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time Carlos dropped him off, he needed to lie down. “Thanks, Carlos. I appreciate the ride.”
    “Don’t mention it. Here’s Neal’s card, he asked me to make sure you have it.”
    He did, did he? Sasha took the black-and-white card with the Factory logo and Neal’s contact information. “Thanks.” Flipping it over, the handwritten cell phone number appeared. He grinned and stashed it under his phone.
    “Get better. And be safe.”
    “I will.” He watched Carlos climb back into the cab of the truck and disappear down the street.
    He almost fell asleep before he got to his apartment. He managed to undress and take the meds, and stretched out on his sheets. His body ached in time to his heartbeat, but as the Vicodin kicked in, it subsided enough for him to drift off.

Chapter Four
    Okay, Now What?
     
    Sasha did nothing all day Sunday but rest and watch DVDs. He roused enough to make himself some fruit smoothies and eggs, but for once didn’t wash his dishes. He started to drag around eight o’clock and shut the lights and television off.
    The steady tweet of his mobile phone woke him Monday morning. The sun beat against his blinds; thank the Gods he’d closed them before falling asleep.
    “Doctor Soskoff,” he managed to mumble into the telephone, in case it was someone about a job.
    “Sasha? Jesus man, are you okay?” Marty Keaton demanded.
    “Marty? What time is it?”
    “It’s ten o’clock Monday morning. You don’t know? I’m coming over.” The sound of a door slamming came through the phone.
    “Slow down, man, you woke me up is all.”
    “Yeah, yeah. I’m coming over anyway. You need breakfast, and I want to see how bad you’re hurt. Your aunt’s gonna kill me.”
    He laughed. Marty had a point. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”
    “No. But I think one of us should. She’s the doctor, you know.”
    “Yeah, well, don’t.” His voice came out authoritative, reminding him of Neal’s.
    Warmth filled him and he missed Marty’s next comment.
    “What was that?”
    Marty didn’t answer right away. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
    He rolled his eyes. “Yes. I’m sore, is all.”
    “Neal Harrison said you had broken ribs. Why didn’t you go to the hospital?”
    “I told you. I just woke up. Could you at least save the interrogation until after I’ve had coffee?”
    There was a small silence, and Sasha could hear the car radio through the telephone. “Yeah, man. I’m sorry. Look, I’ll grab some stuff from Corner Bakery and be there in a half hour.”
    “That sounds good. Thanks.”
    “Yeah.” Marty hung up.
    Sasha let his arm fall. Marty was one of his best friends, but sometimes…
    He rolled out of bed and took a quick shower. The jagged cut on his arm burned, but he washed everything with soap, wary of infection. He dressed in soft flannel pajamas, since he didn’t have to go anywhere.
    His face, though… Shit, his interview was tomorrow. He stared at himself in the mirror, his eye a dark red mess and the shiner, if anything, bigger than the last time he’d looked.
    He dialed Dr. Salisbury’s office and sat on the bed.
    To his shock, the doctor answered his own telephone. Sasha expected an assistant.
    “Charles Salisbury.”
    “Good morning, Doctor. This is Aleksandr Soskoff.”
    “Doctor Soskoff.” Dr. Salisbury sounded pleased to hear his voice. “What can I do for you?”
    “Sir, I wanted to call about tomorrow.” Just say it . “I was mugged on Friday, and—”
    “Mugged?”
    “Yes, sir. I—”
    “Surely, you’re all right, young man?”
    “Yes, sir. I’m fine, but I look terrible. I wanted to warn you for the interview tomorrow, since it’s not something I can hide.”
    “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather postpone?”
    “No, thank you. I’m fine, I just look like a walking war victim.”
    The doctor chuckled, though Sasha got the impression it was partially involuntary. “Whatever you think best, Doctor Soskoff.”
    “I’ll see you tomorrow,