23

Steady blows upon the door woke him.

Andrew laughed into his pillow, giddy beyond measure. Sitting up, he fixed his bedhead in the mirror, and when the rapping started again, he tore himself from the warmth of the covers.

“I’m coming,” he grumbled, pulling on a Depeche Mode shirt while nearly tripping over two packed duffel bags. He opened the door with a smile. “Did you lock yourself out, Sas—”

Nikola stood there before pushing his way inside.

“I see you’re ready to go,” he said, tapping one of the duffels with his foot. “They set a preliminary hearing date, no remand.”

“What?” Andrew asked.

Niko’s eyes searched the room. “We’ll be in Canada catching a cruise down the West Coast to Mexico by the time they know I’m gone,”

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

Niko fell onto the bed, his elbow close to a damp patch.

“Samil sold us out, and they killed Cyril.” Niko’s 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 stood again, 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.” Niko tightened the band that held his long black hair. “Come on and get dressed. We got to catch the noon o’clock bus.”

“Niko, I’m going home.” Andrew folded his arms. “I’m going back to Atlantic City.”

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

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

Niko’s expression hardened. “I don’t believe this shit,”

“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 bottom lip trembled. “I fucking love you,”

“You hardly know me,” he countered.

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

“It is true,” said Andrew. “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 isn’t right,”

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

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

Enraged, the man searched the room before grabbing the black violin case. He ran it over the bureau, clearing everything still sitting on it as Andrew crouched by the window.

“Get out, Niko,” he cried.

The lanky brute opened the case and dumped Andrew’s high school violin onto the floor. He snatched it up before Andrew could grab it and then clubbed it against the bureau, splintering its purfling and fracturing the cursive f’s around the bridge.

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

“Someone, call the cops,” Andrew yelled.

After a beat, he snatched Andrew’s wallet from the nightstand and opened it. Angry eyes set upon Andrew as he pulled out three one-hundred-dollar bills before pitching the wallet at him.

Unsatisfied with his show, Niko reached under the bed and fished out the wooden case. Andrew threw himself upon it, and as they struggled, it came open. A bound cash roll tumbled into view. Everything Andrew had earned that summer.

Niko scooped it up and defiantly stared as he unrolled it and counted out a thousand. “Just taking back what you owe me, Andrej,”

“Whatever,” said Andrew. “Now get the fuck out,”

The bastard studied the violin in Andrew’s arms.

“That’s Sasha’s,” he said.

“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 against the floor.

“You know what, Andrej?” he whispered, eyes on his. “You have cured me of America.”