Heads You Win

“Come with me,” she said, taking his hand. “I have a surprise for you.” She led him through to the storeroom at the back of the shop. Alex wasn’t sure what to say when his eyes fell on a rack of suits, jackets, and a blazer as well as a smart black topcoat. “I’ve already had the trousers altered, so they should fit perfectly. Mind you,” she added, taking a closer look at him, “you’ve lost some weight.”

“How can I begin to thank you?” he said. He hoped he also had a surprise for her, although it would have to wait until his mother agreed.

“That’s only the beginning,” said Addie, as she pointed to a shelf behind the clothes rack, piled high with a dozen shirts that hadn’t been taken out of their boxes, a dark green cashmere sweater, three pairs of leather shoes, and half a dozen ties that looked as if they’d never been worn.

“What more could a man ask for?” said Alex.

“Wait, it’s not over yet,” said Addie, picking up a brand-new leather attaché case. “Just what an up-and-coming businessman needs when attending important meetings.”

“Where’s all this come from?”

“Everything came from the same source, a man who, frankly, has more than enough.”

“How much do I owe you?”

“Not a penny. It’s no more than a conquering hero deserves. We’re all so proud of you being awarded the Silver Star.”

“Well, the least I can do is take you to dinner tonight,” said Alex, leaning down to kiss her. But just as their lips were about to touch, Addie turned away, and he ended up brushing her cheek.

“I’m afraid I’m not free tonight,” she said.

“Tomorrow night then?”

“Tonight or any other night.” She began to fold up the clothes and pack them into bags.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m going to marry the man who has too many suits,” said Addie, holding up her left hand.

*   *   *

Alex was coming out of a lecture at NYU when he saw them standing in the corridor, conspicuously failing to blend in. They would have been hard to miss, dressed in their dark, well-cut suits and polished shoes among a group of students wearing faded jeans, scruffy T-shirts, and well-worn sneakers.

Alex recognized one of them straightaway. Not a man he could easily forget.

“Good morning, Mr. Karpenko,” said Agent Hammond. “You’ll remember my partner, Agent Travis. Could we have a word with you in private?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Yes, of course,” said Hammond.

Alex placed his hands behind his back and whispered, “Arrest me. Handcuff me, and read me my rights.”

“What are you talking about?” said Travis.

“It will at least give me some credibility with this lot,” dissed Alex, as several students stopped to stare at them.

“If you’re not going to cooperate, Karpenko, you’ll have to come with us,” said Travis at the top of his voice. He then grabbed Alex by the arm and marched him down the corridor to accompanying jeers and cheers. They stopped at a door with the word DEAN stenciled in black on its pebbled-glass window. Travis opened the door and pushed Alex inside.

There was no sign of the dean or his secretary. The CIA did seem to have a gift for making people disappear, thought Alex. Travis released him the moment the door had closed behind them, and they sat down at a small square table in the center of the room.

“Thank you,” Alex said. “Now at least one or two of them might still talk to me.”

“What’s their problem?” asked Hammond.

“If you’ve served in Vietnam, don’t take drugs, never get drunk, and actually hope to come out of this place with a degree, not many of them want to know you. So what can I do for you gentlemen?”

“First,” said Hammond, extracting the inevitable files from his briefcase, “we’d like to bring you up to date on what happened to your former chess partner, Ivan Donokov, while you were away in Vietnam.”

At the mention of Donokov’s name, Alex felt sick, and tried to stop himself trembling.

“Thanks to you, we were able to arrest him, along with several of his associates. They’re now all safely behind bars.”

“For how long?”

“Ninety-nine years, in Donokov’s case,” said Travis, “without parole.”

“Let’s hope his cell mate’s a Grand Master, otherwise he’s going to get very bored,” said Alex. The three men laughed for the first time. “That can’t be the only reason you wanted to see me.”

“No, it isn’t,” said Hammond. “We felt we owe you one. We know you’re now down to your last market stall, and its license comes up for renewal next month. We also know that the landlord, Mr. Wolfe, will try to extract a price you can’t afford.”

“But more important,” said Alex, “do you know why?”

“Yes,” said Hammond. “Our colleagues in the FBI have a cabinet full of files dedicated to Mr. Wolfe, but they’ve never been able to lay a finger on him. However, they’ve passed on some information that might be of interest to you.” He nodded toward his colleague, who proceeded to explain exactly why Wolfe needed to be in possession of the licenses for every stall in Market Square by midday on June 17. “And yours is now the only one left.”

“Thank you,” said Alex. “Although I should have worked it out for myself.”