Sex, Murder and a Double Latte (28 page)

“Considering the nature of your relationship, or rather the lack thereof, I’m surprised he got back in contact with you.”

“Oh, that started off as a coincidence. The first time I saw him after we went our separate ways was about seven months ago when Alex Tolsky brought him in.”

“He…he came in with Tolsky?”

“Yes, Anatoly was visiting the area, as was Alex. It was just a few months before he died, poor man.”

“Yes, that was…that was horrible.” I tried to keep my voice smooth. I already knew that Anatoly and Tolsky were friends, so why was it that every time that fact was confirmed I got chills?

“He was such a lovely man,” Gary continued. “They’ve crucified him in the papers, you know. All that talk about mental illness and alcoholism. In truth, the man was one of the most charming people I’ve ever met, not to mention brilliant. He had an incredible eye for art and was always interested in new talent. But then, I forgot, you knew him too, didn’t you?”

“How…wait, how did you know that?” The only ones who knew that were some of the people who worked at Tolsky Productions and a handful of my friends, and none of those people would have interpreted my meeting with him once as my knowing him.

“Anatoly told me.”

My right hand went to my stomach. “Anatoly. When did he tell you that?”

“About a month and a half ago, perhaps two months. I don’t remember the exact date. He had just moved here and wanted to stop in and say hello, although the only thing he appeared to be interested in discussing was Alex. I think the two of them were very close. His suicide must have been a major blow to him.”

“And then Anatoly started talking about me?”

“Yes, we were talking about Alex and he mentioned that you had been writing a screenplay for him. He asked if Alex had ever brought you in. His description of you was very flattering and, as it turns out, very accurate. You must forgive me, but at the time I had never heard of you. Regrettably, I don’t read a lot of fiction—too busy reading trade magazines and trying to keep up with the fast-paced world of modern art—which brings us back to the reason you came. How can I help you come to a better understanding of the art world?”

The art world? Who the fuck cared about the art world? I had known Anatoly for less than three weeks and yet he had been talking to Gary about me over six weeks ago? How long had Anatoly been stalking me? A month? Two, three? Gary was looking at me expectantly. I searched my mind for something to ask. “Okay, let’s see…um…how can you tell the difference between great art and the work of some moron who likes to smear paint on a canvas like some mentally deficient preschooler?”

Gary’s mouth formed the shape of a perfect O.

“Not a good question?”

Less than sixty seconds later, Gary was showing me out of his office. I walked up to Marcus, who was listening to Ralph explain to him the significance of a photograph depicting a woman peeing.

“It’s a statement about our whole society.”

“Well, of course it is. Everyone I know pees—”

“Marcus, we have to go.”

Ralph took a step closer to Marcus. “I was just showing him the works of—”

“We have to go
now.
”

Marcus looked from me to Ralph and made the obvious choice. “Sorry, Randy, she’s the boss. But I promise to let you show me the poo-poo pictures next time.”

If I had been walking fast before, I was breaking a whole new record this time. Marcus was trotting along next to me, shooting me looks of increasing alarm. “Sophie, Sophie, slow down. What happened in there, honey? What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s wrong!” I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk forcing the stream of pedestrians to maneuver around me. “Anatoly was Gary’s roommate in New York.”

“Okay, but we knew that.”

“He told him at the time that he was in insurance.”

“Anatoly?”

“Exactly, it’s bullshit. But I bet you anything he’s not a contractor, either, which means we don’t know what the hell he does.” Marcus inched back to avoid being struck by my hands, which were wildly waving in the air. “As far as we know his name may not even be Anatoly.”

“Yeah, but he’s been using it for the last decade or so, so…”

“That’s not all.” Marcus tugged at the corners of his jacket and waited for me to drop the other shoe. “He’s been in there with Tolsky, and he came in after he died too. He came in there and started asking Gary questions about me.”

“When was that?”

“Oh, about a month before we actually met. He described me to him, Marcus. Do you know what that means?”

If it was possible for a black man to turn pale, Marcus had done it. He stuffed his hands in his pockets with uncharacteristic awkwardness. “Are you going to the police?”

