I sat quietly, attempting to process the words that had come from his mouth. It sounded familiar, like Hitler scapegoating Jews. I was awed by the patterns and the long strands of similarities weaving together throughout the world.

“Towertown is dead. Prohibition is dead, but we aren’t,” Vlad stated. I wished he had brought the bottle of vodka into the room with him and continued filling my cup. There was nothing I wanted more than to drown my terrible thoughts in alcohol. Flashbacks of conversations I’d had with Abraham flashed in my mind. He’d said something along those lines before but with a different message. I didn’t want to be connected to any of it. Not Hitler or Jews, homosexuals or Towertown, Vlad or Abe, Russia or America, Mikhailovs don’t need or Mikhailovs do, I wanted to cut every tie, break every bond.

“You were popular with the queens,” Vlad began, pausing in a way that made me instantly uncomfortable. “Well liked. You’ll do well with your next assignment too. You have to be good with people, get them to trust you.”

“What do you want me to do?” I shifted in my seat, knowing anything he said other than ‘nothing’ was something I didn’t want to do.

“You’re going to run a numbers game. I’m putting you in charge of the whole thing. You’ll sell the slips, get runners to carry the money, draw the numbers, issue the payouts and bring the profit to me. Half whatever the odds are. If a hundred people bought in, tell them it was fifty. Pay fifty to the winner, then fifty to me. I’ll give you ten percent, but if you show me increases by the week, we’ll put it on an escalating scale up to fifty of my fifty. Alright?”

No, not alright. “Yes.”

“Money may be tight for people, but it just makes them more desperate to get it. Between the hopefuls and the addicts, you should be able to rake in the dough. Those gambling addicts …” He clicked his tongue. “Vik, the best thing about sick people is they’ll do whatever it takes to feed the beast. They’ll go to any length. Find people with vices and exploit them. That’s how you make it in America. Let’s make it in America, yes?”

No. “Yes.”

He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with the glasses and vodka so that we could toast the endeavor, but I was more concerned with getting toasted, removing myself from the apartment either in body or in consciousness.