From the way Maksim nodded, I realized my brother and I were the only ones not privy to the knowledge.

“How about we talk about anything but this?” I interrupted, clicking my tongue that still tasted of candy, cigarettes, and Joshua. “We can pick from any one of the cheery topics we discuss, like banks crashing, our pending poverty, or Capone’s Outfit.”

“How about we talk about your fairies then?” Grygoriy suggested. “You gave Maks three; how about three for me?”

“How about that’s not going to happen?” I scoffed.

“How about you ingrates stop saying ‘how about’?” Igor groaned, rubbing his forehead dramatically. “It’s annoying.”

“How about you go get us another bottle?” my father retorted, gesturing to his empty glass. “And get a cup for your brother,” he called after Igor, who had stood up as soon as Dad asked. “My successful son.”

“It seems like I’m not the only one angling for a piece of the Towertown action,” Grygoriy chuckled, grinning when my father winked at him.

“You can all shove it up your asses,” I chided.

“It is what they do in Towertown,” Maks quipped, earning howls of laughter from the older men.

“Son,” my father started, once he regained his composure. “If it’s three for Maks, three for Grygoriy, and three for me, it still leaves six for you. It is very lucrative to have six establishments in this day and age.”

“It’s even better to have twelve,” I remarked.

While I wasn’t greedy about money, I was about privacy. My living situation didn’t lend itself to having much of anything of my own. Towertown was mine, a place where I was able to feel an iota more open than I typically did, and the last thing I wanted to do was bring my father into the fold. The thought that he might want to combine our rounds caused my jaw to clench. I had been spending time at the beaches but come autumn they’d be empty, and it would be back to picking pansies at the parlor. I didn’t want to dodge my dad while I tried to get my rocks off.

“Since when are you a shark, Viktor?” Grygoriy asked, eyeing me down, impressed.

“He is his father’s son,” my dad remarked, grunting his “thank you” to Igor, who reappeared to refill his glass.

Though my father wasn’t a fan of Igor’s educational endeavors, it had always been clear that my brother was the perennial favorite. It seemed, however, that my newfound success had me edging Igor out in regard to my dad’s affection. I would have appreciated the swell of endearment if it hadn’t come along with increased attention. The only time I wanted eyes on me was when I chose to be seen.

“None for me,” I decided when Igor offered me a cup. “I’m tired.”