by Greg Smith
Despite Step’s and Nadia’s pleas for them to relocate to Sparta Township and, specifically, to the Lake Mohawk Reservation, Aleks and Sheila remained in New York City. Jacqui had been accepted to the newly-founded Bard High School Early College, which had a Queens campus. Her mother and the man she now knew as “Aleks” wanted to be able to attend her basketball and volleyball games, as well as other school functions.
Oak continued to drift in and out of their lives for a while, occasionally bringing a new partner into the group. None of his flavors-of-the-month ever meshed with the crew’s dynamics, however. He eventually relocated to California to be near Bamm-Bamm.
Aleks never returned to The Pile. Likewise, Sheila Cahill never returned to her job at the Manhattan Psychiatric Center. Like many 9/11 widows, she would never have to work again.
The FDNY’s initial position had been straightforward. As a domestic partner, Sheila didn’t qualify for John’s benefits. She was one of several 9/11 widows who fell into a unique void. They’d never married a domestic partner who hadn’t left a will. Therefore, they weren’t eligible for any payouts.
With diligent research and persistent determination, however, Aleks found a loophole regarding common-law marriages, was able to present a valid argument in Sheila’s favor.
Though New York state had abolished such institutions in 1938, all states were required to recognize valid marriages from all other states, including those created from common law marriage arrangements. Sheila and John had lived together in Pennsylvania for several years before settling in New York City. During that time, they’d met Pennsylvania’s criteria for common law marriage. Thus, the state of New York, and the FDNY, had to honor that marriage as a legal union.
It took several weeks, dozens of phone calls, numerous face-to-face meetings, tons of paperwork. In the end, however, Aleks got Sheila everything he believed she deserved. She received the $262,000 line-of-duty fireman’s death benefit, plus John’s salary for the rest of her life from the city of New York. She also got John’s $50,000 life insurance policy. Finally, she won a substantial VCF settlement, as well.
By St. Patty’s Day 2002, Sheila was a 9/11 millionaire widow. She sold the Cahill home, moved into a comfortable Queens condo. Aleks helped Sheila invest her newfound wealth, set Jacqui up with a college fund. The “it’s kinda what I do” part of his offer to help her.
When a property just a half mile from Step’s and Nadia’s cabin became available, Step purchased it, deeded it to Aleks Zogu.
Though they spent the occasional weekend and most holidays in their new Sparta home, Aleks and Sheila remained residents of Queens until Jacqui graduated from high school. After which they were soon enjoying the peace, solitude…and quaintness… of the New Jersey countryside. They never missed the frantic madness that was intrinsic to New York City.
On a cool fall day, five years after their post-9/11 experiences, the brothers Zogu celebrated their fortieth birthday. They drank a beer together on Aleks’s backyard patio.
“Ef we ’uz best friends, we’d be Yogi Bear an’ Boo-Boo, we would,” Aleks began.
“Ralph Kramden and Ed Norton,” Step responded.
“Gilligan and the Skipper,” said Aleks, forsaking the cockney accent.
“Mr. Peabody and Sherman,” Step contributed.
“Hmm. Odd duo, but acceptable. Wayne and Garth.”
“Harry and Lloyd.”
“Badger and Bags,” Aleks said, with a wistful smile. His final answer.
Step hadn’t heard his old nickname in ages.
The brothers stopped abruptly, looked at one another, each instinctively aware of what the other was thinking. Aleks raised his left arm, Stepan his right. With tattoos exposed, they crossed forearms.
“Binyak and Binyak!” they said in unison.
• • • • •
EPILOGUE
On the evening of Monday, September 10th, Aleks was working late in the office of A/S/B Financial. He and Step had to submit their plan for the Ferguson account by close of business Friday. He was deep into a spreadsheet that utilized a program Step had written expressly for A/S/B when he thought he heard the soft whoosh of the outer office door opening. He looked up, listened momentarily, heard nothing further, plunged back into his work.
