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by Alan Sidransky
About the novel
“Unintended Consequences” is the story of two men living decades and continents apart but whose lives collide when one is murdered and the other is the detective in charge of the investigation.
In attempting to solve the crime our protagonist, Detective Anatoly Kurchenko, comes across a series of diaries written by the dead man over four decades. The diaries’ story leads Kurchenko to the murderer and helps him to sort out his own complex emotions about who he is, where he came from and where he is going.
Spanning 65 years and three continents, from Hitler’s Europe to the decaying Soviet Empire of the 1970s, to the jungles of the Dominican Republic in the 1940s and finally to Washington Heights in the 21st century, “Unintended Consequences” leads us through a world rarely written about in the literature of New York City.
Washington Heights, NYC
30 October 2005
7:00 PM
Tolya pushed his way through the crowd across the sawhorse barriers onto the next block of Bennett Ave. Dressed in somber shades, grey and black, dark green and brown, colors more appropriate for a funeral than the celebration they were attending, the women, huddled together gossiping as the men whirled in ecstasy embracing their holy books. Spontaneously, they began clapping their hands, chanting along with the men. As Kurchenko pushed his way through the throng a woman’s elbow collided with his ribs as she swung her arms.
“Sorry,” she said.
He continued walking forward without acknowledging her.
They look like the pictures in those books in primary school. What was the caption? His mind switched back and forth between Russian and English as he remembered the text. The Jews are oppressed by their religion and the capitalist system. Communism will liberate them! If only they had let it.
He wedged his way between the dark coated men packed into the street in front of the synagogue. Not able to move further he flashed his badge at a middle-aged, overweight, man wiping beads of sweat from his brow with a stained handkerchief despite the cold night air.
“Are you Jewish officer?” asked the fat man.
“Yes I am and that would be detective,” Tolya answered him.
“Would you like to dance with the Torah?”
“Perhaps later.” Scanning the crowd impatiently not knowing who or what exactly he was searching for Tolya said, “I’m looking for Shalom Rothman,” turning back toward the fat man.
“Shalom? Oh, of course he’s right there,” the fat man said, pointing towards a tall, thin man dancing with a torah. “Nothing wrong I hope, baruch haShem?”
“No, nothing,” Tolya said, feigning a smile. He hated that expression. “I just need to speak with him.”
“Please wait here, I’ll get him for you.”
Tolya watched the fat man push his way through the crowd toward the dancers, the tinny sound of the music coming through the antique speakers reverberating against the exterior walls of the apartment buildings on all sides of the street. The fat man tapped a tall, thin man in a regulation black suit and wide brimmed hat on the shoulder from behind. The man turned and handed him the holy scroll. Taking it, the fat man whispered something in his ear. The tall, thin man’s gaze followed the fat man’s outstretched arm in Tolya’s direction and then walked towards him.
Tolya extended his hand holding his badge toward the tall, thin man. “Are you Shalom Rothman?” he asked.
“Yes,” the man answered.
“I’m detective Anatoly Korchencko. I’m looking for Steven Redmond. Can you take me to him please?”
“I am Steven Redmond,” Rothman answered.
Rachel stood among the women watching her husband and their son. She rubbed her elbow where it had collided with the stranger watching Baruch with relief. How much progress he’s made this past year, baruch haShem. Now at least, he could stand with the men, participate in the celebration, even if they won’t let him touch the Torah. They can’t take a chance that he might drop it. He’s closer to haShem now.
She felt someone tapping her on the shoulder from behind. She turned and saw it was Miriam.
“Rachel,” Miriam said. “Look there, look what’s going on,” she said, pointing towards the stretcher being rolled out of 105 Bennett.
“I see,” Rachel said, turning quickly away as the paramedics slid the stretcher into the rear of the ambulance. “Baruch haShem, it’s not one of us.” She turned back towards her son and husband on the other side of the barrier.
“I thought you said you’re Shalom Rothman,” Tolya said to the tall, thin man, speaking loudly over the noise.
“I’m both,” he replied. “My given name is Steven Redmond, but I go by Shalom Rothman. It’s rather involved.”
“I’m detective Kurchencko,” Tolya said, flashing his badge again. “If you don’t mind could we step over there for a moment,” pointing towards the edge of the crowd. “I need to speak to you privately.”
“Certainly,” said Shalom.
