Blood Hound

Chapter 13

Vanya’s house wasn’t Vanya’s actual residence, the split-level with his wife and children and Great Dane. When the muzhiki of the Organization said they were going to Vanya’s, they meant the Coney Island penthouse with the wraparound windows, fully stocked bar, and generously proportioned callgirls.

I was so angry I was running a fever. A few seconds after I banged on the door, I heard a shuffling, lurching rustle from inside. An unfamiliar blonde woman answered, dressed in nothing but one of Vanya’s enormous striped business shirts. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She had dried flakes of lipstick stuck to her lips. “Allo?”

“They’re expecting me.” The woman’s shirt was open. I looked down sharply, staring at her vivid pink toenails. “Here to pick up Vassily.”

She laughed a shrill laugh that was the same color as her nail polish and let me pass. “Vasyl? Vasyl is no good, my friend. He bombed it out.”

I ground my teeth on the way past, scoping the room. Every single light in the house was on, the TV was on but tuned to a dead channel, the screen humming and blank. The fancy granite breakfast counter was cluttered with bottles, cigarette butts, and empty takeout containers. Mikhail lay face-down on the white leather sofa in his briefs. He still had the cordless phone in his hand, and peered up at me as I went by. “Sh’Lexi! You wan’ Vvvasya? He’s, he’s…”

That was as far as he got before he had to lie back down and think about it some more. Fortunately, I already knew where Vassily would be.

The guest bedroom, like the rest of Vanya’s house, was a study in Orientalist fetishism, with rice paper screens and fake silk and geisha dolls. Vanya was an Eric Lustbader fan, and despite being a racist slob, he had a thing for Japanese decor. His house was a temple to mafiya excess, wealth he gained through managing AEROMOR on Sergei’s behalf. The guest bedroom was usually clean, in a sleazy, tasteless sort of way, but I was aghast to find it close and dank. Bags of trash were piled next to a dusty paper screen. The bed was unmade, empty whiskey bottles and beer cans scattered next to the dresser. The red silk sheets were dark with sweat.

The en suite door was open and occupied. I turned into the doorway and stopped, lips pressed together in a bloodless line as my gaze flicked from one point to the next. Vassily, naked and half-sprawled over the edge of the bathtub. A half-finished bottle of pepper horilka spilled beside him. A razor, powder residue, and an empty cellophane twist left on the lid of the toilet.

My stomach twisted in a very unpleasant way at the sour smell of vomit and alcohol. My hands ached, fingertips burning against the leather pads. I went over and nudged Vassily with a toe. A thin groan peeled from his lips, and the corners of my eyes began to tic.

“You idiot.” I hauled Vassily’s head back by the hair, pulled my glove off and jammed my fingers in against his pulse. He was alive, at least, but his heartbeat was thready and quick. “You goddamn idiot. Where the fuck did you get coke? Why the fuck are you doing coke?!”

“Lekshiii?” Vassily looked right through me. His nose was bloody, his eyes huge in a very pale, very sweaty face.

“Yes. Lexi, you insufferable, lying moron.” My voice rose in anger. I should have been gentle, but I couldn’t bring myself to baby him. I hauled Vassily back by his underarms and propped him against the side of the spa tub, fighting down the very real urge to kick him in the teeth. Instead, I pulled the glove back on and started the water to wash away the mess in the tub. “Ka’kovo ’hooya? What the fuck do you think you’re doing?! What’ll Mariya say to this? Don’t think I won’t tell her.”

Vassily cringed away from my voice. He tried to reply, but as the words formed, so did the next round of spew. I clapped a hand on his skull and turned his head just in time, pointing his mouth at the porcelain so he puked violently into Vanya’s fancy hot tub.

Between the noise and the smell and the fatigue from the night before, I was going to go off like an atom bomb. I left him to purge and stalked back out into the bedroom, looking for something to keep me busy besides homicide, anything to take the edge off the boiling, seething anger. I ended up stripping the bedsheets, taking the trash out into the kitchen, and putting the room in order, cleaning until the retching stopped. Only then did I go back inside the bathroom. Vassily was lying on his side on the floor, back turned towards me. I could see the fragile, serrated line of his spine, the play of muscles under the huge cross tattoo on his back.

