by Greg Smith
She used the crumpled tissue to wipe her nose.
“What about Jacqui? Doesn’t she qualify as John’s heir?” Aleks asked.
“She wasn’t his. You know that. He never adopted her.”
“Did he claimed her as a dependent on his taxes? Did you file jointly?”
“Hell, Step. I don’t know. Herb Miller down at the station handled all that. He’s gone, too. Herb’s dead.”
“Don’t you keep records, Sheil? The IRS requires that you maintain records for three years in most cases. Seven if you file a claim for a loss from worthless securities or a bad debt deduction.”
Sheila scrunched her face quizzically.
“What are you? Some kind of tax law expert?”
Beyond telling her he’d been involved with “investments,” Aleks had never discussed what he’d done prior to 9/11 with Sheila.
“Came with the territory. Part of the responsibility of a financial consultant slash investment broker. The real Step was the ace when it came to issues of legality, though.”
He rubbed his hands on his long thighs.
“Look, Sheil. I may be able to help. There’s plenty of money out there. The government is being very generous. I can’t promise to make you a multi-millionaire. Or even a millionaire. But you deserve to get what the other wives are getting. John’s death benefit. His pension. His life insurance. Jacqui deserves something, too. Please. Let me help.
“It’s kinda what I do.”
• • • • •
CHAPTER 69
“Oak, it’s Alpo, man. How ya been? My sister treating you all right?”
Aleks had gotten a prepaid mobile phone, called Oak’s number. Oak had answered with his usual greeting, was stunned by the response he’d received.
“Step, that you? What the fuck you trying to pull?”
Aleks was quiet a moment.
“Oak, it’s me. Aleks. Why would you think I’m Step?”
“What the fuck, Step? What’re ya up to?” the large man’s voice boomed.
“Oak! It’s Aleks! Stop calling me ‘Step.’ That’s not fucking funny. Step is dead. That’s why I’m calling.”
Not knowing what else to do, Oak hung up. When the phone rang again, the large man hesitated before picking up.
“Step, stop this shit. It isn’t funny, man.”
“It’s Aleks, asshole. We stood side-by-side pissing off the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. I was smoking a doob. You had a flask of whichever J-friend was keeping you company that day. I think it was Jack’s shift. Would Step fucking know that?”
An eerie chill travelled down Oak’s spine.
Could Aleks possibly have mentioned that to Step? Why would he?
He didn’t understand what was happening, considered the possibility that Step’s amnesia had somehow returned. That Step again believed he was Aleks. Amnesia didn’t explain how Step could know the details of his trip out West with Aleks, however.
“You need to come to the office,” he said, trying to remain calm. “I can’t talk on the phone. You need to come here. Immediately. Scratch that. Make it Keen’s. Half an hour.”
“Make it an hour. I gotta finish with your sister first,” Aleks responded.
As he waited at Keens, downing several shot and beer chasers, Oak wondered about the phone call he’d received. No way Step would know about the Grand Canyon. Or the sister thing. He’d hit on a more logical explanation.
The Bagdasarian brothers had pulled off some kind of elaborate scam. They’d contrived a plan for collecting on the life insurance, paying the Russian off and walking away rich men. Which meant Aleks was alive!
Fucking genius! the large man thought ecstatically. But, fuck those assholes for letting me think Aleks was dead all this time! he seethed.
He sat facing the door, knocked back his fourth shot and beer. As Aleks entered, Oak studied the tall man who claimed to be his best friend.
The only way he’d ever been able to tell the Bagdasarian brothers apart, other than the placement of their tattoos, was by their personalities. Aleks was energetic, outgoing. Step quiet, withdrawn. If this twin had ever had a telltale twinkle in his eye, it was gone. Oak couldn’t tell if the man he was observing was his best friend Aleks…or his best friend’s identical twin brother, Step, pretending to be his best friend Aleks.
“Sorry I’m late, your sister kept me a little long, even for her,” the tall man said, attempting a grin. “How ya been, ya big Polack?”
Oak’s emotions went haywire. Surprise. Confusion. Hope. Disbelief. All made an appearance in his psyche. Each one trying to top the other. Like two kids alternately stacking their hands, one on top of the other’s, then repeatedly moving the bottom hand to the top, over and over again.
