“What’s that?” he says, licking cracked lips. Probably dehydrated by now. Not that it matters.
“The gift you sent. Don’t you remember?” I open the box and take out the jar. The decapitated roaches inside are no longer moving.
“You sent me that rubber dick!” he protests.
“That was for harassing Angelika. This is me rejecting the package.” I put on my gloves, the ones I wear when I excise a cancer from the world. And then I pull out the hook.
“What the hell is that?” His eyes dart around wildly as I dangle it in front of him.
Why does he bother? There is no way out. I didn’t bring him here just to let him go. “It’s a modified fishing hook. They’re called treble hooks because of the three prongs, but as you can see, I’ve cut one of them off. So now it’s just a double hook.”
I lean down and slip the two barbs into his nostrils. The metal has been filed down a bit so that they’re duller than they were originally, but they’re still pointed enough to hurt. And the nylon thread that I’ve tied to the hook, despite being thin, is quite strong.
I slowly pull his head backward. He resists, but the pain inside his nose eventually forces him to give way. Once his head is all the way back, staring at the ceiling, mouth gaping open, I put one boot on the line to hold him there. Then I grab the jar, open it and start dumping the dead roaches into his mouth.
He tries to spit them out, but there are too many. He makes a choking sound, then begins moaning and crying like a little pussy. I shove more roaches into his mouth and place a large strip of duct tape over his lips. I take my weight off the line and, as his head comes back up, wrap the tape around it a couple of times.
Now the only sound out of him is pathetic moaning and crying. I look at him. He reacts like he’s being fried alive in boiling oil, but what’s happening to him is mild considering everything he’s done. He’s hurt too many people, and he’s crossed me personally twice—once with Katya and then with Angelika.
I put a black hood over his head, then clean up the scene and get out of the hut. The sky’s clear, stars bright. The moon’s gorgeous and full, too.
I inhale the clean night air, then head home.
Now I’ve fulfilled my son’s tenth birthday wish, and kept my promise to Angelika that Roy will never bother her again.
I just need to act like a properly injured innocent for a while.
Chapter Forty
–Me: Happy belated birthday.
–Lyosha: Thanks, Dad. I knew you’d come through.
–Me: My pleasure.
Chapter Forty-One
Angelika
Over the weekend, I play nurse to Tolyan. He says the wound is nothing, but I don’t believe him. The man could get an arm cut off and still say something asinine like “What’s the problem? I have another one.”
I also spread antibacterial cream over the wound to make sure it doesn’t get infected. Thankfully, he doesn’t complain. He just keeps his mouth shut and lets me do what needs to be done. But the stitches look nasty. And no matter what kind of stoic act he pulls, the wound looks painful.
I’m not letting Tolyan do anything until the stitches are out and the doctor declares him fully healed. Actually, even then I might still hover a bit if the bruises haven’t faded.
But on Monday, he insists on going to work.
“Are you insane? You should call in sick!”
“Over this?” He gestures at his side. “That would be like calling in sick over a paper cut.”
Is he serious? “It wasn’t paper that cut you!”
“Paper would have been sharper than that third-rate knife.”
“Oh my God, you are so stubborn! And unreasonable!”
“I’m neither of those things. What I am is rational.” He thinks for a moment. “It’s important I drive you to work. I’m a better driver, know all the defensive maneuvers. I can lose tails and ram the other guy before he can come at us.”
What’s he talking about? The streets of L.A. aren’t like a war zone! “You said Roy wouldn’t bother me again.”
“Correct. He’s gone.”
“So why would we need defensive maneuvers?”
That makes him shut up.
God, it feels good to win a point. “Anyway, if you insist on going to work, I’m driving. And that’s that.”
He sighs. “Fine.”
“But if you don’t look good, we’re coming straight home.”
“That won’t happen.”
“We’ll see.”
The man thinks he’s made of steel. But he’s very much human. I’ve seen him bleed. It still bothers me he won’t take the pain medication. He has to be hurting, and he’s being stubborn for no reason. If he’s worried about getting groggy or something he could’ve asked the doctor for something else.
But noooo! That would take away from all that Slavic vodka manliness. I’m tempted to inform him that taking medicine doesn’t cause erectile dysfunction.
When we’re in the office, Rhonda hugs me. “Oh my goodness, are you all right? I was so scared when those men grabbed you! I made sure Elizabeth and Tolyan knew about it first. I wanted to see you, but you were busy being questioned by the police and had to be looked over by doctors and all that. You know, when something traumatic like that happens, the best thing to do is sleep and sleep some more…”
Words pour out of her mouth. I let her talk, since she seems to need to get it all out. Others come over to make sure I’m okay.
Finally, I say, “I’m fine, Rhonda. Your quick action made all the difference because Tolyan found me almost immediately.”
“I’m glad I was able to help.” She hugs me again, even more tightly. “I would’ve died if anything had happened to you.”
“He got hurt, though,” I say, slightly embarrassed by the amount of fussing.
Her eyes go wide. “I heard something about him going to the hospital.” She looks at Tolyan over my shoulder. “What happened?”
“He got stabbed.” I get it out quickly, before he can say something like “A nick.”
Her hands fly to her mouth. “Oh my God, Tolyan, why are you here?”
Just then, Elizabeth walks out of her office, hands on her hips. She looks like a fashionista warrior in a white dress with a waist cinched with a platinum belt and silver sandals. “Tolyan, Angelika, what exactly are you doing here?”
“I have this thing called a job,” he says flatly.
“And I have to work on the bachelor auction,” I say, unsure why she seems confused and upset that I’m here. But maybe she thought I’d stay home to take care of him.
“You’ve gone through a significant trauma. You should be home, recuperating,” Elizabeth says.
“Told you,” I whisper to Tolyan, since what I got from Friday’s incident is bruises on my wrists, nothing more, while he bled. A lot.
“Both of you,” Elizabeth says, pointing a finger in my direction.
“But I’m not injured.”
“The heck you aren’t. Emotional trauma matters. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there.”