23

Steady blows upon the door woke him.

Andrew laughed into his pillow, giddy beyond measure. Sitting up, he tried fixing his bedhead in the mirror as the rapping continued.

“I’m coming,” he grumbled, tearing himself from the warmth of the covers. He pulled on Sash’s undershirt, smelling the man’s soapy skin in its fabric. He stumbled to the door, tripping over two packed duffel bags. “Did you lock yourself out, Sas—”

Nikola pushed his way inside when Andrew opened the door.

“I see you’re ready to go,” he said, tapping one of the duffels with his foot.

“What are you—”

 “They set a preliminary hearing date,” Niko said, eyes surveying the room. “No remand. We’ll be in Canada catching a cruise down the West Coast by the time they know I’m gone,”

Andrew folded his arms. “What are you talking about?”

Niko fell onto the bed, his elbow close to a damp patch. “Samil sold us out, and they killed Cyril.” His long face hardened. “I violated parole, and I’ll have to go back to jail,”

“Cyril?” Andrew feigned shock. “Who killed Cyril?”

“The cops,” Niko jumped up, nervous energy guiding his feet. “I’ll tell you everything on the way,”

“On the way to where?”

“Radecki’s driving to Mexico City,” said Niko. “That’s where Sash is,”

“Sash is in Mexico?”

“He must be,” said Niko. “That’s our plan. If anything goes wrong, we drain the bank accounts and find each other in Mexico City,”

“Bank accounts?”

“Sash emptied our accounts, so we know he’s waiting for us.” Niko tossed his long ponytail over his shoulder. “Come on, get dressed, Andrej. We got to catch the noon o’clock bus,”

“Niko, I’m going home,” Andrew said. “I’m going back to Atlantic City.”

The man’s large eyes drifted to the duffels. “We made plans,”

“You made plans,” he countered. “I never said I was a party,”

Niko’s expression hardened.

“I called my mother last night.” Andrew prayed his story would get the man out of his room. “She’s expecting me at the bus terminal this afternoon.”

“You can’t, Andrej,” Niko’s pouted. “I fucking love you,”

“You hardly know me,” said Andrew.

Niko raised a finger. “That’s not true,”

“It is true,” Andrew said, walking around him. “You got out of jail and started this thing I never asked for or wanted,”

Niko’s brow bent. “You felt nothing for me?”

“Whatever I might’ve felt for you,” Andrew stared into his eyes. “Died the day you fucked Dmitri Boscov,”

Niko glowered with disgust. “This is so typical of you,”

“Just leave,” Andrew said. “At least be man enough to do that,”

“You fucking twink bitch,” Niko said through his teeth.

“Go, now,” Andrew demanded.

Enraged, the man searched the room before grabbing the black violin case. Niko swung it over the bureau, clearing everything sitting on it as Andrew cowered by the window. The lanky brute opened the case and dumped Andrew’s high school violin onto the floor.

Niko snatched it up before Andrew could grab it and then clubbed it against the bed frame, splintering its purfling and fracturing the cursive f’s around the bridge.

“Get out!” Andrew cried.

Niko dropped the broken instrument and spat upon it, strands of black hair stuck to his flushed neck. A knock came on the door, followed by a woman asking if he was all right.

“Someone, call the cops,” Andrew screamed.

Niko snatched Andrew’s wallet from the nightstand. His angry eyes set upon him as he pulled out three hundred-dollar bills. He pitched the wallet, and unsatisfied with his performance, Niko dropped to his knees and reached under the bed.

Andrew threw himself onto the wooden case as Niko dragged it out. They struggled, and it came open, spilling everything Andrew had earned that summer onto the floor.

Niko scooped up the bound cash roll and glared at him.

“Just taking back what you owe me, Andrej,”

“Do it,” said Andrew, “and then get the fuck out,”

The bastard studied the violin in his arms. “That’s Sasha’s,”

“I know,” Andrew glared up at him. “So am I.”

Life faded from those dark brown eyes as if his emotional toilet got flushed.

“He’s not in Mexico City,” Andrew added. “He was here last night, all night,”

Niko squatted, his feet flat on the floor and brought his sweating face close to Andrew’s. “You know what, Andrej?” he whispered. “You have cured me of America.”