This wasn’t her usual route, opting instead to go door-to-door via private car service than to take the train. But that cost money, money Fay had but she didn’t, and then the game would come to a swift end before Fay was ready. She hadn’t done this since she was a kid, and at the time there wasn’t anything fun about a little girl in the streets of Moscow playing frightened mouse to her father’s angry cat. Vodka and gambling were a terrible combination made worse by excess, and her father was only good at the last. So Fay had no choice but to get good at the game. To know when she was being followed, to trust the tingling dread in her belly, the prickled hair on her nape really meant his eyes were on her, watching, waiting. Fay paused to light a cigarette, head dipped and hand cupped as she brought the lighter up. A soft scuff sounded behind her, barely audible. The end of the rolled tobacco glowed red as she took a long drag. Head tipped back, she puckered her lips and blew the smoke out in small, perfectly formed rings.
