Walking back to the mouth of Oceanview Lane, he hesitated. He looked at his house and saw no one. Encouraged, Yuri started down the alley. He had his right hand in his pocket wrapped around the pistol butt, much as he had before. The difference this time was that he made sure the gun wouldn’t be caught in the jacket lining. He was not about to be surprised again, particularly not by Flash.

The house appeared quiet. Yuri scanned the immediate neighborhood. With Jack nowhere in sight, he went through his front gate and rushed around to the side door. As quickly as he could manage, he got himself inside and locked the door behind him.

Leaning against the door he let out a deep breath of relief. A rapid glance around the interior suggested that no one had been inside. He set the groceries down and immediately descended the steps to the basement. He breathed another sigh of relief to see that the lock on the lab was undisturbed.

Back in the kitchen Yuri put the frozen dinner and vodka into the freezer. The rest of the boxes he left on the table. On his way to the bathroom he saw the business card on the floor by the front door. He picked it up. As he expected, it was another one of Jack’s. Yuri added it to the one already in his pocket.

Yuri pulled off the fake beard. The adhesive was driving him crazy. When he looked into the mirror he saw that he had a minor rash where the beard had been. He washed his face. Unsure of how else to treat it, he put on some aftershave lotion. Unfortunately, it stung so much it brought tears to his eyes. When he looked in the mirror again, the rash was significantly redder. It looked much worse.

Back in the kitchen Yuri got his car keys out of the cabinet. Ever since he’d been in the bar he’d been agonizing over what to do about Jack Stapleton’s appearance on the scene. Much as he hated to, he decided that it was serious enough to warrant alerting Curt and risking his wrath. But he would do it in person.

First, Yuri went to the front windows. He surveyed the alleyway through the slats of the venetian blind. Except for a young woman in a babushka pushing a child in a stroller, there was no one in sight. Nor were there any strange vehicles parked near his cottage. Walking to the kitchen door, Yuri looked out at the side door of the garage. It was only a few steps away. He debated putting the beard back on but decided against it for fear of aggravating the rash. Instead, he took the gun out of his jacket, held it in his left hand, and draped a towel over it. With his keys in his right hand, he opened the door.