The Ice Breaker

The Ice Breaker(Raya Dimitrova) Raya Dimitrova
The Ice-Breaker
A five-minute crime story

The ice breaker made him cold, ICE-cold.

Prologue
-Well, let’s begin our first lab session with brief introductions-something to break the ice. We are going around the room in circles and everybody please tell me your name, major, and something surprising about yourself.
- Hi, everyone. My name is Julie, I am a nursing major and I was an alternate for the Dominican Republic judo team at the London Olympics.
-Excellent, Julie! Nursing is a very valuable profession nowadays. What about you?
-Well, my name is Martin, I major in criminal justice and I have always dreamed of becoming an FBI agent infiltrating the Russian mafia and breaking up all these drug, money-laundering, and prostitution rings.
-Wow, Martin! It seems you have such a plan. You like watching movies, don’t you. OK, my future nurses and officers, let’s begin our overview of the exam essay structure. The funny thing is that I don’t remember my students by their names or faces, but by their majors.


Five Years Later
“Mom, is daddy going to take me to the circus this Sunday?” Seven-year-old Sashenka took a big bite off his strawberry jam blinna. He hasn’t seen his father, Special Agent Martin Komaritzky, for a very long time. Since Agent Komaritzky was sent on a very dangerous sting operation, he would come home only sporadically, often tired and moody, and wouldn’t give his son anything more than a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“I really don’t know, honey,” Yelena, Martin’s wife, sighed, as she spread more jam on her blinna. “But, even if he can’t, I will have you go with Auntie Galia and little Veronica. Remember how you danced with her at the school Christmas party and got first prize? Here,” she put some cream onto his plate, “have some cream.”
“Mom, Veronichka’s daddy, Uncle Kyriusha, was there when we were dancing. And Sissy’s dad was there, and Jimmy’s. How come only my dad never comes?” Sashenka pushed his plate aside.

Yelena sighed deeply and looked at the ceiling. How could she tell her only son that his father never came to the school dances or plays because he had been posing as a soldier for one of the most dangerous and merciless mafia men - Vlad “The Japanese” Kirilov, wanted by Interpol for international human trafficking, drug trade, and money laundering. She knew how the mafia man was untouchable by the law for he had bought cops from Moscow to Brooklyn. She knew he had killed by cutting them piece by piece. Above all, she knew how he dealt with snitches; he let them live but murdered all their loved ones. She couldn’t exactly tell Sashenka that daddy wasn’t clapping for him at the dance because they would be gunned down the moment they stepped out of the school building.

“Sashenka, don’t get angry!” She gently tapped her son on the shoulder. “I am sure that maybe your dad will be able to take some time off work and come to your graduation. And if you don’t want to go with Galichka and Veronichka, mommy will take you. I will make sure to finish my homework the night before.” Sashenka looked at her, then gathered his addition-and-subtraction worksheet and mumbled he was going to do his homework, too.
“And, mommy, is Tania coming today? I don’t want you to be late for your writing class.”

Yelena’s only escape from this life on edge were the classes she was taking at the local community college, where she had actually met her future husband- a then criminal justice student named Martin. She had been determined to get a degree in education and, once she graduated and her husband’s assignment was over, they would all go live somewhere in Florida or Southern California where she would teach. When would the assignment be over?

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. The one time Tania shows promptly, Yelena thought as she headed for the door. I have been thinking of getting a different nanny. “Tanichka…,” she started speaking when she opened the door. Yet, it wasn’t the petite high-school junior standing on her doorstep but two strangers- a burly man with salt-and-pepper hair and a tall slender redhead woman. They were wearing black suits and had grim looks on their faces.
"Oh, I’m sorry.” Yelena stepped back, studying them cautiously. “How can I help you?”
The man cleared his throat, “Are you Ms. Yelena Komaritzky, the wife of Special Agent Martin Komaritzky?” Yelena froze for a second. How did they know that? Were they sent by Vlad “The Japanese” to kill her… and Sashenka? She looked back at the kitchen table with the blinnas and the Sir Cumference books on it then turned her glance back to them. “Who are you?” The man shuffled in his pocket and produced an ID attached to a silver badge, “I am Agent Philip DiPrima, FBI,” he pointed to the woman, “and this is my partner, Agent Maryanne Strickland.” The female agent nodded without making eye contact with the wife. “M’am,“ the agent continued, “this afternoon there was a shooting in the storage of Yalta Mini Market, and your husband is the victim.” Agent Strickland tapped her on the arm. “The doctors did everything within their power, he was put on life support, yet it didn’t do much. Your husband passed away. We are sorry to be the ones to tell you.”

Life support, Yalta Mini Market, shooting. All this was forming a storm in Yelena’s head and yet made little sense. Yalta Mini Market was one of the cheapest and yet best gourmet stores in the whole of Brooklyn. Even though the owners’ reputation was quite dubious, people from all over the borough were going there to buy blinnas, cheese, and above all, the famous smoked frankfurters. But her husband… She could only recall that on the rare occasions he visited, he would bring bagful’s of sweets and pastries from Yalta. So, now he is d… She wouldn’t let the word enter her mind.
Then, Yelena looked the agents straight in the eyes, “No, that is not possible. This is our favorite store. No shooting could happen there. There must be a mistake!” The male agent scratched his head. “I am afraid not, Ms. Komaritzky. We were able to retrieve his wire and his undercover ID from his sock. Witnesses said they heard him arguing with a customer.” Agent Strickland grabbed her gently by the hand, “Are you well enough, because we are obligated to take you to the morgue to recognize the body?” Yelena felt a tear drop from her eye. She sobbed as the female agent put a supportive arm around her shoulder. “I know it’s hard, Ms. Komaritzky, I know. Still, we have to go. Also, we will take your son and put him in foster care until you get better.” “And I give you my word, M’am,” the burly agent added, ”that all who are responsible for that atrocious act will be brought to swift justice.”

