Finally, he pulls back and gestures at the smallest of the group. “Smallest” being a relative term. He’s gotta weigh a good seventy to eighty pounds of pure muscle. “That’s Stravinsky. He likes to show off, and he likes to scare you. He thinks it’s funny. Don’t let him do that, because if he thinks he can get you, he’ll try over and over again.”
I look at the dog with a small, slightly red spot under his left eye. His name seems familiar, then I remember he’s the dog whose name Tolyan called when the flasher incident happened. The one that snapped at the man’s dick and made him pee.
I say hello. Stravinsky mock-snaps at my hand, and Tolyan whistles sharply. “Stravinsky, no.”
He whines a little, then licks my hand, as though apologizing.
“It’s okay.” I pet him. “You were awesome when you scared that creep.”
“Anyway, they won’t attack you, since they know you belong here now. If, for whatever reason, I’m not around but the dogs are, you point at the intruder and command them to attack.”
“Got it.” I continue to pet the Dobermans because they keep demanding my attention. “By the way, do you have nicknames for them? Their names are a mouthful.”
“No.” He looks at me like I just said the sun orbits the moon. “They’re named after three of the greatest Russian composers. Butchering the names would be disrespectful.”
“Okay.” No disrespecting Tolyan’s favorite composers. Or his dogs.
“Go shower.” He tilts his chin in the direction of the room I came out of. “The en-suite bathroom has your clothes.”
Whaaat? All this time I’ve been wondering about my clothes, and they’ve been just sitting in the bathroom? Why didn’t he just say that instead of being difficult about it?
“It’s amusing to watch your reaction, little fawn.” He smiles.
“Well, I’m glad I’m so entertaining.”
“Why else do you think I’ve decided to do something about your stepbrother?”
Right. Tolyan promised to keep me safe. I can’t forget that. “You want me to put on clown makeup? I could do that, too.”
He smiles. “I don’t like clowns. And you’re too pretty to cover up with white paint and a cherry nose.”
Heat flames my face. From the unguarded way he tossed the compliment out, I don’t know if he meant to say that out loud. I remember the way he dissed the redhead at the hotel. She was fully made-up and decked out in gorgeous designer clothes.
For some reason, I feel like giggling like a silly teen. I press my lips together to maintain my dignity. “No weird makeup, then.”
“Once you’re dressed, come on out. We have to discuss a plan.”
“A plan?”
“You don’t think Roy can be stopped without a plan, do you?” He points a finger at me. “Remember, you’re to do as I say. So go.”
Chapter Eleven
Tolyan
Angelika trots to her room, still clutching her sheet. Although I want to tell her exactly what the plan is and her role in it, she’ll be more comfortable after she’s clean and dressed in a freshly laundered outfit. I washed her clothes while she was asleep—she’s going to need something clean to wear tomorrow, and I have no intention of taking her to her garage apartment so she can pack her things. Her things are so old and worn-out that not even the homeless would wear them.
I’m sure she’ll object. People always resist when they’re forced into doing something they don’t want to do. That’s why they always ask for advice, but never take it because it isn’t what they want to hear. They want to be told they don’t have to change a thing, and everything will somehow still work out exactly the way they want.
Even Angelika isn’t immune to that impulse. She thinks she’s in control, in charge. Or at least she’d like to believe that even as her world is falling apart around her. Kidnapping her was my way of demonstrating how little control she has, even though she thinks she’s the one who initiated the confrontation in the foundation’s garage.
While Angelika’s in the shower, I give my babies some dog treats, which are gobbled up with gusto. “You’ve been good boys.”
Tchaikovsky and Stravinsky wander off to the living room, but Mussorgsky tries to follow me into the kitchen. I shake a finger at him, and he lowers his head and joins the other Dobermans.
I put the apron back on, stick a Bluetooth earpiece in and call Lizochka. I wish I could do one of the top items on my list myself, but I’m smart enough to acknowledge my limitations. It’s important that it’s done right—I can’t have her dressed in subpar, unfashionable clothes if I want Roy to be pissed enough over the fact that her life has changed for the better that he has to come to L.A.—and I can think of nobody else to entrust it to than Lizochka.
The phone rings while I start clearing the table. It’s best to use time productively.
Lizochka picks up fast, as though she’s been waiting for my call.
“Hello,” she says, her voice as warm as usual. “I thought you might reach out.”
“Hmm. Why is that?” I rinse the plates and utensils and place them in the dishwasher. Then I start hand-washing the vodka glass. No matter what the detergent commercials say, every time I put my vodka glasses in the dishwasher, they come out with a white film over them. It wouldn’t bother most people, but it bothers me. Makes me think of strychnine paste.
“Jason came home safely yesterday, and Thomas is so happy. I thought you might be interested to know that.”
She isn’t saying what she really wants to say, but she knows what I did. Or at least she suspects I had something to do with Jason’s derelict father’s suicide. But she isn’t going to probe. She knows better.
“Glad to hear it,” I say, scrubbing the grill. “Thomas is a good child. Deserves the best.” The best protection my love and loyalty can give. I rinse the black metal, inspect it to make sure it’s clean, then run a towel over it.
“He sure does. But I have a feeling you didn’t call just for that.”
“Perceptive, as usual.”
“We’ve known each other for a long time.”
“Yes.” Over a decade. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Oh?” She perks up. “A favor? For real?”
“Why do you sound so excited?”
“Because you never ask for favors. From anybody.”
“You just want me to owe you one.”
“Nooooo! I owe you so many, I can’t even. Come on! I’ve been waiting for you to ask for something. You didn’t even ask me to write a letter of recommendation for Lyosha’s college applications. I was hurt.”
“You offered before I could ask,” I point out. I don’t tell her if she hadn’t offered, I wouldn’t have asked, since it never crossed my mind. Lyosha’s a big boy. He knows who he can contact for recommendation letters. I only look into the part of his life that requires inspection. Like who he’s hanging out with, who his professors are.
“Only because you were taking too long to ask.”
I shake my head and decide not to bother reminding her she offered on the first day of his senior year. “Anyway, this favor. It must be done tomorrow. And by you.”