In the doorway, I paused for a moment and sighed.

I mopped Vassily’s face and hands before I eased him over my lap, cradling his cold weight in my arms. It was the first time I’d seen him undressed since he’d gotten out of prison, and now that there was time to look, I noticed things I hadn’t had time to see before. He had a shank scar on his forearm: that was new. He was thinner, his ribs visible through his skin. His nails were cracked. The sight of his toenails, ridged from years of poor nutrition and high stress, brought me back to myself. I looked down the tattooed length of Vassily’s body and then back to his face. He was rousing slowly, gaze wandering as he swam back to consciousness. Eventually, he fixed on my face. His eyes were as bright as black stars, and the expression of intoxicated longing in them made my mouth feel full and blue and bittersweet.

“Moron,” I rumbled. “Can you sit up?”

“Sure. Maybe.” Vassily rasped.

I eventually got him upright and, with some flailing arms and careful bracing, limped over with him to the bed. We had shared a double bed as young boys, but it was odd climbing in beside him as an adult. I was still furious and desperately needed sleep, and because I couldn’t sleep, I wanted to beat the shit out of something. But I couldn’t do that, either.

It was close to an hour before Vassily stirred again. I hadn’t realized I was dozing until his arm groped over my chest, startling me out of a frustrated, dizzy reverie.

“Lekshi?”

My eyes didn’t want to open. When they did, I glared at the rows of paper lamps overhead. They were gaudy and pointless. “What?”

“Sorry.” Vassily patted me awkwardly. Chest, belly, arm. “You’re… good friend. Good. Sorry.”

“If you keep touching me like that, I will break your fingers.”

“Sorry. Was real worried, you know. When you… gone. Sh’ I knew… Lekshi’s real good. Real tough. Sorry.”

I wasn’t certain what Vassily was apologizing for, but it didn’t sound like he was apologizing for the right thing. I frowned. “You listen to me, because I’m only going to say it once. I spent nearly half my childhood dealing with this sort of shit, and I’m not going to put up with it with you.”

“Put up? With what, Lekshi?”

“This bullshit. Your addiction.” I sat up and turned so he couldn’t see my face. “You’re going to clean yourself up.”

“Hey, hey. What? I’m not… not…”

“No. That’s not how this works. I know it’s not how it works. And if you don’t get clean, that’s it. You’re moving out. I won’t have this in my house.”

My words hung in another protracted period of silence. When Vassily spoke again, his voice cracked. “That’s fucked. You’d break off with me because… ‘cause I went on a bender?”

I knew what cocaine did to people. I’d never used, never dreamed of using, but I’d seen enough people use it like this to know what happened afterward. The gibbering and gabbering, the violence, the superman complex, the burnout. “After your lecturing of me last night?” My voice felt cold in my own throat. “I watched my father destroy my mother and himself with this kind of behavior. Thanks to you, I just had to relive every day I spent cleaning up after them. If you want to kill yourself, fine. But I won’t hold your hand while you jump.”

Vassily lay on his pile of pillows, stunned. “You’d kill me?”

“I didn’t say that,” I replied. “You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“Yeah…” He looked up past his arm at the ceiling. “Yeah. I guess.”

“And in unrelated news, you have a parole meeting in—” I checked my watch. “Fifty minutes.”

“Parole?” Vassily’s eyes narrowed, then widened like blue saucers. “Oh, fuck. FUCK! Shitfuckmothershit.”

“Yes. And you’re going. I brought your suit. So come on, get up.”

As I pulled away from the bed, a wiry hand clapped around my wrist and stopped me in my tracks. Vassily’s right hand, the one with the intricately inked skull. A snake’s tail wove through it, part of a design that wound its way up his arm to his bare shoulder.

“Lexi… don’t kick me out.” His voice was higher than what I was used to hearing, fragile and desperate. “Please. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, all right?”

How many times had I heard it? The pleading, the ‘it won’t happen again’? Grigori always said the same thing. The last bender was always the last. Then came the storm clouds, the bad mood, the stressful day, and the bottles returned to the house.

“Sure thing.” Heavily, I reached back and clasped Vassily’s hand before peeling it from my arm. “Come on now, get up. It’s time we got back to the real world.”