“It was Johnnie that day. Not Jack Daniels. Not Jim Beam. Johnnie. Walker,” the large man growled. “Same as I’m having now.”
Aleks smirked.
“Jack. Jim. Johnnie. Your friends all look alike to me, Oak. Amber and eighty-proof.”
He couldn’t understand why the large man wasn’t more delighted to see him. Why he was eyeballing him the way he was. Maybe Oak was upset he’d taken so long to reconnect.
“Why did you think I was Step? On the phone before. Why would you think that?”
Oak continued to eye the tall Bagdasarian twin.
This can’t possibly be Step pretending to be Aleks, the large man thought, as a glimmer of hope began to shine. There’s no fucking way.
Speculation wasn’t going to prove anything. There was only one way to settle his doubt.
“I’m gonna ask you to do something for me,” the large man requested. “It’s pretty simple. Just roll up your left sleeve.”
Aleks hesitated only long enough to consider that Oak’s request sounded more like a demand. He unbuttoned his left sleeve, began rolling it up. He hadn’t gotten far before Oak could see hints of black ink. First the double eagle heads. Tongues out. Then the tips of the wings. The entire wings. Talons. Finally, the diamond-shaped tail.
“Now the other arm.”
Aleks rolled his right sleeve up to reveal only bare skin.
Oak wanted to accept that it was Aleks standing before him. That his best friend had not died in the North Tower. That he was, in fact, alive. But he had to be certain. He dabbed his napkin in the fresh drink the bartender had set on the bar, grabbed Aleks’s left arm, rubbed at the tattoo. Aleks protested, pulled his arm away.
“What the fuck, Oak?”
The tattoo remained. It was real.
Aleks! It’s fucking Alpo!
The large man could contain his excitement no longer. He slipped off the bar stool, bear hugged his best friend.
“Dude, I thought you were dead!”
He suddenly turned surly.
“Fuck you! For letting me think you were!”
Then he brightened again.
“But that was pure fucking genius, Alpo!”
He slapped Aleks on the back, smiled with admiration.
“I gotta hand it to you boys. You fucking pulled it off. You pulled the wool right over this big Polack’s eyes, that’s for fucking sure.”
Aleks looked on in utter bewilderment. Oak muttered over his drink as it neared his lips.
“Step pretending to be you. Saying he’s dead. Then saying you’re the one that’s dead. Collecting the insurance. You calling to say Step’s the one that’s dead...”
The thought that his friend had relapsed, was using again, crossed Aleks’s mind. The thought that his friend was completely out of his mind tailgating that.
“Oak, what the fuck are you talking about? Step died on 9/11. He was in the North Tower when it collapsed. He was in the office.”
Oak regarded Aleks curiously.
“Don’t fuck with me, Alpo.” He leaned close, whispered conspiratorially. “Your secret’s safe with me, man. I ain’t gonna say a word.”
He winked, ran his fingers across hi
s lips as though zipping his mouth shut, twisted his hand, flicked the imaginary key away.
“Lips are sealed.”
He tossed back the rest of his drink. Aleks stared at him, completely befuddle. Oak pointed a finger in Aleks’s direction.
“I’m not happy you boys let me think you were dead for so long, Alpo. We’re best friends, fer chrissakes. Step coulda let me in on it.”
Hope slipped through an open window in Aleks’s mind. He grabbed the large man’s upper arms with both hands.
“Oak, I need the truth. No bullshit. No fantasy. No…drunken imaginings. Have you seen Step?”
Oak pulled away, scrutinized his tall friend.
“I spoke with him a week ago. C’mon, Alpo, you know he’s –”
“Step’s alive? Binyak’s alive? I…I didn’t kill him? Are you absolutely fucking certain, Oak?”
Oak closed his eyes, breathed deeply as though removing any inebriation, any uncertainty.
“Yeah, Alpo. One-hundred-and-ten fucking percent certain.”
He hoped his use of Aleks’s own phrase for being positive would convince his best friend he was being honest.
