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They passed through the sewing section that smelled of plastic wig hair. The tangled mess of fabric and thread was evidence of an earlier bustling activity. Now quiet, he hated the feeling of deserted emptiness that crept up on him. At the end of the big hall, he looked back, almost expecting Alice to be standing there, but only the dead eyes of the dolls met him while the sound of Johnny’s footsteps fell farther and farther away.
He dragged his hands through his hair. She’d suffered from stage fright, that was all. He didn’t want to leave without telling her it was going to be all right. They still had tomorrow. Tomorrow, it would be fine.
He lingered another second before he went back to his dressing room to get changed. Maybe her boss was right. She needed time.
As Johnny had promised, Donald waited in the marble foyer. For once, Ivan was glad for his presence. He didn’t feel like walking, tonight. He didn’t want to go back to his room in The Ritz where the girls were working. It wasn’t home. He wanted to go straight to Alice’s place, but right now he’d probably not be welcome. He’d give her an hour or two and then go knocking.
“Where to?” Donald asked, running to keep up with him. “Kate is looking for you, by the way. Said you must call her.”
Ivan went to the underground parking and got into the back of the car. “Drive. I’ll tell you where.”
“Aren’t you going to call Kate? You know how she gets when you ignore her.”
Ivan looked through the window, seeing nothing. “Later. Just go.”
With a sigh, Donald started the engine and put the car in gear. “May I just say—”
“You may not.” He cupped a hand over his ear, longing for Alice’s voice.
He gave directions for the pub where Alice had come looking for him. When Donald had dropped him off, he walked straight inside, not caring if anyone recognized him. Heading for the bar, he ordered a scotch even before his ass hit the seat.
“You’re Ivan Kray,” the same barman from before said.
Ivan shot back the liquor. “I’ll have another.”
The barman looked him up and down. “Are you always this polite?”
“I come here for the same reason everyone else does, so give it a rest, will you?”
“To pick up a tight ass?” The barman looked around. “Not many cute ones around, tonight.”
Ivan clenched his fists. “I come here to drown my problems.”
“You? Problems?” The barman snorted. “Ain’t nothing money can’t buy.”
Until a few weeks ago, he’d thought the same. As he mumbled, “If only you knew,” a smell of sulfur hit him.
He lowered his glass slowly and hopped from his seat. His art took over, basking the room in light. Instinctively, his brain isolated the black part, which showed up near the toilet exit. It had to happen, but he was hoping not so soon.
“Where are you going?” the barman called.
“For a piss.”
“If you bail without paying, I’ll sue you.”
Ivan didn’t listen, any longer. He zoned in on the gleeful face of the dead man who stood in the doorframe. When Boris went through the kitchen to the back, Ivan followed.
“Hey!” someone in a white tunic yelled. “Out of my kitchen.”
They exited into an alley lined with smelly trashcans.
“You can go back to where you came from.” He didn’t want to waste more time with the demented soul than needed. “I’m not playing your game.”
“No warm greeting?” Boris pouted. “I feel so close to you, we’re practically family.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Boris made a comical show of extending his hand. “Friends, then, if not family?”
“Keep your hands to yourself.”
“Scared?” He laughed. “Didn’t like what you saw before?”
“Go to hell.”
Boris gave a labored sigh. “We’ve been through that, already.”
“I don’t have time for this.” Ivan turned and took a step, but Boris’s next words stopped him.
“She had no last message for you.”
He flung around, the blood draining from his head to his feet. His body turned to ice. He felt brittle, breakable, easily destructible, at his most vulnerable.
His quiet voice carried eerily far down the empty alley. “What did you say?”
“She walked right into my trap, trustworthy girl that she is.”
It was a good thing Boris hadn’t spoken her name because a rage so severe it rattled his bones spread through him. The only thing that kept him from hurling the dead fucker into eternal wanderland was the need to know where she was.
“Where is she?” Ivan asked with deadly calm.
“Somewhere safe. For now.”
“I want her back, or I swear—”
“You’re in no position to make demands. I warned you, but you didn’t listen.”
“Where is she?” he repeated, shaking in his boots. If anything happened to her, he’d die.
“With Godfrey. He’ll hand her back as long as you do as he says. If not, well, I’ll just say you won’t have an open-coffin burial.”