“Marcus! Have you been listening to me at all for the last few days? I have nothing to bring to the police. All I have is coincidence after goddamn coincidence.”

“But they’re not coincidences, they’re…”

“Yeah, no kidding.” I pressed the base of my palms into my forehead. “He’s planned this so perfectly. He’s allowed me to learn everything and nothing all at the same time. The guy’s more devious than Stalin.” I looked up at Marcus. “He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me, and nobody can help me.”

“I can help you.”

“No, no, you can’t. You can’t, Dena can’t, Mary Ann sure as hell can’t. There is nothing anyone can do.”

“Oh, shut up, already.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me closer. “Of course there are things we can do, we just have to figure out what they are.”

“Oh, great, that’s encouraging.”

“Do you really think I’m going to let some straight boy kill off my best client? We haven’t even had the chance to do that streaky color thing we were talking about. You can’t die before the streaky color thing.”

“Well then, maybe we should book the appointment today. Or better yet, you could hook up with my embalmer.”

“Enough.” Marcus made the motion of a conductor silencing his orchestra. “I have a perm to do in a half hour.”

“A perm. Right. Wouldn’t want you to be late for someone’s perm.”

“I am going to call Donato and cancel our plans tonight. You and I are having dinner.”

“You’re taking me out to eat twice in one day? Wow, it’s amazing the things people will do for you when they expect your imminent death.”

“You are not going to imminently die.” Little smile lines flattered the corners of his eyes. “So we’ll go dutch.”

“I can’t believe this.”

“We will also devise a plan to stop Anatoly. He’s not the only devious man alive, you know.” He put his hand on his hip and snapped his fingers over his head. “Let me tell you, sweetheart, I’ve built a whole reputation on my deviant behavior.”

“Marcus, I really don’t think there’s anything—”

“Ah, ah, ah, ah.” He put a gentle finger on my lips. “We’ll meet at P.J.’s Oyster Bed at eight-thirty. Now, let’s get back to your car. Your flowers need water, and you have to give me a ride to the salon.”

“Right. The perm.”

CHAPTER 17

“Actions speak louder than words, particularly when those actions are really stupid.”

—
Sex, Drugs and Murder

A
fter dropping Marcus off, I drove around the city for a few hours. I considered driving right out of town. Anatoly wouldn’t be expecting that. I could just go somewhere like…like where? And what was to keep him from finding me anywhere I went? He had proven himself to be highly mobile, and it wasn’t like I was getting offers of hospitality from the Witness Protection Program. And what about my friends? And my family? My mother and sister were nuts, but I still loved them. I had to stay.

I was by the edge of the bay now. Dusty pink clouds hovered behind a glistening Golden Gate Bridge. I would never leave San Francisco. This was where my life was. This was where…where my cat was. Shit, I had forgotten to feed Mr. Katz. I looked again at the retreating sun. It would be dark by the time I got back to my apartment. But Mr. Katz was my baby, I couldn’t just not feed him because I was scared.

Well, maybe I could.

Fuck.

I turned the car around. That cat had better be thanking his lucky stars that he had an owner who would risk her very life in order to open a can of Purina. That had to make me the best pet owner alive. That, or just really, really stupid.

I parked three blocks away and ran to my apartment, nearly knocking over a mother with a stroller and a Chinese lady with a cane. Nothing like being yelled at in two languages. I raced up the stairs and opened the door to find Mr. Katz, who looked like he was the one planning a murder.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I said on my way to the kitchen. Mr. Katz just scowled at me and then, when I put out his food, gobbled it up.

I checked the answering machine. Two messages. The first was Leah. “Sophie, pick up, it’s me. Sophie? Fine. Fine. Don’t pick up. Sophie, I need you. Bob’s just being horrible and I think…just call me, okay?”

Bob was being horrible? Bob was always horrible—she had never seemed bothered by it before. I almost called her back without listening to the second message, but the machine was too fast for me.

“Hi, it’s me.” Anatoly’s Russian voice filled the room.