“I’ve been talking to Step for months. C’mon, man. You gotta know that.”
He smiled once again with appreciation for the con he believed the Bagdasarian brothers had perpetrated. Aleks gaped at Oak, his disbelief equaling the large man’s earlier befuddlement. He couldn’t fathom how Step could be alive. Wouldn’t fully believe it until he saw his brother with his own eyes. He grasped the large man’s arms again, spoke excitedly.
“Oak, I have to see him! I’ve got to see Step! Take me to him! Now!”
Oak was confused, couldn’t comprehend why Aleks was acting the way he was. As though there’d been no scam. As though he really had believed Step was dead. Worse, that he’d killed him.
“Aleks, what the fuck, man? You thought you killed Step?”
Aleks waved the question away.
“It’s a long story, Oak. I can tell you all about it on the way. Now would you kindly shut your fucking Polish pie hole and take me to my brother?”
Oak downed the last of his drink, reached in his pocket for his wallet. He removed a few bills, tossed them on the bar, turned to Aleks. He paused a moment, suddenly grasped his best friend in another bear hug. Before stumbling out to get behind the wheel of a vehicle he had no business operating.
• • • • •
CHAPTER 70
Once in Oak’s car – the same Jaguar he’d gotten in the divorce settlement – Aleks grew quiet, pensive. He considered how his twin brother could possibly be alive. Apparently, Step hadn’t been killed by the blow to the head. Apparently, he’d been alive when Aleks had left him for dead on the floor of his office in the North Tower. And apparently, Step had been rescued before the Tower collapsed. Or he’d somehow managed to get out the Tower before the plane even hit.
He was concerned about how his reunion with Step would go. How his brother would receive him after he’d left him for dead.
Oak had started the Jag, left it idling in park. He was still trying to piece it all together. Step pretending to be Aleks. Thinking Step was dead. Then realizing he was Step, that Aleks was dead. Claiming the insurance money. Paying off that creepy Russian. Then Aleks showing up like a ghost. Saying Step was dead.
“So…you and Step…this isn’t some ingenious scheme to get that psycho Russian off your back? Some kind of brilliant insurance scam to get rich at the same time? You two didn’t plan this?”
“Whuh? No. What are you talking about?”
Aleks had been deep in thought. As he made sense of Oak’s words, he was surprised to hear that his large friend knew about Ilya Klymenko. He was also puzzled by Oak’s belief that he and Step had collaborated on some ingenious plan.
“There’s no plan, Oak. I called to tell you Step is dead. That he died in the North Tower on 9/11. That I wanted to file a claim on his insurance. I also called to let you know I’m okay. After 9/11 and all that. Sorry for waiting so long, by the way.”
Oak shook his head from side to side.
“Apology not accepted, motherfucker. Gonna take way more than a simple fucking ‘Me so sorry, Oak.’ Fuck you. For letting me think you were dead for the past four fucking months.”
Aleks ignored the invite to the large man’s pity party.
“I actually called to tell you I wanted to file the claim on me. That I was going to be Step from now on,” he admitted. “I, uh, I probably would have told you that Step didn’t actually die when the Tower collapsed. That I killed him. I wanted to get that off my chest. But you…you’re telling me Step’s alive. That he somehow survived.”
Despite his obvious state of intoxication, Oak pulled a flask from a compartment in the driver’s door, took a swig. He offered the flask to Aleks as put the car in drive, pulled away. Aleks accepted the drink, didn’t hand the flask back immediately.
Both men began speaking at the same time. Aleks acquiesced to his large friend.
“Go ahead, Oak. You go first.”
Oak wrestled the flask back from Aleks, took another quick swig.
“What I know is this. Three months ago, I got a call. From Step, claiming to be you. He told me Step had died in the Towers and he wanted to file a claim for his life insurance. Something wasn’t right. He was all business. No nonsense. No banter. He was nothing at all like you.
“I asked him to meet me at Keen’s. He didn’t know who I was. He couldn’t remember anything. Claimed he was suffering from amnesia. Something about a head injury.”
Amnesia. A head injury, Aleks thought. That makes sense.
