoke quietly, his gaze locked on the faces of the men lost, forever frozen in time. “That’s what you do as a first responder. You go toward the danger, knowing full well that you might not be walking back out.”
She interlaced her fingers with his and brought his hand to her lips, giving it a gentle kiss. There wasn’t anything left to be said.
They left notes of hope on the digital displays in Memorial Hall, which appeared above them on a huge screen that featured a world map. Ace wrote, “Gone but never forgotten.”
By the time they left, the anxiety had waned, replaced with a humble respect for those who had sacrificed so much for the people of this city.
"How about we grab a little snack and go somewhere less..." Sailor said, waving her hand around as though she couldn't find the right word.
"Sad?"
She nodded. "I know just the place."
A short subway ride later, they stood alongside the big bronze bull on Wall Street. The most notable thing about it, though, was a bronze statue of a little girl, hands on her hips, facing off with the bull. The bull himself looked as though he had just stopped short of colliding with her.
Ace smiled at Sailor. "She reminds me of you."
"Me? No, I'm not that brave."
"I beg to differ, ma'am," he said. "I don't know many women who are as determined to succeed as you are in the face of charging bulls, or drunks in your case."
Her neck flushed as she cast him a bashful smile and got out her cell phone. She asked a French tourist standing nearby if she'd take their photo.
"Of course," the woman said and took her phone.
Ace stood beside the bull, with his head down, arms and legs poised to charge. Sailor stood beside the little girl, hands on her hips, chin raised in defiance.
"Good, good,” the tourist said. She took a picture of Ace by the bull, then Sailor by the girl. When she lowered the phone, Sailor burst out laughing as Ace pointed his fingers on his head and 'charged'. He swept her up in his arms and spun around before setting her back on her feet. She laughed and kissed him on the cheek. Seeing her like this lifted away the somber mood of the 9/11 Museum. He'd become an addict to seeing her happy, but it was an addiction worth keeping.
"Thank you so much," Sailor said to the tourist, then returned the favor by taking a picture of her and her family - a husband and two kids - posing the same way by the statues.
"Come on," Sailor said, grabbing Ace's hand. "I want some ice cream."
They walked across the street and down the block to Carvel and got a couple soft serve cones. Then she led him back across the street to the small city park called - he read the sign and laughed - Bowling Green.
"Thought you'd like this," she said. "I bet it's not like the Bowling Green where you live."
"No, except for the grass and flowers and trees. Plenty of those down there."
"I'd love to see Kentucky sometime," she said as they settled on a bench, where she nestled herself up against him.
Ace wrapped his arm around her. "Maybe I can take you there."
"Maybe." She glanced at him with a smile and then focused on her ice cream. Kids laughed and tossed pennies in the big fountain in the center of the park. Flowers and tree branches swayed in the cool breeze.
Ace devoured his cone, wondering if she really meant that, or if she'd get tired of him and send him back to Bowling Green. A couple with a baby stroller approached. The woman smiled and waved at Sailor.
"Hey, Ellie," Sailor greeted. She scooted out from under Ace's arm and stood. "How's the baby?"
"Oh, he's just as ornery as his dad," Ellie said and smiled at the guy beside her, a dark-haired man with hair in a ponytail and a short-trimmed beard. Ace could tell she was from the South from her accent. She had pretty light brown hair held back with a pink headband.
The man shook his head and got the baby out of the stroller. "Yeah, yeah, at least I don't puke on you...often."
They all laughed at that.
"Luke, right?" Sailor asked. He nodded and bounced the baby gently in his arms. She turned to Ace. "This is Luke and Ellison Martelli. Ellie's from Lexington. She's a friend of Harper's."
"Went to UK together," Ellie added.
Ace stood, shaking hands with Ellie, then Luke. "Any friend of my cousin is a friend of mine," he said.
"Oh, you must be Ace! Harper told me about you and said we should meet up. Two country mice in the city, right?"
"Right," he said, laughing. He nodded toward Luke. "You look like a motorcycle guy."
He shrugged. "Cars, though I've worked on some nice bikes." The baby dropped a pacifier from his mouth. Luke caught it before it hit the ground and kissed the baby's cheek lovingly before handing him over to Ellie.
Ellie proudly showed him off to Sailor, then handed him to her. Sailor got an awkward hold on him, her face twisted in worry like she might break him. Then she looked down at his face and smiled so sweetly it melted Ace's heart. Would that be him and Sailor someday? With her childhood and lifestyle, he wondered if marriage and kids appealed to her at all. Then again, he couldn't think that far ahead just yet.