I stood completely still as I listened to the rest of the recording. “I was hoping we could talk. I’ll be out most of the evening, but you can call me on my cellular.”

I forgot about Leah. I looked at the door and assured myself that it was double locked. But there was still the window. If he climbed in through my window and killed me, I was going to sue my landlord.

He was out there somewhere, waiting for me to call and tell him I was home. Or was he? Maybe not. Maybe he was in my apartment right now. I grabbed the phone in one hand and found a knife for the other. I slowly made my way through the apartment. No one seemed to be there, not in the shower or under the bed. Of course, there were the closets to consider. That presented a dilemma, because to open a closet I had to either put down my only means of communication with the outside world or drop my weapon. I opted to put down the phone, since the outside world had been of so little help lately. Nobody in the closets. That was good. But what if he was across the street and looking into my apartment right now? I quickly turned off all the lights. What next? I should peek through the bay window and try to spot him.

I slammed my shin into the coffee table and almost killed my cat, but I did eventually make it to my destination. There were a few people walking around, but no Anatoly that I could see. I sat down Indian-style on the Pergo floor. If he had been telling me the truth about the Israeli and Russian armies then he was well trained in the art of combat. He would bide his time, study his target, preferably without its knowing, formulate an efficient plan, and only then would he attack. If he had been watching me, he would have been clued into my awareness the minute I turned off the lights without leaving. He wouldn’t be hanging out on the street waiting for me to see him.

But I wasn’t the only person that lived in this building. Someone else could have seen him. What was it he had asked me about on our first date? He had wanted to know if I spoke to my neighbors. I stumbled to the door and rushed downstairs to Theresa’s apartment. She answered on the third knock.

“You may not use my phone.”

“I don’t want to use your phone, I just want to ask you a few quick questions.”

“No.” She started to close the door, but I put my hand out to stop her.

“I’ll be quick. I just want to know if you’ve seen a tall guy with dark hair around here lately. If he spoke you might have noticed an accent.”

“Your new boyfriend? Yes, I’ve seen him.” She started to close the door again, but this time I put both hands out.

“When?”

“Take your hands off my door.”

“Just answer the questions and I’ll go away.”

“For how long?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Theresa.” I transferred more of my weight into the struggle. “I don’t know—for at least a month, how ’bout that? You answer my questions and I won’t so much as look at your door for a month.”

“Until recently I was able to avoid speaking to you for months at a time.”

I was going to kill her, just put my hands around her neck and kill her. But I could wait until she answered the questions. “Fine, I won’t speak to you for one year. If the building catches fire, I promise I won’t so much as knock on your door to warn you.”

“I saw the two of you getting on his motorcycle when I was looking for parking, and then I saw him leaving your apartment Wednesday morning.”

Wednesday morning? I had been at Dena’s Wednesday morning. “You saw him leaving my apartment?”

“I’ll answer your questions, but I refuse to repeat myself.”

I closed my eyes. It might be easier to get through this if I didn’t have to look at her. “Did you actually see him coming out the door of my apartment?”

“No, I bumped into him on the stairs when I was coming back from my morning run.”

“When was this?”

“Wednesday morning.”

“What
time?
”

“I don’t know.” She tapped her finger against the thin line that constituted her lips. “I usually start my run around five-fifteen, so it would have been a little after six. Are we through now?”

“Yes, yes, we’re through.” Theresa closed the door and this time I put my hand on it for balance. “I am definitely through.”

I arrived at P.J.’s at ten after eight. Marcus wasn’t there yet, but for some reason Dena and Jason were. Dena waved me over to the table, and I obediently approached.

“Where the hell have you been?” she asked. “I haven’t heard from you in ages.”

“We talked yesterday.” I tried not to stare, but she was wearing an off-the-shoulder top that was displaying two rather large marks on her neck. Maybe Jason
was
a vampire.

“A day is an eternity when someone is out there trying to kill you.”

“You’re right, I’ll try to… You know what, I’m sorry, but shouldn’t you be wearing a turtleneck or something?”