“When he reached for his drink, his sleeve moved up. I noticed his tattoo. It was on his right arm. I fucking freaked, man. When I saw that, I went berserk. I knew immediately he was Step. Pretending to be you, for some reason. Which meant you were the one who had died.
“When I pointed out that Aleks’s tattoo was on his left arm, told him he wasn’t Aleks – that he wasn’t you, he was Step – something snapped. He suddenly realized who he really was. He swore he’d actually thought he was you up until that very moment.
“God, this is fucking weird.”
Oak sipped from the flask before continuing.
“I was devastated, Alpo. I thought my best friend was dead. I’d never really liked Step. Aw, I shouldn’t say that. More accurately, I’d always been pretty neutral toward him. I neither liked nor disliked him. I like him now. He’s grown on me.”
The large man stopped talking only long enough to peer out the windshield before changing lanes, merging onto a different highway.
“Anyway, we filed the claim for your life insurance. And Connie’s.”
He hesitated again, unsure whether or not Aleks knew about his sister-in-law.
“Connie’s dead, too. In case you don’t know. She was with you…I mean with Step…no she was with you…Fuck, I’m still confused.”
He continued to sip from the flask. As though the container was bottomless.
“Anyway, double indemnity on both claims. Three million dollars total. Step paid the Russian – that fucking creepo…Ilya – his half million dollars. Gave him another half mil for the Romanian. For Griggor. All that’s another story altogether, my friend. Tell ya about that in due time.
“Step still has the balance. Two mil. Plus VCF money. He and Nadia are living large, let me tell ya.”
Oak had been talking excitedly, rapidly. Aleks was grateful to hear Step had paid his debt to Ilya. Relieved the contract on his head would, hopefully, have been eliminated. He wondered how that had all transpired. He also wondered who Griggor and Nadia were. He’d noted Oak’s mention of the double indemnity clauses. Was pleasantly surprised to hear the death benefits were twice what he’d anticipated.
Despite the many questions dancing on the precipice of his tongue, he couldn’t help but fall into his customary role of banter buddy.
&nb
sp; “That was a nice story, Mother Goose. Not sure I understood the moral, but I blame that on the lousy narration.”
Oak grinned like Lewis Carroll’s Cheshire Cat. He’d missed his friend, missed the banter. He was still waiting to hear the details about why Aleks thought he’d killed Step. When Aleks wasn’t forthcoming, the large man asked, as only he would.
“You gonna make me beg? Like yer sister?” To Aleks’s blank expression, he added, “Pretty sure my fairy tale is much more interesting than whatever sob story you’re gonna lay on me. Unless you’ve got a twin brother with amnesia impersonating the other brother. A dead wife. A tall investor known as Ilya’s Bagman. That’s you, by the way. You’re Ilya’s Bagman. But, you should know that, right?” Having side-tracked, Oak got back on course. “Uh, also a creepy Russian named the Butcher of Baba-la-bungfuck or some similarly named ice-bound village in northernmost Siberia. Let’s see… A midnight rendezvous with Russian gangsters. A Romanian gypsy… Fuck, that should be more than enough. Anyway, I kinda, sorta wanna hear why you thought you’d killed your own brother. Details?”
Again, Oak drank from the flask. The large man was one of those people who could operate a vehicle under almost any state of inebriation. The sole exception that of being passed out. Something he’d attempted on more than once occasion.
Aleks feigned an exaggerated yawn.
“Sorry, I musta dozed off. Totally missed any mention of Russian gangsters and a Romanian gypsy. Did you also say something about Mongolian midgets?”
Oak chuckled.
“Oh, I’ve got a story about a Mongolian midget for you. Only she wasn’t Mongolian. And she wasn’t a midget. Technically, she was a dwarf. And she was Siamese. Not the twin kind. Or the cat kind. Y’know, those little people can be very sensitive about–”
“Save it, will ya Oak?” Aleks commanded.
“Well, then spill it already, Alpo. Goddammit! Your sister’s laying on a bed in a cheap hotel room wearing nothing but dental floss. I’m her personal hygienist and she has an eight o’clock appointment. She’s known to have a penchant for punctuality. Among other punch…uh, penchants.”