The guys talked about classic cars and bikes while the women shared funny stories about their guys. But like all good things, their fun day had to come to an end. It was time to meet with the Chaim Rabinowicz clan to get to the bottom of Sailor's trouble.
****
Ace dropped Sailor off at her place, then left for his apartment to clean up and change. He came back to pick her up soon after, dressed in business casual. They rode his motorcycle back to The Hole and switched to her car.
Slightly early – a parking space had incredibly opened up even in the crowded Williamsburg shopping area - they met Rabbi Pinchas Milikowsky on the street outside Shloimy’s. He didn’t shake Sailor’s hand when she offered. Sailor knew better; she shouldn’t have offered. It was a religious prohibition.
“A few blocks' walk, not a problem?” the rabbi asked after introductions.
“Naw, we’re in shape. We do hot yoga,” said Ace.
“I do hot pastrami,” said Milikowsky.
They walked a few blocks on the busy street, dodging mothers pushing strollers and delivery men pushing dollies of goods.
“My outfit, it is respectful?” Sailor asked the rabbi. She had bought a Ralph Lauren dark blue suit that was a little looser on her than most things she wore. The Chasidic women wore skirts not pants, but fuck it.
“Nu, I wouldn’t wear it to shul, but I think it will be all right for today.”
They came to an apartment house. The rabbi pushed a buzzer, had a brief discussion in Yiddish with a person at the door, and then led his two charges inside. The spare Chasidic man at the door led the three of them up a few flights of stairs. The door of an apartment was already open to receive them.
“Wait here,” the rabbi said in the hallway. He walked into a room on the side, and there was a quiet exchange in Yiddish. From another opening in the hallway, a boy with a solid black yarmulke and a long earlock peered at them curiously. A woman came up behind him and pulled him away. Some whining from the out-of-sight boy followed.
“Cute kid,” Ace said to the man who had guided them to the apartment.
“My nephew,” he answered. “Avi. He’s meshugena.” Meshugena meant 'crazy.'
Rabbi Milikowsky emerged and gestured to Sailor and Ace. “It’s time.”
Sailor entered the room to find a large dining table cluttered with papers at one end. In the center were an antique brass samovar and a tray of delicate teacups and saucers, along with a dish of disposable creamers and some spoons. A plate held a few rugelach and a lot of crumbs.
Seated at the head of the table was a burly, bearded man in a white shirt with black suspenders. He was mostly bald. His yarmulke was a little loose on his head, held in place by a clip. He didn’t rise when they entered. Behind him were several more Chasidic men and women, the men all in black suits and white shirts, the women in neutral-colored skirt suits with obvious dowdy wigs.
Milikowsky said, “Rav Chaim, here is Sailor Kingston, daughter of Roger, along with her security man, Mr. Ace Montgomery.”
Ace leaned in to shake the hand of the seated man.
“Ten thousand dollars,” said Chaim Rabinowicz without prelude, looking directly at Sailor’s eyes. “Ten thousand dollars, from each of these individuals standing behind me, given to your father for investment purposes. And you can guess what he promised. Find new investors, and you will receive a portion of their contribution, and a portion of the profits from the land that is developed. You understand?”
“I understand,” Sailor said. “My father was a big talker.”
“A swindler!” Rabinowicz burst out. “Big talk is one thing, but taking money from hard-working people with your big talk, that is another. These people behind me, they… go ahead, have one.”
Ace took a rugelach. “Thanks. These aren’t so common in Kentucky.”
“You should go there and open a bakery,” said Milikowsky. “I can find you a man with a yiddishe kop who knows all the recipes.”
Rabinowicz did not smile; Ace’s gambit had failed to break the tension. “I was saying, these people behind me, they are working people, with stores and businesses. They pray. They care for their family. You understand. They didn’t come to me. That was their mistake. I would have seen your father for what he was. I would have warned them. You know what they call your father’s dirty business, right?”
“It sounds like a Ponzi scheme,” Sailor said. “Like Bernie Madoff went to jail for.”
“Yes, exactly. It sounds like a Ponzi scheme, because that is exactly what it was. Behind me you see loss of not only ten thousand dollars each, but a betrayal of trust, a shame in the community, a predatory act against working people of a community that must stand up for its own!”
“I’m ashamed of my father for doing it,” Sailor said. “But I wasn’t part of it. I didn’t know what he was doing. He never trusted me with any of his business details, and of course, he was too smart to keep written records of something like this. So when he died, I could only settle the debts his lawyer and accountant told me about.”
“Do you have their money?” Chaim Rabinowicz demanded. “Some secret bank account in Switzerland or the Virgin Islands, hmm?”
