Belzer isn't a cop; he just plays one on TV

Dimitri Gromyko, the proprietor, grinned broadly at me as I walked in. The place was very, very Russian. Dark walls, scarlet drapes drooping to the floor, subdued lighting, closely spaced tables, and a musical group singing folk songs in the native tongue. He greeted me with "Dobro pozhalovat, Richard." I replied with my best attempt to sound Russian. Dimitri's bright teeth appeared underneath his bushy mustache. "Rudy is waiting at his usual table."

I walked back past the bar where bottles of fine vodka lined the shelves, past the little stage where the quartet was singing some song that sounded suspiciously like "Back in the USSR," and through the narrow aisles of tables, each covered with a nice white tablecloth. The place had a savory smell that was all its own.

Rudy looked deep in thought. His head jerked suddenly as I sat opposite him, then he nodded.

"Belz, good evening."

"You look like a man with a lot on his mind," I said. He'd already ordered two glasses of Stolichnaya for us. His was now empty. A waiter came by and filled it up. He looked at me, like he expected me to down it in one shot and get a refill, but I needed something in my stomach first. I'm not a whiskey-and-a-raw-egg-for-breakfast kind of guy.

"I'll wait a bit on that," I said. "In the meantime, give me some coffee."

He nodded, set a basket of bread down on the table, and left, taking the bottle of Stoli with him.

"And where is your beautiful wife?" Rudy asked.

"Harlee's in France at the moment," I said. "I'm on my own for a few weeks while we wrap up this round of shooting."

"Ah, the television show. It goes well?"

"You tell me. You haven't been watching it?"

"Of course I have. I wouldn't miss my dearest friend in action."

"Now I know you want something," I said, grinning, "laying a compliment like that on me before we've even decided who's going to pick up the check." I saw a hint of something in his eyes. A catch, a hesitation. "What's bothering you?"

He lifted his eyebrows and tried to cover. "No, no, I merely wanted to ask you something."

"Shoot."

Video   'Law & Order' star on new book Oct. 17: Richard Belzer, star of NBC’s “Law & Order: SVU,” chats with the ladies about the show’s new episodes and his new book “I Am Not a Cop!” Today show

His face twitched fractionally, as if my metaphor had slapped him. He recovered quickly. "I know you're very well schooled in police work, yes?"

I waited for him to continue.

"Then you must know quite a bit about police work."

"Yeah, I've done a few ride-alongs with the cops now and then. Why?"

He compressed his lips, looked at me for a hard five seconds, and said, "I have a somewhat delicate matter for which I may need some police advice."

"Hey, I am not a cop," I said with a grin. "I only play one on TV."

"I know you have some good friends on the force."

"As I'm sure you do. How many years did you spend with the ME's office?"

He took a deep breath, but just then our waiter showed up with my coffee and two menus. After he set everything in front of us, he said he'd be back.

"You were saying ... "

His head shook, his mouth twisting slightly. "Nothing. It is not important. I had a matter about which I wished to get some advice, but I will tell you about it another time."

I figured it was best to wait until he was ready. Far be it from me to pry into someone else's problems. Eventually, they seem to always have a way of morphing into your own.

"And at the moment, I have something else of much greater import." Rudy held up two tickets of some kind. I tried to see what they were, but he kept them facedown as he handed me one and said, "Alexi's fight tomorrow night at the Garden. I know how much you love boxing matches."

Alexi Zotkin was the reigning heavyweight champ for one of the alpha-bet organizations that had splintered the boxing game for the past three decades. He'd been listed as the best of the growing numbers of Eastern European boxers who'd started their training in old Soviet-era Russia as young teenagers, and then turned pro after the fall and had come to Amer-ica hoping to make the big bucks. Alexi had succeeded. The sports page had recently run a feature on him under the headline "The Russians Aren't Coming, They're Here." Not only was he one of the three current champs, he was also recognized by Ring Magazine as the number one heavyweight, which was almost as good as having your name engraved on the official Ring belt.

I started to hand the ticket back to him, but he made a little shooing gesture with his fingers. All I could think to say was "Wow."

Rudy grinned. "I have two tickets in the third row. I was hoping you'd be interested in accompanying me there so we can watch Alexi get one step closer to unifying the title."

"Even the old KGB couldn't stop me."

That one made him grimace. I should have known better. He'd told me once — after we'd pretty much polished off a bottle of old Stoli by ourselves — of his early youth under the Soviets. "It vas all secret police and terror," he'd said, his accent growing thicker under the influence of the booze. Tonight, as he sat across from me, his clear blue eyes hinted at his previous life under the oppressors. In his case, Big Brother did a lot more than just watch. "I still have a mistrust of police, even in this country. I remember how I could never bring myself to trust them completely." He shook his head again. "Power brings corruption, and absolute power..."

"Corrupts absolutely," I said.

"Let us hope," he said now, "that they don't try."

"Seriously, Rudy, what's going on? If there's anything I can do — "

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