Less than a minute later, he looked up again when his office brightened. The door had whispered open, allowing light from the outer office to filter in. He saw no one at first. Then Connie swung into view, leaned against the doorway. She held a bottle in one hand, two glasses in the other. She wore only a white blouse, unbuttoned, was naked from the waist down. Aleks could see her pubic hair backlit by the outer office lighting. He felt immediately aroused.
“Want some company?” the sexy blond asked coyly.
She didn’t wait for an answer, walked in on high stiletto heels. She set the bottle and the glasses on Aleks’s desk, leaned over to flaunt her ample cleavage.
Aleks was both surprised to see Connie and, at the same time, not at all surprised. Surprised she’d made the late-night trek to the office. Not surprised, because he’d seen her this way many times before.
He knew he’d get no further work done, pushed back his chair, stood, walked around to the front of the desk. Connie had poured them each a drink.
“To us,” the blond temptress toasted before whispering in Aleks’s ear. “To how-about-a-nice-fuck.”
She flicked her tongue inside the ear, tugged at his lobe gently with her teeth.
Aleks sipped his wine. One of his favorite cabernet sauvignons. Connie tossed back the entire contents of her glass, set it down on the desk. She attacked Aleks’s mouth with hers, fumbled to undo his pants. Seconds later, she was straddling him.
That was how Step found them.
Connie turned when she noticed her husband in the doorway. She raised an eyebrow, regarded him with mischievous contempt.
Aleks had closed his eyes as he’d orgasmed, savoring the moment. He opened them to see his twin brother staring from across the room.
“Well, what did you think?” Connie sneered. “That you were man enough for me, little bro?”
“You fucking cunt!” Step roared, storming across the few feet that separated them.
While Aleks struggled to fasten his pants, Step knocked a startled Connie to the floor, got his hands around her throat. Aleks lunged at his brother, managed to knock Step away from Connie. Step was enraged. Hulk-like. He flung Aleks aside, scrambled after the blond. Aleks saw his brother smash a fist down, pummeling Connie’s legs. He tackled Step, once more separating his brother and sister-in-law.
Step flipped Aleks onto his back, clenched his fingers around his throat. Aleks flailed helplessly. Above him, Step’s face was so red it looked black in the dim lights of the office.
“You motherfucker!” the younger twin bellowed.
Spittle flew from his lips like dog slobber.
“You always take what’s mine! She was mine, Aleks! She was mine!”
Step’s grip was vice-like. His fingers like steel talons. Gasping for breath, Aleks closed his eyes. Blackness swept over him. With a final, desperate, herculean burst of strength, he bucked Step off. He gulped air, opening his mouth wide as he struggled to his feet, leaned against the desk.
Step came at him again. Aleks instinctively reached for the wine bottle, intending to bash his brother’s head. Instead, his hand latched onto something of far greater weight. He swung. With a single grunt, Step went down.
Finally able to breath, Aleks leaned against his desk, surveyed the scene. Step was lying on his side on the floor. Not moving. Not breathing. Connie was slumped against a wall, her head lolled to one side. Aleks dropped the object he’d grabbed, knelt at to his brother’s side. He shook him. Step was unresponsive. Aleks shook him again, called his name.
“Step? Stepan!”
The side of Step’s head looked crushed. Aleks placed two fingers against his brother’s neck, could
detect no pulse. Still on one knee, he sat back on his lower leg, held a hand to his forehead in despair.
I killed him, he thought. I fucking killed him!
His gaze drifted in Connie’s direction. He went to her, looked down at the half naked blond. A puddle of blood was soaking into the carpet beneath her. Aleks was momentarily confused, uncertain about why Connie would be bleeding. Why there would be any blood at all, let alone so much of it. Then he saw it. A gold letter opener stuck into the smooth inner thigh of her left leg. He remembered Step pummeling her. His brother must have grabbed the letter opener off the floor, stabbed Connie with it, the blade nicking her femoral artery.
She’d bled to death.
