Page 98 of Aftertaste

Kostya fumbled with his phone, swiping past the usual string of missed calls from his mother. “Eleven oh three.”

Viktor nodded at his goons. “Two minutes. Time to go.”

The Comrade and Air Jordans lumbered over and hoisted the package up again. They heaved it across the kitchen—whatever was in there decidedly heavy, odious, an association Kostya did not want—but instead of heading back up the stairs with it, they tugged it forward, toward the subway.

Kostya’s blood seemed to curdle in his veins.

Was Maura still there? How much had she seen? Had she been able to escape through the other side of the tunnel, or was she on the platform now, witness to what was probably a crime, one exacted by a bunch of criminals who surely wouldn’t blink twice before cutting a loose thread?

He scanned the windows, hoping she was far, far away, and nearly choked on his spit. There she was, at the end of the row, peeking out behind the glass. His head gave an infinitesimal shake.Get-the-fuck-away.She vanished out of sight, but not before he registered her face, the way all the light had left it. All the hope.

She must have seen the whole thing.

“Wait!” he shouted, trying to buy time. The goon squad turned to stare. “You—you can’t just take that on the subway! There’s cameras!”

Viktor waved him away. “Max take care of this.”

“What about the conductor? The other passengers? Someone’s gonna see you if you take—” Kostya fumbled for a word, “thatonto a train.”

“Next train our driver,” Viktor said calmly. “Express to Brooklyn.”

“But what about—”

“Move aside.”

The Comrade shoved past him. He turned the handle on one of the panes of glass—like he’d done it before; like he’d been intimately familiar with this convenient feature of the architecture—and climbed through it to the platform. Air Jordans heaved the package over the ledge—it landed on the other side with athunk—and climbed over, too.

For a moment, nothing happened, and then bright light washed over the kitchen, the 6 Train flooding the station, not speeding past like it usually did, but slowing down, the brake screeching to a halt.Ding-dong, the subway doors pealed as they opened. The goons hustled the package in.Stand clear of the closing doors.And away they went. As if they’d timed it.

And, Kostya realized with a start, Viktor had.

“Kostik,” Viktor said then, “go home. Rest up. Like you said, tomorrow big day.”

Kostya’s eyes burned, liquid with fear. How had he not seen it, been so willfully blind? Viktor didn’t care about him, or his food, or even the ghosts. He didn’t care about restaurants, or Michelin stars, or reviews. He just needed the 6 Train. This abandoned station.

“The restaurant was a front,” he said, numb.

“Of course.” Viktor shrugged like it was obvious. “Original plan not so good as you, I confess. Was only going to be so-so Russian nightclub. Enough for cover. But then I meet you; you say I make killing, and I think to myself, ‘I like cake, to have and to eat also.’ More successful restaurant bring more money. Less suspicions. Longer lease. Win-win-win.”

He exhaled smoke in a long, slow stream, the room so cold it hung there in the air.

“Until tomorrow.” Viktor rose from his seat and patted a stunned Kostya on the cheek. “Remember: Many ghosts. No whammies.”

He stood frozen, staring at his kitchen as Viktor walked up the steps and out of sight, as he listened to the creak of the floorboards overhead, as the heavy entry door gave a bang and Viktor exited the building.

In the morning, whether he wanted to or not, Kostya would come back here. To lead a team of cooks, people he actually cared about, in service of this man, this mobster—damn it, his mother had been right!—to raise enough Dead to keep them open for a year, which, according to Maura, would bring about some sort of ghostpocalypse.

Maura.

He darted to the windows and threw them open, shouting her name onto the platform. Angry or not, seeing her that close to danger had shaken him.

But only his voice echoed back.

Maura was gone.

Dear Stan,

I’m not big on letters, but there’s some stuff I have to say and I don’t expect you to listen any more tonight than you already have. So here. For whenever you’re ready.

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