Guessing that Connie would appear in an instant, Yuri yanked on the wire, tearing it out of the wall. The motion sent another glass smashing to the ground. Yuri bent down to retrieve the empty ice cream container. As he feared, the bathroom door swung fully open, and Connie’s form filled the doorway. She was brushing her teeth.

“What was that crash?” she demanded, cupping her mouth for fear of drooling her toothpaste. The toothbrush was clenched in her large fist.

“I don’t know,” Yuri said, hoping for the best. “Maybe it was something on the television.” He was holding the phone behind his back with his left hand. His right hand had the ice cream container. He raised it to show her and said, “I just came in to get this.”

Connie was as bewildered at Yuri’s behavior as she’d been earlier. But she didn’t say anything. She stuck her toothbrush back into her mouth, recommenced brushing, and returned to the bathroom.

Relieved, Yuri stepped out of the room and hurried into the kitchen. The first thing he did was hide the phone under the sink. Then he washed out the ice cream container before throwing it away. He did the same with the spoon, the bowl he’d used earlier, and the fork.

With a trembling hand, Yuri got out a highball glass and poured himself another healthy dollop of iced vodka. He was in dire need of its calming effect. In truth, he was disappointed to realize how nervous he was.

Retreating to the couch, Yuri sat down to wait. Unfortunately, he had no idea how long he would have to sit there. He wondered what would happen if Connie were to fall asleep before any symptoms appeared. He worried that maybe she’d just never wake up.

Yuri looked at his watch. The other thing that was bothering him was that it was two o’clock in the morning and there was still no pest control truck. Curt had promised. Yuri wondered what it meant for the future of Operation Wolverine.

Despite his anxieties, Yuri fell asleep again. When he awoke a half hour later, he knew immediately what had disturbed him. Connie was calling his name repeatedly but in a peculiar manner. She couldn’t seem to pronounce the letter “R.” She sounded drunk.

Yuri stood up and swayed. He had to lean on the arm of the couch to steady himself before walking toward his wife’s bedroom on rubbery legs. He pushed open the door. Connie was lying on the collapsed bed. But there was something different about the way she was looking at him. Instead of the usual angry defiance, Yuri could tell that she was afraid.

“What’s the matter?” Yuri questioned.

“Something’s wrong,” Connie managed. She was having difficulty articulating her words.

“What now?” Yuri asked. He pretended to be irritated.