We were nearly fifteen minutes late to the parole center. Every light on our route turned red before we reached the line, and by the time I’d dropped Vassily off at the office, surly but functionally sober, I wanted to kill something. My car smelled like vomit and pepper-flavored liquor. I wanted to take my fist to every jaywalking pedestrian, every yappy dog, and every shrieking toddler. I was stranded at the base of Maslow’s hierarchy, unable to get a day—just one day—to rest.

The whole mess of circumstance contracted around me, a tight sheath of stress. Yuri, Carmine, my aching knee, the bruises and cuts from the night before—wholly unnoticed by my supposed best friend—the dreams and sense of impeding sickness. I parked on the side of the road and just fought to breathe, hands shaking. This was bullshit. Absolute bullshit. I wasn’t supposed to feel like this. I was a hard man, a spook. And I was struggling with nothing. The oppressive stickiness of the air, the tackiness of my own skin. Nothing.

But a whole lot of nothing makes a something, a small voice said. It makes a NOthing.

Vassily had done a lot of stupid shit in his life, but not drugs. He modeled his father religiously. Simon Lovenko had been everything my father was not, to hear Mariya tell it; a real Vor v Zakone, a handsome ringmaster steeped in thief’s honor and gypsy romanticism. He’d sworn himself clean his whole life, and Vassily had followed in his footsteps… until now. It had been one of the things we’d kept to together as teens, as young adults. We sold drugs; we didn’t take them. We were smarter than that.

What had happened to him in prison? What had they done to him?

Deliriously, I stepped out from the car onto the sweltering pavement. I was back on the Ave under the rail bridge. It was the end of the lunch hour rush, and Brighton Beach Avenue was a packed ambulating gallery of the soon-to-be-former USSR. The cacophony was almost too much to stand, but I had to eat. I had enough energy to either cook or start thinking and looking for Vincent. The former was the more optional option.

But where to even start? I knew how to find people, but missing persons leads weren’t really my specialty. If I’d wanted to train as a detective, I’d have sold my soul to the mussora, the Vigiles Magicarum, for a badge. The only place I’d known to look for sure was Vincent’s house, and I hadn’t been able to find much there. It was a no-go zone now. The Laguettas probably knew his hangouts, but asking around too much about someone like Vincent was dangerous. The Mexican cartels wanted him. Manelli wanted him. Also, asking the wrong people—people who didn’t know he was missing—would cost Lev face. It wasn’t a good idea to cause your Avtoritet a loss of face. All I had after that was Jana, and maybe Yuri’s friends. Of the two options, I preferred dealing with Jana.

That wasn’t much, but it was something. I decided I’d deal with it at home: sleep, food, shower, not necessarily in that order, and then a call in to Jana. It was almost a plan, but I still had the nagging sense that I was forgetting something. Something about Monday night, tonight.

I avoided Mariya’s, even though I’d normally go there for lunch. I couldn’t face her. Instead, I walked half a block to M & I, the neighborhood’s old workhorse deli. I slunk in through the sliding doors and went for the self-serve window, where I numbly scooped chicken katleti and salad into a plastic dish. Kutkha was a distant presence, masked by a smokescreen of fatigue and self-pity. ‘True Magus’ my ass.

“Alexi!” A familiar smiling face with a braided corona of neat blonde hair loomed up in the corner of my bleary eye.

I nearly threw the dish and the ladle at the wall. I flinched and slammed the food down on the counter instead. “Bozhe,[22] Jana. Oh. Good morning. Afternoon, I mean.”

All faces briefly turned to look before they were once again downcast.

Jana’s hand went to her mouth. She was made up and dressed for work, perfectly crisp in the muggy heat. There was not a single blemish on her spotless white blouse. “Sorry. I just saw you, and thought…”

“No. It’s fine.” It was in that moment I remembered that I hadn’t shaved in two days. I probably reeked of vomit and certainly smelled of old fear, sweat, and violence. “In fact, I was about to go home and give you a call.”

“You were?” she said. “That’s funny. I was just getting lunch, and then I was going to call you and ask you how things were going.”

