“Holy shit. You were amazing! We could have been killed!” Matt said. They had stopped at Max’s, a popular deli on the North Shore, famous for its kosher-style-but-not-really-kosher food. “I couldn’t believe your—um—balls.”
“That’s me. Balls of steel,” Georgia said.
He grinned.
She smiled back. “Honestly, I was shaking in my shoes. At one point I thought he was gonna off me right then and there.” She scanned the menu, which was a tall multipage laminated book. “I hate these things. There are way too many choices. How can you possibly decide?” Georgia went on. “I couldn’t believe the Barry Manilow shit. Was that for real?”
“A hundred percent. In fact, it’s worse since I was there. He’s obsessed.”
“How did it start?”
“No idea.” He paused. “Wishful thinking?”
That brought a giggle from Georgia. It felt good to laugh with Matt. It had been years. In fact the entire day so far had been almost surreal: her reunion with Matt, the visit to the Russian Mafiya boss, now lunch at Max’s. She was about to tell him when the waitress, a middle-aged woman in black pants and white shirt, brought over a bread basket and a bowl of sliced pickles.
“So what’ll it be, kids?” the waitress said in a tired voice.
Georgia ordered matzoh-ball soup. Matt ordered a corned beef sandwich. She wanted to tell him Benny’s were better but resisted.
After they ordered, Georgia picked up a slice of pickle. “I couldn’t figure out how well he knows Vlad.” She bit into the pickle. “A guy like him has to know pretty much everyone in the—uh—community, don’t you think?”
Matt’s tone was sober. “They all know each other. And you’re right not to trust him. They’re bad people. Even him.”
“I get it.”
“Were you bullshitting back there?”
“What are you talking about?”
“That stuff about the Russian mob guy killing his wife.”
She leaned back. A flicker of annoyance shot through her. “Not at all. Happened down near the old Sun-Times building.”
“How did you get involved?”
“You remember Ellie Foreman?”
Matt frowned. “Video producer, right?”
Georgia nodded. “Someone sent her a videotape of a woman being murdered. She turned it over to us. Former Superintendent Olson let me work the case. I found out the vic had been in his clutches.” She took another slice of pickle. “The asshole was into all sorts of shit. Running hookers, drugs, small arms deals. Then he got involved with a Realtor.”
Matt’s features hardened.
“Don’t worry. It wasn’t Stuart Feldman.” She heard the edge in her voice. She and Matt had broken up after he fell in love with Feldman’s daughter, Ricki.
“Damn! Where was I?”
Georgia hesitated just a beat. It was always about him, she thought. Aloud she said, “Who knows? Israel probably.”
“Ahh.” He picked up a bialy, slathered it with butter, and bit into it. “So what happened to him? Where’d he go?”
“They dragged the river but never found a body. I heard he went back to the Ukraine to nurse his wounds.”
Matt chewed his bread. Georgia picked up another slice of pickle. The waitress brought Georgia’s soup and made a big deal of putting it down. Georgia was aware of Matt watching and smiling as she wolfed down the pickle. They were her favorites. Did he remember?
“A lot can happen in a few years, Georgia,” he said.
She got the sense he wasn’t just talking about the Russian Mafiya. She looked over. Gray hairs were threaded through the black curly waves she knew so well. Still. She steered the conversation back to Boris.
“So do you think he’ll back me?”
Matt considered it. “Depends on how he analyzes the situation. But I do know one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You made an impression. I don’t think a woman has ever talked to him like that.” He cleared his throat. “You made an impression on me, too.”