He sat on the floor, his back against the desk. Lying on the carpet near his feet was the object he’d struck Step with. Rodin’s The Thinker. There was blood and hair on the base of the statue. Step’s blood. Step’s hair. Ordinarily, the figure resided on a spot on Aleks’s desk. A reminder to always think things through. The irony wasn’t lost on him.
It had all happened so quickly. One minute, he was enjoying Connie. The next…
He struggled to his feet, felt the sore spots Step’s steely fingers had left on his neck. He searched for something to cover Connie’s half naked torso with, grabbed Step’s coat from the sofa nearby, threw it over her. He quickly grabbed his own coat, hurried toward the door, glancing back briefly.
Step’s body lay lifeless on the carpet. Connie’s not far away. As Aleks turned to go, he heard a faint cough. He could only hope the sound had come from Step.
Binyak?
Connie’s body shook with a second cough.
Aleks let the coat slip out of his arm, rushed to kneel at the blond’s side. Connie’s eyelids fluttered. Her deep blue eyes opened, looked at him imploringly, pleading for his help. Without hesitation he clamped one hand behind her head, the other over her mouth. He held tight. Connie’s eyes opened wider, bounced about with fear. Weak from the loss of blood, the blond had no fight left. It took less than thirty seconds for the life to fully drain out of her.
Aleks gently laid her back against the wall. Her gaze, now lifeless, stared blankly into nothingness. He surveyed the scene a final time, impulsively picked up the statue, wrapped it in Connie’s hand, let it fall to the carpet. Grabbing both coats, he stood, tossed one coat on the chair near the door on his way out.
Hours later, as daylight crept up the sides of the Twin Towers before leaping into the sky, Step stirred. He stared at the simplest of objects lying just inches away from his face. A piece of purposely fashioned wire painted green. Residing on the dark pattern of the carpet on which he’d regained consciousness. He was unable to conjure up the object’s unpretentious name.
Paperclip.
He struggled to sit up, a thunderous ache settling in his right temple. Pounding like the most industrious blacksmith’s hammer against the anvil of his skull. Wincing as each blow struck, he battled to his feet, relying on the desk for support. He scanned the room, unable to place an identifier on anything he saw. Unable to formulate words, phrases, sentences, thoughts. Stumbling across the room toward the door, he glanced at the body of the blond woman as he passed. Her cobalt blue eyes gazed lifelessly.
By the time the tall man lurched through the doorway of the offices of A/S/B Financial, the blond woman was forgotten. The events that had transpired on the eighty-ninth floor of the World Trade Center’s North Tower on the eve of the day that would forever change the future of America – and alter the course of the Bagdasarian brothers’ lives – cowered somewhere in the labyrinth of his damaged memory.
He paused momentarily in the corridor. With the A/S/B logo as a backdrop, his image made a double reflection. One in the glass partition. A second in the glass door, which was opened at just the right angle to create the dual illusion.
The door slowly closed, leaving only the single reflection of the solitary Bagdasarian brother.
• • • THE END • • •
AUTHOR’S PAGE
Thank you for choosing Murder in the North Tower. Hopefully, you found the story intriguing, suspenseful, thought-provoking. I also hope your reading experience met, or exceeded, your expectations. If so, please recommend my book to someone you think would enjoy it.
Cover Acknowledgement
I’d like to extend my heart-felt appreciation to my friend, Joe Kovach, for his outstanding cover design! See more of Joe’s work at http://www.kre8ive.net/.
About the Author
Greg Smith lives in Avon, OH, with his wife of 40 years, Lynn. He enjoys spending time with his family, which presently includes a daughter, a son, two grandsons, a son-in-law, a daughter-in-law and several brothers, sisters and other in-laws. When not writing, he participates in a host of activities, including hiking, camping, bike riding, swimming, basketball and volleyball. He also likes going to movies and working on home repair/remodeling projects.
An aspiring author with an active imagination, he hopes to continue writing during the twilight of his time here on Planet Earth.