If Kutkha was right and the universe was a living creature, then it was a merciless sadist with a bad sense of humor. I turned back to the double boiler and resumed dishing up, unable to stop the flush that crept across my cheeks and down my collar. “How serendipitous. I didn’t know you came up this way for lunch.”

“Mmhmm.” Her mouth quirked ruefully, and she took a container herself. “My usual place closed for the day. The son of the manager died.”

“No one escapes life alive,” I replied. It felt dull and sour coming out of my mouth, and I fumbled with the lid as I boxed up the dish. “No… I apologize. For that. I shouldn’t say such a thing.”

“No, it’s fine. I didn’t know him–know him, you know?” Her whole body flooded with a smile that I caught when I glanced sidelong at her. “But yes… about that call. I have something I need to talk to you about in private. Do you have time to visit my house?”

Her house? My shoulders stiffened. “No, no. Not today, sorry. But we could go down to the boardwalk. No one will hear.”

“Well, as in, I heard something around the office, and it needs to be somewhere really private.” The smile fixed on her face like a mask. “What about your place?”

My place was a pigsty, post-Yuri. Under the best of circumstances, having a strange woman in my apartment was barely more comfortable than being in the apartment of a strange woman. I glanced furtively at the cashier. “There’s another deli near here where I have access to the back. We can go there and talk.”

“I don’t know, Alexi.” Jana ducked her head a little, and before I could stop her, she reached out and touched my bare forearm with light fingers. Her eyes widened, as surprised as I was by the brief contact, and her hand flew back like she’d been burned. Just as well. “It, um, it involves Lev. But I guess it can wait.”

“Yes. In that case, it should wait.” Feeling increasingly guarded and paranoid, I took a step back from her. If it involved Lev and my investigation, then it couldn’t wait at all. “Look, the boardwalk will be busy, but no one will be listening. As long as we’re moving in a crowd, it’s the safest place for us to be. Even if someone I know sees us there, it’s easily explained. You are clearly an attractive woman.”

“All right, well, that works. Here, I’ll pick that up for you.” She blushed. This poised, confident attorney suddenly looked as shy and awkward as I felt, fumbling her purse a little as she bumped into me again. She slapped a ten down on the cash plate in front of the buxom cashier, who was watching the pair of us as judgmentally as only an old Russian woman could. I grimaced at her, bundled my cheap food, and snatched up the change before I followed Jana’s swishing skirt out the door.

We stuck to the shadow of the bridge as we walked, shoulder to shoulder. Jana was vibrating with tension. I noticed she still had her jacket on, and she hadn’t loosened the buttons. There was only ever one reason I did that when it was this hot: I was carrying. It was hard to say if she was, not without staring rudely at her chest.

As soon as we rounded the fruit stand and started up the quieter street towards the seashore, she sighed heavily and picked up the pace. It was quieter than I expected, which meant we could actually walk at a normal speed instead of being bogged down in beachgoing families and throngs of old people and fox terriers.

Jana waited until no one was nearby. “Alexi, I have to warn you. I think you need to get out of this mess. I don’t know what you can do, but from what I overheard Lev say this morning, you’re in real danger.”

“That’s not really anything I can control,” I replied. “Things like this are inherently dangerous. What did you hear?”

“I don’t think Vincent’s even missing,” she said. Her heels clicked quickly on the concrete beside my own silent shoes. “I overheard Lev talking to someone on the phone this morning. He was saying he had someone looking for Vincent, but from what I could make out, Lev’s in on it with someone. I wanted to call you and warn you, but when I tried this morning…”

“I was out of the house.” My intuition pinged me strangely as Jana spoke. It wouldn’t surprise me if that was the case, that Lev was playing another level of subterfuge. The game of politics was one of direction and misdirection. But why?

“It’s a sham, Alexi,” Jana said. She looked around as we crossed the road and mounted the ramp leading up onto the boardwalk. It was busy, though not as much as I feared. There was space between the people. “The whole thing. I don’t know as much about the business as you do, obviously, but I don’t think it really has anything to do with Vincent at all.”

Would Lev lie to my face like that? Probably. He and anyone else in the Organization would lie to their own grandmothers if it suited them, and Vassily’s remark on the amount of money I was being offered to find Vincent Manelli was not out of turn. Maybe he had hit it on the head. Maybe we were being herded down a cattle chute by our elders, and we needed to get them before they got us. “And what exactly was said?”

