Londongrad

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Sunday morning, Tolya left New York. He called early. He was waiting for me outside the yellow brick loft building where he lived in the old Meat Market. His black hair still wet from the shower, he looked sober.

“Why do I feel you have a case, that you’re working on something and you don’t tell me, Artemy? In Brooklyn? Val asked you about it at my club. You ignored her.”

“It’s a homicide Bobo Leven is working. I gave him the benefit of my wisdom,” I said.

“You don’t want to tell me?”

“It’s fucking grim, a young girl murdered. Just enjoy your trip, okay?”

“Take care of Valentina. I trust you with her only in public places.”

We laughed, but I felt sad and I couldn’t say why. Maybe it was the early morning, the soft balmy summer dawn, the kind when we had so often staggered home from parties together.

“I’ll try,” I said. “What airline are you on?” I added, making stupid small talk to change the subject.

“You think I am flying commercial? Please.”

He smiled. He seemed okay. He said that Valentina was still asleep at home and he had checked on her, and in her sleep, she had smiled at him. I didn’t say she had been with me. Somehow, I would redeem myself with him, one day, some day.

“You have keys for my place? In case,” said Tolya.

“Yes.”

“And all my phone numbers?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll think about coming with me in business, in restaurants? You promise?” He looked at his big gold Rolex. “What’s the date, Artyom?”

“July 6. You okay?”

“Please, I just want to set my watch, you think I’m getting senile?” He adjusted his watch. “We’ll have some fun before it’s too late, Artyom. Okay? Before we die. Thought we’d die before we got old, like they say back in the day, right, when I was rock and roll god, but now we have to hurry up.”

For a second it occurred to me that-I’d thought it before- Tolya’s clubs were some kind of cover, but cover for what? I didn’t know. I didn’t want to know.

“One other thing, Artyom,” he said.

“Sure.”

“This Roy Pettus, stay away from him.”

“Don’t worry. I’m seeing him later, I’m going to tell him to fuck off, you know?”

“Don’t see him at all. Just don’t. These guys, Artyom, these spook people they are the same, they work together, they exchange information, it’s capital for them, like cash,” said Tolya. “I have to go now.”

He climbed into the black Range Rover that was waiting for him at the curb. He shut the door. He pressed his face against the window, pushed his hair back from his forehead. It was already gray at the roots. In the face against the window, I could see how he would be as an old man.

Don’t go, I wanted to say.

“Take care of her,” he mouthed through the car window.

Tolya put his hand, big, like a pale pink ham, flat on the window, a sort of farewell gesture, and I remember thinking, not knowing why I thought it, that I’d never see him again. Then the car pulled away.