“My dad had some accounts like those. I cleaned them out to pay off his debts. He could have squirreled away some of their money there. But he owed a lot. I took my inheritance under the will, and my sister took hers, and we sold off all the property he had except the building I live in and the bar that I operate.”
Rabinowicz snorted. “You could be lying. If you are Roger Kingston’s daughter, and he was a liar, why would you be truthful?”
“She’s honest and good,” Ace said. “I’m a lawman, and I’d stake my reputation on it.”
Rabinowicz shifted his glare to Ace. “Yes, I heard about you. Someone brought me a copy of an article about you. Stabbed, left to bleed, with the strength to live. A hero of the Kentucky police force. A man of integrity, so it was said. A hero. Maybe true. But is that enough? Can I turn to these people behind me, men and women who look to me as a father, and say to them, a Kentucky policeman was stabbed, so now you have to forget that harm was done to you?”
“I’m not telling you that,” Ace said.
“I’m not the same as my dad,” Sailor said. “I have two businesses, a bar and an apartment building. I’m whittling away my inheritance trying to keep my bar from going out of business. I don’t like who my dad was or what he did, and…” She looked at the silent group behind Rabinowicz. “I’m sorry, really. It’s not fair, what happened to you. All my dad did was hurt people. He had no love for humanity, or community. He didn’t even love me and my sister. I’ve dedicated my life to being different than he was.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “No, I know I shouldn’t cry. That doesn’t mean anything here.”
“No, it doesn’t,” said Chaim Rabinowicz. “A good performance from a good actress, hmm?”
“That’s not fair,” said Milikowsky. “Rav Chaim, it is to Hashem that Roger Kingston will answer, as all of us must do. If this girl is at fault, just the same with her.”
“Let her open her father’s records to me. I’ll find the money, or learn where it went.”
“No,” Sailor said. “I’m here to work something out with you, but I’m not doing that.”
“Then I can’t trust you.”
“Oy vey,” said Milikowsky. “Rav Chaim, the girl is not the only one who can put on a show, you know. Come on, what we discussed.” He beamed at the big man behind the table.
Rabinowicz whispered something to one of the women standing behind him. She went to the samovar and poured him a cup of fragrant brown tea. He took a sip, coughed, made a rumbling harrumph noise. “Certain things have to be said.”
“I had to say sorry,” Sailor added. “I do feel bad. I feel ashamed. I live here in Williamsburg knowing that my father was a bad man. But I can’t fix everything he did wrong. All I can do is try to be better than he was.”
“Do something for the community,” said Rabinowicz. “Hm. I have something for you. You were walking here, did you see the yeshiva on the corner, the one with the fence on the side, and the schoolyard filled with weeds? The pavement, cracked? Everything rusted, broken. Did you see that?”
“I noticed it,” Ace said. “That’s a Jewish elementary school, right?”
“Yes. You can call it that; the young boys learn Torah and Talmud, but they must also have exercise. A new playground must be made there, all that garbage taken away. New concrete poured. Basketball hoops, swings.”
“And you want me to pay for that?”
“You will manage the project, and you will pay for it. And it will be named for my father, Rav Eliezer Rabinowicz, in memory of what he did to found that school, to recruit the first class of students.”
Sailor made a mental calculation of what it might cost. She would have to get Marina to consent to contribute some from her own trust fund also.
“And in return, you call off the people who are causing trouble in my bar?” she asked.
“Ts, that’s not my doing. I am a rabbi, not a terrorist. But I may know something that will help you.”
“Please tell me, Rabbi,” said Ace.
Rabinowicz dug through the papers and handed him a copy of a book. Ace, recognizing it, passed it to Sailor.
Forgetting God: How I Freed Myself from the Shameful Yoke of Chasidic Judaism by Ariela Rabin.
Milikowski stabbed his finger at the face on the cover. “That girl is bad news,” he said.
“I’ve seen her before,” Sailor said. “In fact, she’s suing me, she and a guy named Richard Handler. She must live in the neighborhood.”
“These people you should talk to. She has left Chasidism, no problem. We don’t want her back. But her family also your father hurt. David Rabin, a hard man, was too proud to reveal he had been robbed, and what he did to himself, we don’t talk about those things. His daughter, however, does not forgive.”
Ace nodded, understanding. “Sailor, you stay away from them. Let Goose and me deal with it. We’re professionals.”