They walked down West 186th Street towards Broadway, the volume of the music decreasing as they gained distance from the crowd. When they reached the corner of Broadway Shalom turned towards Tolya and asked, “How can I help you officer?”
“You are Steven Redmond?” Tolya asked again.
“Yes, I told you, I am.”
“Mr. Redmond,” Tolya said, pausing, “or should I call you…your other name?
“I prefer Rothman but Redmond is fine officer,” Shalom replied.
“That’s detective.”
“Sorry.” Shalom said.
Tolya watched Shalom’s gaze shifting back towards the crowd.
“Is Max Redmond your father?” he asked.
“Yes,” Shalom replied. “Why?”
“He was just taken to the hospital.”
Tolya observed Shalom’s gaze snapp back to him. I’ve got his attention now.
“My father?”
“Yes, his maid found him beaten on the floor of the bathroom.”
Shalom put one hand against the wall of the building they were standing next to, his other hand grabbing his hat.
“I’m afraid I have to ask you to come with me,” Kurchenko said.
“Now?” Shalom said turning his head back towards the crowd again.
“Yes now. We can take you to the hospital to see him but we’ll need to speak with you first.”
“Officer, um I mean detective, I’m sorry but…” Shalom stammered.
Tolya watched his gaze shifting again, back and forth between him and the crowd. “But what Mr. Roth…Redmond?
“I have to explain to you, I can’t do that, I can’t travel by car, it’s a holy day.’
“I see,” said Tolya. He can’t be fucking serious.
Rachel was captured by the rhythm of the chanting and the clapping. She loved the niggunim, the wordless repetitive chants that brought them closer to haShem. She closed her eyes and let the music sweep over her. When she opened them again the scene had changed. Shalom wasn’t dancing, he was gone. She searched for him and for Baruch.
“Miriam,” she said, her heart racing, “where is Shalom? Do you see him? I don’t see him.”
“He’s there,” Miriam said, pointing towards the nearer barricade.
“And Baruch?”
“There with Shimmy Eisenstein. Relax Rachel. He’s fine,” Miriam said touching Rachel’s arm to reassure her.
“Thank you Miriam,” Rachel said, still unsure of the situation. It was never good to leave Baruch with strangers even if they were strangers he knew. Her eyes moved back to where Shalom was standing. He was gone. He’d been speaking with that strange man, the one who had banged into her arm.
“I’m sorry Mr. Redmond, or Rothman or whatever you call yourself,” Tolya said. “Did I just hear you right? You can’t attend to your father because it’s a holy day and you can’t travel by car?” Tolya said leaning in towards Shalom.
“Yes, I did say that,” Shalom replied, taking a step back.
These people are insane. The memory of his own father lying dead in that hospital room swept through his mind. He would have done anything to have gotten there just a few minutes earlier, anything to have said his goodbye. He took a deep breath. “Well, you are then a man of principles I suppose, so I have some good news and some bad news for you,” he said his accent thickening a little as it always did when he became irritated.
“Excuse me?” replied Shalom.
“Good news and bad news,” Korchenko repeated. “The good news is you won’t need to ride in a car. You can walk. Your father was taken to Columbia Presbyterian, that’s only about twenty blocks. The bad news is you’ll be coming with us now, first to the station house around the corner and then you can proceed on foot to Columbia at your earliest convenience.”
“Now?” asked Shalom, looking back at the crowd again.
“Yes now.”
“But it’s YomTov…”
“Mr. Redmond,” Tolya said, using Shalom’s father’s name to intimidate him just a little bit more, “I don’t care what day it is, you will be coming with me now.”
Tolya smiled to himself as he watched Shalom deflate, his shoulders and back hunched in defeat.
“Alright officer…”
“That’s detective,” Tolya snapped.
“Detective, yes,” Shalom replied. “Let me collect my wife and son. I will meet you back in here five minutes.”
“No, we’ll go together.”
Alan Sidransky is a full time Health & Wellness Consultant, classically trained chef and author. He owns his own health and wellness consultancy, Focused Fitness NYC, with venues on both the Upper West Side and in Washington Heights. He lives in Washington Heights with his wife and son. He is a life long New Yorker.
He has completed one novel, “Plan B,” for which he is seeking a publisher and is currently working on a second novel, “Unintended Consequences,” from which this excerpt was taken. To read the first chapter of his work in progress, printed in the Manhattan Times on May 25, visit www.mahattantimesnews.com.
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