Konni walked out of his matka’s place at half-past ten, then rode the train back to Manhattan, where he stopped at the sandwich shop before walking home to his apartment. After months of living with him, Sash knew the man’s routine, and the girl working at the sub shop knew Sash well enough to hand over Konni’s order when he asked for it.

Outside, a urine-scented woman on the sidewalk flashed her toothless grin, giving thanks for the wrapped sandwich.

“He ordered a small turkey sub and some chips,” said Sash, glancing at the Maserati in his side mirror—behind its blackened glass sat Tadeusz and Radek.

“Good,” Cyril said, paging through his Tiger Beat magazine. “He’s alone,”

Sash glanced at Niko in the rearview.

“Did he say anything about my shit?”

The long-haired thug answered quickly.

“Just that Sam-sam and Andrej cleared the place out,”

“If Sam-Sam found the guns and cash,” said Cyril, “he would be long gone,”

Sash agreed, but his mind raced as he drove toward Astor.

“This boy, Jonathan Brandis.” Cyril held up the open magazine featuring a young blue-eyed blond actor dressed in white. “He’s beautiful,”

“If you like skinny blondes,” said Sash.

Cyril hummed. “This boy reminds me of Andrej,”

Sash checked Niko in the mirror and found him disinterested. Cyril also noticed this and gave Sash a knowing look. The towering Ukrainian must have found another ass to drill, not that anyone could blame him, given Andrej’s coldness.

Boxy lights edged in the rearview as Radek joined him in parking across the street from Saint Marks.

Two windows glowed upon its brick face, and Sash wondered if Andrej was sleeping on his satin sheets because Sam-Sam wasn’t balling Radek on them.

All four men exited the cars, and Cyril led them through an alley. At Konni’s building, the police were gone, and a new door stood where they’d kicked in the old one.

“We must hurry,” Niko said on the elevator. “I got Andrej waiting.”

“For what?” Tadeusz teased. “Another night of him saying you can’t fuck him,”

Soft laughter filled the small space.

“He didn’t want to fuck with you three in the room,” Niko said.

“That was weeks ago,” said Tadeusz. “How have you not popped yet?”

“What if I’m the only one in the room?” Cyril asked.

“You’re in the shithouse,” Niko smirked. “You upset Dimi,”

Sash turned his head. “Boscov?”

“Dimi works with Andrej at the Tea Room,” Cyril mumbled.

Sash frowned. “How can a city this big be so small?”

The five strolled down the hall, muted televisions their soundtrack as they approached Konni’s front door. Tadeusz knocked as Nikola pressed his thumb to the peephole. From inside, Konni’s voice asked who it was, and Tadeusz slipped into a Latino accent and claimed to have his sandwich.

The door parted an inch, and they pushed their way inside.

Niko and Tadeusz took his arms and dragged the wiry man to the floor while Radek swooped in and sat on his legs. Sash shoved a rubber ball into his mouth before he could scream, and frightened eyes regarded Cyril until he covered them with gray duct tape.

Tadeusz flipped Konni over so Niko could tie a struggling Konni’s hands with the jumping rope they’d bought at a nearby drugstore. Once his hands were secured behind his back, Radek rolled him up in an area rug and hoisted it onto his shoulder.

Sash entered the darkened bedroom and began feeling around under the bed.

“Is it there?” Cyril asked from the kitchen.

Sash shook his head when the old man appeared.

“Would he even know where to sell it?” asked Cyril.

“I’ll check the pawn shops,” said Sash.

Sash slipped past Tadeusz and Cyril in the hall to get out in front. Each closed door threatened a witness, and relief set in when they reached the elevator; Sash hated shooting people whose only sin was seeing his face.

Downstairs, they ventured out of the garage and through the alley. Niko and Radek held the rolled rug on their shoulders as Sash pulled the Explorer to the curb. After tossing Konni into the back, Sash drove out onto the street with Cyril beside him in front and Tadeusz in the back.

Radek and Niko in the Maserati caught up as they entered the Battery Tunnel.

South along Fort Hamilton Parkway, Sash exited at Gravesend and veered onto 65th street, where burned-out buildings and abandoned stores sang of better times. Signs of life appeared on 85th, none of it breathing this time of night.

Both cars turned down a dirt road, where the city across the channel cast tiny squares upon its still waters. Flashes of a semi-abandoned construction appeared within the headlights, the pitch darkness taking hold when their engines died.

Sash lit a cigar before he and Radek dragged the rug out and unrolled a groaning Konni. Cyril then led Niko to a standing cement mixer, where the silent Ukrainian grabbed the pouring tray and swung it over a squarish hole. Radek drug Konni up and deposited him inside, then Tadeusz reached in and ripped the tape from his eyes.

“Hullo,” Sash sang. “You’ve been a talkative boy these days, Konrad.”

Tadeusz yanked the tape from Konni’s mouth and pressed his fingers into his cheeks, dislodging the ball without getting bitten.

“I’ve said nothing,” he cried, drool spotting his chin.

Sash knelt. “Did you fuck us over to the Federals?”

Konni took inventory of the men surrounding him.

“Listen to me, Sasha,” he pleaded. “They let me go because the charges didn’t stick. I know how that must look, but you got to believe me! I didn’t fuck you over. I wouldn’t fuck my brother, Miro, over. Please, believe me,”

“I would very much like to,” Sash said, standing.

“Sasha, please,” Konni begged, his breath fogging the air.

Tadeusz waited for Cyril’s nod before walking to the cement mixer.

Niko swung the pouring arm again, cracking Konni’s head with it.

“Please,” Konni screamed and struggled to regain his knees. “I said nothing!”

Radek ripped open a bag and poured its gravelly powder into the cipher. Cyril came alongside him with a running hose and filled the twirling hopper with water.

“They’re expecting me soon,” Konni yelled, tears lining his cheeks. “They’re meeting me tonight. If you kill me, they’ll know it was you!”

Embers from Sash’s cigar floated on the wind, glowing flecks that burned out in the dirt before reaching the foxtails. He brought up his arm and read his watch. “That’s not a date you’ll make, Konni.”

Tadeusz pulled the lever, sending thick porridge into the well.

Konni struggled to crawl away as gray sludge flooded in around him, a thick soup that enveloped his head and turned his cries into muted coughs. No one saw him drown because Sash’s cigar wasn’t bright enough. Several moments passed before Niko swung the pouring arm out, and the noisy glugging stopped.

As the unholy mold set, the men shared a bottle of vodka in silence.

Satisfied the deed was done, Sash stubbed his cigar out on his shoe.

Tadeusz drove the Maserati back to Manhattan and went clubbing with a friend. Radek collected Samil and took him home. The boy’s mother asked if he’d seen Konrad, and Radek told her no before fucking her son in the shower.

Cyril returned to the place and fell asleep while Niko sought out Andrej but instead found Dmitri Boscov.

Sash drove to Atlantic City, where a complicated job awaited him.