****
Sailor dropped off Ace by his motorcycle, then drove home to shower and change. She turned on her laptop and sent an email to [email protected] It read, Marina, Dad fucked over some people in Williamsburg. I’m donating a new playground to a school to make good. I need $10K from your trust fund. I’m putting $15K from mine. I’ll pay you back, but if you have any class, tell me I don’t have to.
She left the computer on and stripped for a shower. Heard a ding of new email as she was taking off her robe. Marina had already replied.
Sailor, if I find out you put that money into your failing bar I will physically fuck you up. I have learned some serious fighting moves from the Aboriginal People. If it’s really for a playground, fine, don’t pay me back for that. Marina
Sailor went to her desk safe, unlocked it and took out withdrawal paperwork for both her and Marina’s trust funds. So much to do before work! But they had been a success, she and Ace – the problem was that much closer to getting solved.
She had a pleasant shower, thinking of how it had been sharing the hot water with Ace just that morning. He was an amazing lover, with a beautiful strong body, soft lips, gentle hands, a magnificent cock. He had even said he loved her! Oh, she was going to have her way with him that night! She loved him, she loved her man.
Sailor put on fresh black leggings and a long-sleeved tunic with geometric patterns she hoped would camouflage any unfortunate stains she might get that night. She was brushing out her hair when the doorbell rang. If Ace had stopped by for some afternoon delight, that would be great; they could always take another shower together. She slid on some pumps and went to the door.
And was met with a ferocious blow to the face that sent her flying backwards on her ass.
The blow had not quite struck into Sailor’s eye – she was able to look up at her doorway to see Ariela Rabin herself, along with the scowling biker who followed her around.
#NotGood
“Dick, g’head, cuff her,” said Ariela as she stepped in. “We need to finish this fast now that that big ape security guy is looking for us. How’d you find out, bitch?”
#ReallyNotGood
“Chaim Rabinowicz,” Sailor said. “Come on, you have a lawsuit pending. We can take care of this in court.”
The biker entered and shut the door. He had plastic restraints in his hand.
“You’re going to pay,” said Ariela.
Sailor scrambled to all fours, but the biker pushed her down and cuffed her hands behind her back. Sailor kicked backwards, but didn’t make contact with anyone. Damn, her face stung. This rotten chick punched harder than Marina had when they were kids.
“We’re not going to court,” said Ariela as the biker sat her up again. “Unless we’re suing your estate. You’ll be gone soon. Dick, gag her.”
“Don’t gag me. This is stupid, Ariela. I’m sorry about what my dad did to your dad.”
“Do you know what he did? Hold off a minute, Dick.”
“You scream and I’ll pull your tongue out,” said the biker.
“Dick?” Sailor said. Strange the things you think about when your life is on the line. “Are you Richard Handler? Is your name really – Dick Handler?”
“Aw, shut up,” said the biker.
Sailor snorted. “Dick Handler. I’m getting kidnapped by Dick Handler. It would be even funnier if you weren’t both so ugly.”
“Fuck you,” Ariela said. “Don’t make this about us. This is about what your dad did to my dad. He drove him to suicide, you know that?”
“My dad’s dead,” Sailor said, “and I wasn’t close with him when he was alive. He wasn’t that nice to me. I decided to be strong and carry on. I don’t know what your deal is, but kidnapping me, beating me up, that isn’t going to help.”
“Oh, we’ll do worse than that.”
“Couldn’t you just hit me a few times and then leave? I promise not to file a countersuit.”
“I want to get some real money out of you, bitch. Real money, and revenge. Paying all those people to trash your bar and sue you has pretty much cleaned out the advance and royalties from my bestselling book. That’s why we’re going to sell you to human traffickers. They’ll pay like crazy for a rich blonde bitch like you.”
“Uh,” said Sailor. “That’s a really bad idea.”
Dick Handler knelt and put a rolled-up rag in her mouth. “Enough out of you,” he said.
He tied Sailor’s feet together with a t-shirt, then lifted her from behind by the armpits. Ariela took Sailor’s legs. Together they hustled her out the door they had used to enter.
“You’re sure there’s no one home anywhere in the building?” Ariela said.
“Yeah, I knocked on all the doors. No one will see me.”
“Okay, then, rock and roll, baby. Let’s take her to the car.”
Sailor finally realized she had been wrong to try to talk them out of it. She should have been fighting harder from the moment she saw them. Now she was all but helpless in the hands of these two loony-tunes.
They were clattering on the stairs. She worked her wrists some – discovered the cuffs weren’t fastened properly. Dick might have rushed because he was trying to avoid her kicks. Given a little time unobserved, maybe she could get her hands free. But would she have that time? Would Ace get there to help before it was too late?
#cliffhanger