“Yes.”
“It can be arranged,” said Peter. “Right, Boris?”
“It can be arranged,” said Boris.
“Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” asked Sasha.
Nimitsov stared at Sasha, who waited patiently and drank his coffee. “Tonight,” he finally said, “I want your dog ready. I want a good fight before Bronson kills him.”
“Tchaikovsky will not lose,” said Sasha.
“He will lose,” said Nimitsov. “Or you will die. Many people are betting on your dog. The odds are going down. Overfeed your animal. Give him a drug, nothing too strong. I want a decent fight, with Bronson having just the edge he needs to insure his victory.
There will be people there I wish to impress, people you will wish to impress. These people have heard about Bronson. They do not know your dog.”
“You don’t think your dog can win without help?” asked Sasha.
“I don’t wish to take a chance,” said Nimitsov, a smile suddenly appearing on his baby face. “I intend to make a great deal of money tonight, and much more in the future with the help of these people I have mentioned. I can arrange for you to place a very large bet that will give you plenty of money to buy a new dog anywhere in the world. Besides, you have other dogs.”
“None as good as Tchaikovsky,” said Sasha, trying to contain himself.
“It cannot be helped,” said Nimitsov, rising.
“A good fight and a dead pit bull. I’m more interested in our progress in getting me and my animals into the syndicate,” said Sasha, reaching over to put down the coffee cup.
“We will make arrangements before the fight,” said Nimitsov, moving toward the door. “We will discuss our future before the fight.”
“What about now?” asked Sasha.
Nimitsov simply shook his head.
“Then tonight, before the fight,” Sasha said. “I am not losing my best dog without assurance that the sacrifice will be worth it.”
“You’ll make a great deal of money tonight,” Nimitsov said.
“I want a future with a great deal more than I can make in one night. My dog doesn’t fight and die till we talk and I get some information from you.”
“Dmitri,” Nimitsov said, shaking his head and touching the scar across his nose. “I could kill you here and now. I would enjoy doing it. I have not yet decided whether I like you or not.”
“We will have a deal tonight before the fight,” Sasha repeated, folding his arms in front of him. “Or I will take my animals and go back to Kiev.”
“I’ve decided. I don’t like you,” said Nimitsov, “but I would be doing just as you are if I were in your position. All right.”
“What about the police?” asked Sasha. He had almost forgotten this part, which Rostnikov had said was essential. Without it, Nimitsov might wonder why he was not more curious about the fact that a police officer had been not only watching him but sleeping with him.
“We will take care of that,” said Nimitsov. “Now don’t say another word. I am not in my best mood and I do not like demands.
Boris will be back to pick you up at eight. We will have dinner. You will get your dog and we will go to the arena.”
Sasha knew he had gone as far as he could go. He sensed that the young man in the rumpled suit was on the verge of a violent explosion.
The two visitors left.
When the door closed, Sasha groped his way back to the chair.
His hands were trembling. Maybe, he thought, his mother, Lydia, was right, that he had a family, that he should get out of this before he was killed. He knew he wouldn’t quit, but the thought had come quickly and seriously to him. He could not stop his hands from shaking.
Chapter Ten
Elena sat up in one of the two hospital beds in a small room off of Leon’s office. The room was reserved for patients Leon did not believe would be best served in a hospital.
In this case, however, the request to keep Elena in the private room came from Porfiry Petrovich, who stood next to the bed, looking down.
Elena’s injury was ugly but was not nearly as bad as it appeared at first glance. The teeth bites were deep but they were in the fleshy part of her shoulder. No muscles had been torn or ripped, though the dog’s teeth had gone deeply in. The blood had been easy to stop and the wounds had required surprisingly little su-turing.
“I can,” Leon had said, “arrange for rabies injections.”
On this Rostnikov deferred to Elena, who wore a clean but not becoming white hospital gown.
“No,” she said. “I saw the dog that attacked me, at the arena.
I don’t see how he could be rabid.”
“It is a risk,” said Leon, looking at her bandaged and taped shoulder, her arm in a sling.
“A small one,” said Elena.
“A risk,” Leon repeated.
“I do not believe the dog was rabid,” she repeated.
“Nor do I,” said Rostnikov. “I have dealt with rabid animals before. They were wild, could not be stopped in their attacks.
They looked mad except in the earliest stages. This dog did not appear to be rabid. However, I believe I may be able to get the dog tonight.”
“Well,” said Leon. “It is your life. I will give you an address and a name where you can take the dog for testing.”
“I will ask Paulinin,” said Rostnikov. “You know him.”
“Yes,” said Leon. “I’ll leave you. I have patients. I’d say you can leave this afternoon, but sit still, take the pills, and be back tomorrow for me to look at the wound.”
“Can she stay overnight?” Rostnikov asked. “I would prefer that no risk be taken that she might be seen.”
“Overnight,” Leon agreed. “No longer, please.”
With that, Leon went back to his other patients and Rostnikov turned to Elena.
“I’ll tell Anna Timofeyeva,” he said.
“Yes,” said Elena.
“You want a book to read?” asked Rostnikov, pulling the Ed McBain novel from his back pocket.
“Maybe later,” she said, looking at the window. “I could have been killed. I would have been killed if you. .”
“But I was,” he said. “May I sit?”
“Oh, yes, please.”
Rostnikov sat with a sigh of relief. He had examined his trousers, which were torn beyond repair, but he did not have time to take care of them. Perhaps he could stop at home for another pair, not that he had that many, before heading for Petrovka. He sat quietly.
“You want to check on Sasha,” she said.
“In a little while.”
“I think I should like to get some sleep now,” Elena said. “The pills, the. . I’ll be better with a little sleep.”
“You want a medal?” asked Rostnikov. “I can get you one.”
“For being attacked by a dog and surviving?”
