Orlov holds and hides a knife in the palm of his hand. I know almost nothing about knives, but I happen to know that this one is a Laguiole en Aubrac Shepherd’s Knife. It is a favorite glamorous Christmas gift for dads and big brothers back in Walkers Pasture. The knife is both sharp and beautiful. It is especially grotesque when held near Tyonna’s beautiful little face. My mind flashes to Tyonna’s neck sliced almost through, her tiny head dangling from her tiny shoulders.

I look at the woman. “How can you, Nina? Are you a mother? Don’t do this.” For a second, she locks her eyes with mine. I think I see understanding.

Nina says something in Russian to Orlov. I, of course, have no idea what her words mean, but as Orlov answers her I find the courage that only real fear can bring on: my voice memo app is, as almost always, open and easily accessed, since I use it frequently to take notes about patients. So I slip my hand into the pocket of my shorts and press the Record button.

At least I think I do. I hope I do.

Orlov and Nina exchange a few angry sentences in Russian. And then—

And then suddenly I wake up on the concrete ground. My face is swollen. My right knee aches. Tyonna is gone.

A young woman helps me sit up. Then I struggle to my feet. My knee feels as if it’s on fire.

I can see Orlov and Nina in the distance. They are not running, but they are walking fast, disappearing fast. I should scream for help. But the knife…

I have no chance of catching up to them, but I stand and hobble in their direction. I watch Nina and Orlov slip into the back seat of a big black car.

I stand where I am and cry. I am trembling. I am cold and wet and hot and dry, all at once. Strangers have gathered around me. A few of them have already called 911. In the mumble-grumble of the crowd, I hear, “The baby. The woman had a baby.” And “They took the baby. They took this woman’s baby.” I am crying.

For the first time I am in a total panic. I am alone. I screwed up so badly.

A young black man is speaking to me. “I got just the beginning, the beginning of the license plate is ‘W7.’ That’s all I got. I’m sorry.”

Me, too. W7. That’s all I got.

Chapter 55

Chapter 55

Leños Bar Restaurant
Jackson Heights, Queens, New York