“There was some arguing, and that’s what got me to stop by his door. It got quiet after that… but I heard him say Vincent was secure somewhere and he had ‘someone’ looking for him anyway.” Jana’s face flushed, whether from heat or embarrassment at having to report on her boss, I could not say. “I knew he was talking about you, and I also know Lev very well, Alexi. He’s cunning, and he’s ruthless.”

It was true that the only other person who’d known I was searching for Vincent was my Avtoritet. I remembered Carmine’s ‘little bird’ speech. Someone had tipped him off as to my whereabouts. Lev had known I was going to speak to Jana in the morning, and while I was waiting for and seeing her, my car was rigged. It seemed… elementary. One of those things that was so obvious you didn’t want to see it. I looked out over the ocean, rubbing my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “That begs the question, though. Why would you be so eager to warn me of such a thing?”

“You seem like a polite and intelligent man, and, well…” Jana’s mouth quirked, and she shrugged. “It’s not very often I meet men in your line of work who can hold a conversation. I don’t really have the moral high ground or anything, but I don’t like hearing someone get set up by those in power without even the ability to defend themselves. That’s why I became an attorney in the first place.”

I felt an inexplicable chill pass through me, and with it came Yuri’s words from the night before. You’re already a slave. “Well, yes. And I think that’s a very moral thing to do, actually. I appreciate it.”

“Appreciate it enough you might want to go to Tatiana’s with me on Wednesday night?” A sly gleam lit Jana’s eyes, and suddenly, her confidence was back full-force. She could play the flirt from a distance, as long as we weren’t actually touching, and maybe… maybe I could work with that.

That probably wasn’t a bad idea. Crina wouldn’t mind—or at least, I didn’t think she’d mind—and Vassily would have no reason to continue to doubt my masculinity. As I considered my reply, I looked away and then behind us… and noticed the standout.

He had his hands in his jacket pockets: a heavy puffer jacket and jeans, like what a dockworker would wear. The coat was far, far too heavy for the weather, bulked out around the middle. But that wasn’t the only thing I noticed. He was wearing a baseball cap that did nothing to disguise his likeness to Frank Nacari’s license photo.

“We need to turn the corner and get back to the Ave,” I said abruptly. I patted down my pockets. No knife, no mirror, no gun. I had left it all in the glove compartment. How professional.

“Hmm?” Jana’s eyebrows quirked.

“We’re being scoped,” I replied. We had just passed the start of Brighton 3rd. As the mouth of the street loomed, the rest of my skin began to creep.

“Are you sure we’re being followed? I mean—”

“Do you have a compact mirror?” I motioned to her purse.

Lips pressed together, Jana nodded. She fumbled around in her bag until she came up with her powder, which she opened and lifted up to reflect between us. I glanced back: sure enough, there he was. He was nearly the spitting image of Frank’s license photo, but older. Different hairstyle, and not wholly identical, but closely related. His expression was one of blank determination.

“Listen. I want you to break away into the crowd and turn down this street. Get back to the main street,” I said.

“I can’t do that,” Jana replied. She picked up her pace as I did. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”

“Really. I insist.” This was my world, not hers. Not really. She might’ve worked on the fringes, but she wasn’t deep in its guts. “Go.”

In the small reflection, I saw the other Nacari’s eyes focus on me as he unzipped the front of his jacket. I had no weapons, but if I was able to concentrate, I could now hopefully work some kind of magic and get away. When we reached the stairs leading down to the street, I felt her hesitate and gave her a pointed little shove with my elbow. “Go!”

Jana stumbled briefly, her expression angry and brittle, but then tensely stalked off across the boardwalk, heels clacking on the wood. But she was not fast enough to get out of harm’s way. No one was, as I turned just in time to see him pull a pistol, level it with the one-handed expertise of a talented marksman, and fire.

