Shelly Laurenston: Bite Me

In a dry pair of sweatpants and T-shirt, a towel over his wet hair, Vic threw back his head and laughed at Crushek’s story about taking down three Volkov Pack wolves during an ill-planned jewelry heist in Queens.

“One of them tried to make a run for it, and he just ran into these thick, bulletproof glass doors. So they didn’t break, but he got knocked out cold.”

“What’s really sad,” Vic finally admitted, “I know them. Those were Grigori’s less-than-bright nephews.”

“How are you friends with wolves?” Lock asked.

“I used to think it was because somehow the bear and feline parts cancelled each other out. But I finally realized it was my mother. The men love my mother.”

Vic heard a click and looked over his shoulder to see Livy standing by the doorway, snapping pictures of them. She’d put her new camera together and was thoroughly enjoying the evening now that she had something between herself and the crowd at the house.

The one thing he knew not to do, though, was to point out that she was again using her camera. Nothing annoyed Livy more than when someone stated the obvious. Like, “Hot day, huh?” during an August day, or “Hey! That’s a camera,” when she was holding a camera.

Those were things that irritated her. So Vic returned to his conversation with men mostly built like him, but who didn’t feel the need to drag him into playing a sport. According to Novikov, “I’m glad you don’t play hockey because you could be better than me and then I’d just have to destroy you so you didn’t get in my way.”

He’d said that simply, as if it was something they should all understand—and they all did. It was clear Crushek and MacRyrie didn’t agree with him, but they understood his logic. Vic, however, kind of agreed. He could be pretty competitive, but he hid it well.

Shen walked in with glasses and the bottle of forty-year-old scotch he’d found.

“Poison free,” he promised as he poured each of them a glass.

“You sure?”

“I double-checked with Livy,” he said, pointing to where Livy had just been standing. She’d gone off to take more pics of the partygoers. “Apparently we should all be grateful there aren’t snakes here. It seems a honey badger party ain’t a honey badger party without some black mambas roaming around.”

Vic shuddered. “I hate snakes,” he complained before sipping his drink.

“Then you better not go to any Kowalski-Yang reunions with Livy, my friend, because that is how they all roll.”

“I’ve been thinking about adding snake to our menu,” Van Holtz announced. “Cobra with a nice red wine sauce. Or should one have white wine with snake? Or should the wine vary with the type of snake . . . ?” He shook his head. “I’ll have to do more research.”

Vic and Novikov exchanged glances across the room until both shuddered and went back to their drinks.

Livy sat on the stairs, teaching herself how her new camera worked. Toni sat down next to her, handed her a Coke.

“I thought your camera got destroyed.”

“It did. Vic bought me this one.”

“He bought you that? That must have been expensive.”

“It was, but he got a deal,” she said proudly. She wasn’t a fan of receiving stolen items—like the black pearl necklace her father had given her for her sixteenth birthday. Something he’d picked up from a heist a few days before. But Livy always did enjoy a good discount or haggling.

“You really are in love with Vic Barinov, aren’t you?” Toni asked her.

“I am. I told him it was his fault and I’d never forgive him.”

“He’s not your dad, Livy.”

“But am I? Am I going to make his life miserable?”

“You’ve damaged the man’s home several times and eaten all his honey. If he’s not miserable yet . . .”

“Thanks, friend o’ mine.”

Toni grinned. “You’re welcome. Oh!” She went into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out an envelope. “I got this in the mail yesterday. It’s from Kyle.”

Livy pulled the sheet of paper out of the envelope, unfolded it, and sighed. “Wow.”

It was of her and Vic, asleep on the bed. Thankfully, they were both dressed as they’d been the morning Kyle had seen them that way.

“I didn’t know you could look so serene.”

“The serenity that comes with destroyed creativity.”

Toni rolled her eyes. “You and Kyle with that ridiculous theory about love and the destruction of creativity.” Toni took the camera from Livy’s hand and looked through the pictures she’d taken so far, using the display screen on the back of the digital camera. “Look at that,” she said, showing Livy a picture she’d taken of Vic and Novikov chatting outside. They’d both just shifted and hadn’t put on clothes yet. She’d shot them from behind . . . yeah, it was a great shot. And she hadn’t even futzed with it yet, but she had shot it in black-and-white.

“So can we stop with this bullshit, please?” Toni asked, pushing the camera back at her.

“I guess.”

“Aren’t there bigger issues you have to worry about?”

“You mean the whole shot-by-bears thing?”

“Nah. You’re through that. I’m talking about the illegal thing your cousin’s doing upstairs. You guys are just going to piss off Chumakov. Apparently he’s not one to back off when shamed. He may come after you again.”

“Did you hear that from your new Russian bear friends?”

“Maybe.” Toni glanced around. “Where is Zubachev anyway?”

“Flirting inappropriately with my mother in the kitchen.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. He’s very married.”

“But he’s near the poison-infused vodka—and my mother .”

“Shit!” Toni jumped up. “He hasn’t signed the contracts yet for the hockey games!”

Livy went back to playing with her new camera. “Some days, it’s just too easy to manipulate these people.”

It took three solid days and Shen couldn’t believe it. He could not believe what he was looking at.

He held up the print of that old missing Matisse painting and compared it to the painting Melly Kowalski had created.

It was hard to believe this mess of a woman—and good God, was she a mess—could create such an amazing copy of another artist’s work. A great artist’s work. She’d even used an old canvas her family kept for such occasions and aged the work.

Shen looked at Vic. “This is amazing.”

“I now see why the Kowalskis put up with her. Apparently she can copy any artist or artist’s style.”

“So she’s like a drunk-savant.”

“I’ve never seen anyone drink so much vodka before in my life. She just passes out for a while, and when she wakes up, she’s ready to eat and get back to work. It’s utterly disturbing.”

“So now what?”

“Now we let the Kowalski and Yang connections do what they do best.”

“Which is?”

“Sell the Kowalskis’ fake bullshit art to ridiculously rich people who are so desperate to have a piece of important art they refuse to know any better.”

Shen smiled. “Excellent.”

Grekina Renard opened her arms and hugged the giant bear of a Russian whom she’d invited into her art studio.

“I’m so glad to see you, Stepka Chumakov.”

“And you, Grekina.” He sized her up. “You look beautiful as always.”

“Now, now, old friend. I didn’t call you here for any of that.”

“Then what do you want? My father is expecting me back in Moscow in the next day or two. You can come with me,” he sweetly offered. “See your old homeland?”

“I’m only half-Russian. I was raised right here.” Grekina dropped down into a comfortable chair. “Remember that offer you made to me a year or so ago?”