Clutching the binder under her arm, Yelena was heading for her tutoring appointment at the tutoring center of Oceanside Community College. It was almost a week after the funeral with the bagpipes and fancy salutes that wouldn’t bring her husband back in a million years. Sashenka was moved from foster care to Galia’s and was doing much better, even falling in love with Veronica. Yelena had taken some time off from her part-time job as a receptionist in a dental clinic and the only reason she ever left the house was to come to the college for tutoring. She had an excellent writing tutor, an Argentinian graduate student named Mia. Mia had let Yelena cry on her shoulder, looked after Sashenka, even attended Martin’s funeral. The tutoring center and Mia - that was Yelena’s escape.

“So,” Mia said in her always cheerful Spanish-accented voice, “what do we get to work on today? Your personal statement for the teaching college, Elissa?” “It’s Yelena.” Yelena smiled shyly, her only annoyance with Mia being that she could never get her name right. “Maybe I will use what happened with my husband as an example. I plan to say that I want to be a teacher because I want to show the students that there are other paths in life besides committing crimes. I am sure this is what Martin would have wanted me to do.” At the mention of her husband’s name, Yelena felt a knot at the back of her throat, a knot she couldn’t swallow. The tutor looked at her, then looked away. The topic of the personal statement seemed so striking but Yelena always got so emotional. “Listen,” Mia said “if you want me to, I can refer you to some counseling services on campus. We have a bereavement group, we have the Women’s Resource Center. There is help, you know?” Yelena wiped a tear and shook her head, “No, I will be fine. Let’s get back to the opening paragraph.”

Suddenly, Agent DiPrima and Agent Strickland walked in. They spotted Yelena talking passionately to Mia and turned to Samantha, the girl at the front desk. “Good morning, may we have a word with,“ Agent DiPrima nodded in Yelena’s direction “the tutee, Ms. Komaritzka?” Samantha looked them up and down, “Well, can you wait until her session is over?" “I am afraid not, honey!” Agent Strickland interjected. “And, what we need to talk to her about is of a very sensitive nature so we may need a more secluded space, if you could offer us one.“ Then she took out her badge and showed it to Samantha. Yelena cast a glance at their direction and, upon spotting the two agents, she made the wait sign to Mia and quickly ran to their side. “What?” she said nervously. Then she turned to Samantha mouthing 'it’s OK'. Agent DiPrima asked if there was a more secure room they could go to. “Y-y-es,” stammered Yelena. “Samantha, the mini-library in the back is available, right?” “Hm, yeah!” The receptionist mumbled and stared at her computer screen.

“Ms. Komaritzka, we have some news that may make you feel better.” Agent DiPrima said while displacing an old book from the small wooden table in the mini-library. “Vlad Kirilov, the man who murdered your husband, has been captured. We are going to bring him on all murder charges and he will most likely get the death penalty.” Yelena looked around, wondering whether taking another man’s life would really make her feel better and, most importantly, bring Sashenka’s daddy to his graduation ceremony. “Furthermore,” the female agent added, “we got a lead on who might have ratted him out. The investigation is coming to a close.” Then, she flashed Yelena a picture of a pretty young policewoman smiling. “Detective Valentina Galiga. We were able to retrieve footage of her having conversations with Vlad, ‘The Japanese’ even having a drink with him at a Russian aperitif. We are keeping a leash on her and it is a matter of time before she is captured, too.” Strickland put the photo back into her purse and handed Yelena a business card. “Here is my card. If you need us for anything, just call us. Sorry to disrupt your tutoring, but we thought you just should know.” Yelena nodded politely and showed them the door that was ajar.

You think you are some kind of a big-shot movie star, you community college dude? Here is what you get for your fancy criminal justice degree [shots]. Mia was standing in front of the mini-library door, holding a recorder in her hand. The agents looked at each other questioningly and Yelena stared at her tutor. “Mia, what is this about?” She said pleadingly. The tutor handed the recorder to Agent Strickland and put her hands forward. “Here, handcuff me,” she almost cried “because I am the reason Special Agent Martin Komaritzky died. If it weren’t for the price of the stupid smoked frankfurters I planned to buy for dinner…” The female agent looked at the recorder and put it into her purse. “Who the hell are you, young lady? What the hell are you talking about?”
“I was Martin’s, I mean Marty’s, lab instructor for remedial writing!” Mia looked at the three of them. “He was one of my best and most determined students, wanting to make a difference in the world! When he finally graduated from Oceanside Community College, I thought I would never ever see him again. Then, one day I was at Yalta Mini Market, buying some slightly overpriced smoked frankfurter, arguing for the price for most college tutors are so underpaid. And, and there he was, fixing prices. I knew I had seen him somewhere, yet I didn’t recall his name, but I recalled his major:” Mia yelled, “criminal justice, with ambitions of becoming an FBI agent infiltrating the Russian mafia and breaking up all these drug, money-laundering, and prostitution rings. I knew it was him, and I was surprised after all these years of study he had taken the menial job of doing inventory, not realizing that…” The Argentinian girl burst in tears.

Yelena stared at Mia in disbelief. Agent DiPrima tapped his handcuffs. Agent Strickland tossed the recorder from hand to hand.

“We should have been more careful not dropping it off!” The female agent sighed, glancing at her partner. He had his hand on the handcuffs, staring at the crying Mia and bewildered Yelena.