I threw up my hands and focused everything I had into averting the bullet. I expected a bang and a flash, maybe a zing. Instead, the pistol made a strange, mushy sound, like it were being fired underwater—and then the wind sucked in towards Nacari Senior with an invisible wave of weirdness that curdled the air and contorted the light around him. I saw Jana frozen out of the corner of my eye, her expression one of horror as the space around the pistol cracked into dark lines that then exploded, shattering into… insects.

For a moment, I was confused, unsure if I’d done something or not. But I knew that sound: it was the same as the human-faced insects in my dream.

“Run!” I barked aloud, not at anyone in particular, and staggered off at a limp towards Jana. “Run!”

She startled, her trance broken, her face a mask of fear, and I caught her arm as we fled down the boardwalk from the gathering cloud and the gathering screams. One male scream was louder than them all. As we ran, I turned to see the iron cloud wrapped around the hit man like a cyclone. He flailed at them, the gun fallen at his feet, as they ripped his clothes and began to strip the flesh off his face and hands. Other people were screaming and running or staring as he staggered back, flailing, and then fell to his knees.

“Oh my god,” Jana said. Her eyeliner was running a little. “Oh my god. What was that?”

“A very poor attempt at summoning,” I said, breathlessly, and turned back for the stairs down to the street. “I think. Come on.”

I turned at the railing. My would-be assassin was drowned in the crowd of panicking people, but the smell blew back to us: rotten meat and sugar. The elms that faced the ocean, growing in their stands near the end of the sidewalk, turned partly brown as the fetid wind passed over them and dissipated.

“You should get back,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Back to the office.”

“I—” she started.

“Please understand. This is between me and my people.” I cut her off, shaking my head. “Your advice was invaluable. But it’s all you need to give.”

“And what about dinner?” The farther away we got from the chaos of the beach, the calmer she sounded. We were both used to working under stress, in our own ways, and her lips quirked in a predatory little smile.

“I don’t date,” I replied. “But I’ll have dinner with you, assuming the Manellis continue to be this inept.”

“Thursday,” she said. “Seven, at Tatiana.”

“I’ll make a booking for two,” I replied.

Her heart-shaped face flushed with something I wasn’t wholly certain how to read. I didn’t know her well enough, and strangers’ faces take some getting used to.

I knew my body could not keep up without sleep by the time I got to my apartment. I stripped and showered with painful deliberation and ate my lukewarm food without appetite in the ringing silence of the kitchen. It was hot inside, the windows open to air out the rotten smell left by the demon. The place felt impure, unclean. Everything was broken and out of order. Vassily was not home, again. No one to quip with, no way to relieve stress. I was too tired for the gym.

“Well, Binah. It’s not every day you see someone try and fail a mass shooting on the boardwalk,” I said to the cat, watching her lick out the last bit of salad from the takeout dish. “Some days. But not every day.”

She ignored me until she’d finished and then looked up at me with her eerie, pale eyes, licking her chops. With great studiousness, she began to groom her paw and face.

“Indeed,” I said and sighed, to nothing in particular.

I had rarely been so grateful to see my bed, to climb in under the sheets with the cat. My mind should have been racing on what Jana had told me—but it was the opposite. It was black, empty, numb. I did not hear Kutkha’s voice. No magical inspiration, déjà vu, good ideas. And I still couldn’t remember what I was supposed to be doing tonight.

There were no nightmares this time: there was nothing, a balmy hum of sleep that was abruptly disturbed by an explosion of light and, then, a familiar, overly cheerful, still slightly raspy voice. “Yoo-hoo! Wakey wakey, rise from your gwavey.”

“Uh? Vassily?” I slurred, covering my throbbing eyes. “Please just… let me sleep.”

“Hey, don’t give me that shit. You were the one that wanted to come along tonight.” He threw something at me, and it landed heavily on my chest and sent the cat scattering. “What the fuck happened to the house today? Did we get robbed?”

“No. Long story.” Groggily, I leaned up and peered down. He’d thrown me a shoulder holster. “What did I want to come… go to?”

“We’re doing the laundry, remember? Nic’s money?”

Oh, no. The casino. Atlantic City. The Laguettas. I was on bodyguard duty. GOD help me.

“So I cleaned the place up while you were getting your beauty sleep, and I got us a room at the Taj Mahal, just you and me.” Vassily was half-dressed, throwing on a shirt to what looked like a new and fashionable suit. I caught a glimpse of the long, muscular line of his back before it was hidden from view and frowned, sitting up to rub my face.

“What time is it?”

“Nearly seven. What’s up, Lexi? You don’t look so great.”

“I need… call,” I blurted. “Crina. She should come.”

“Oh.” Vassily turned, but I saw him frown. “Well, I booked the room for two, but I guess you can get another if you want to shack up with your girl tonight.”

“No, she can stay.” I realized immediately that I hadn’t thought that through. “I mean, yes, she can stay with me. Properly, in another room. Girlfriend.”

He looked less pleased than I expected. “She better get her ass moving. We have to go in about forty-five minutes. Mikhail’ll be here with a car.”

“Forty-five. How late is this going to go?”

“Three or four or five a.m.” Vassily laced his belt up around his shirt, smoothing it down over his belly. “I dunno if this is really the sort of gig for your girlfriend to come, Lexi. Crina might get a little familiar with the business, you know what I mean?”

“She’s fine.” I slid out of bed and tested my leg. It was still bruised, but I could walk. I didn’t want to, but I could walk. “And you were right. Lev’s trying to have me killed.”

“Make sure you pack—what?” He turned, scowling, halfway through clipping on his tie. We could both tie real ties, but when you worked this business, you didn’t wear them. You didn’t want to wear anything that anyone could grab and choke you with, if a night turned to shit. “What?”

“You heard me. I think you’re right. This job is bad news, and Lev is part of it.”

“Holy shit,” Vassily said. “Already? No way. You know for sure? How’d you find out?”

“One of the partners in his firm, Jana Volotsya, warned me after she overheard him from her office. It’s not a hundred percent certain, given it’s hearsay, but it’s looking more and more likely.”

Vassily blinked. “Yeah, it is. Well, fuck. Let me ask around a bit—I might be able to confirm or deny it. Ovar’d probably know. I’ll ask him and Nic for you, all right?”

“You could, but it’s getting harder to know who’s on the chopping block, and why,” I said. Now that I was awake, I could see Vassily was still haggard, pale, and jowly, but the fierceness was back in his voice and in his hands. “I don’t trust them.”

“We have to be able to trust somebody.” Vassily tossed his hands in the air. “Oy. Go ring up your girl, man. We have to go.”

The exclamation didn’t have his usual ring of humor, and it didn’t seem worth trying to explain what had happened with the other Nacari today. I hobbled away to my office as fast as my knee allowed. I got fresh clips for the Wardbreaker, fumbled with the phone and my wallet, and found Crina’s card. It was plain red, matte, with her name and number embossed in black. It smelled of Charlie Gold perfume and clove cigarettes.

“’llo?”

“Crina, it’s Alexi.” I leaned on the ledger with my hand in my hair. “I apologize for calling you at this hour, but I was wondering if I could cancel your visit for tomorrow—”

“Oh, Alexi. That’s fine, no problem.” She cut me off, a little breathily. I wasn’t certain, but she sounded disappointed.

“No, wait. I was wondering if you’re free now.” I exhaled thinly through my nose, massaging my scalp. “We’re going to Atlantic City tonight.”

“Atlantic City? I’d love to. I’m just eating breakfast… what time is ‘tonight’?”

I winced. “In about forty minutes.”

She laughed, a bright burst of yellow sound. “Forty? Alexi, my goodness. You really don’t date, do you? Okay, I’ll do it. But not for free.”

“All expenses paid,” I said. “And you can borrow as many books as you can carry.”

“Deal.”

Thank the Universe for small mercies. “I’ll arrange to drive by and pick you up. Where should we meet you?”

“Outside Sirens. We all know where that is.” I could hear her grin.

Forty minutes might be pushing it for her, but it was usually enough for me. I looked over at the hammer ruefully. I wanted to take it. After watching a gun eat a man alive, I was beginning to feel a bit superstitious about carrying one.

I reached out and pulled down my dictionary of Kabbalah, taking it with me on the way back to my closet. Nothing in there could stop car bombs, demonically possessed golems, or a hopped-up super-Guido and his pet hellhounds, but at least I’d look suitably wizardly while I figured out how, exactly, I was going to live out the week.