"Alright. No onions. No pineapple. What else?"
"Oh, I really want that fizzy peach drink. The Polish one."
"The one in the glass bottle?" I confirm.
"Yes, but do not buy it from the store near the highway. Their fridge is always broken, and the bottles are warm. Go to the Kirov market."
Snapping my bloody fingers to catch Pavel's attention, I watch him cross the concrete room. He steps over Levan’s shaking legs to grab a pen and notepad from the metal desk before handing the items down to me. Wedging the phone between my ear and my shoulder, I balance the notepad right on Levan’s chest to start writing. His broken ribs flinch with every stroke of the pen.
"Fizzy peach drink in a glass bottle, Kirov market, and a pizza. What else do you need,Vedma?"
"Chips. And grab a tub of sour cream for dipping. Make sure the chips are the ones in the purple bag - the green ones taste awful. And ice cream. Vanilla with the chocolate swirl. Actually, you know what? Just buy a three-liter tub. One is never enough, and you always eat half of it anyway."
"Okay. The massive tub of ice cream. Anything else?"
"Hmm... can you grab something from the bakery right next door to the Kirov market? I want a custard-flavored pastry. If they have the raspberry custard cake, get a couple of those too, but only if they look fresh. I don't want them if they look stale, but I really do want them."
"Custard pastries. Raspberry if fresh."
Levan coughs, red blood bubbling from his pale lips. Muting the phone call, I grab his jaw with my free hand and squeeze hard until his teeth grind together. His eyes bulge in panic.
"I'm having a loving conversation with my wife," I hiss at him. "We're discussing pizza and pastries. If you make one more sound - if you cough, or if you breathe louder than I think is necessary - I'll cut your tongue out and feed it to the guard dogs upstairs. Nod if you understand."
He gives a frantic nod. I unmute the phone.
"Sorry, baby. I dropped my pen."
"You're so clumsy today," she sighs. "Are you even writing this down? I'm going to forget everything I just asked for the second I hang up the phone."
"Don't worry, baby. I'm writing it all down right now. I got every single word."
"Wait - do we have toilet paper?"
"I'll add it to the list."
"Okay... yeah, I think that's everything. For real this time."
"Alright, my love. If you need anything else, just call me back. Relax, put your feet up, and start another movie. When I get home, we'll watch your pick together. I'll bring all the snacks."
"Okay."
"I love you."
"Love you too," she murmurs, her voice softening. "Hurry up and finish your work. I miss your face."
"I'll be home soon. I promise."
Hanging up the call, I set the phone down on the notepad resting on his chest.
Levan stares up at me with blood-filled eyes.
"What do you take me for?" His voice comes out raw and enraged. "A fucking writing desk? A piece of furniture? You sit on my chest - taking a grocery list from your woman - while I bleed out underneath you? You take a phone call about pizza and pastries while I lie here with a destroyed shoulder and a broken nose? You treat me as nothing! I'm Levan Janelidze. I killed your fath…"
Pulling my knife free, I drive the steel deep into the center of his chest. I avoid the heart and aim lower. The blade punches through the hard sternum, angling straight toward his windpipe. His mouth drops open, but he makes no sound. Escaping air whistles wetly from the fresh wound.
Pulling the blade out, I stab him again. I sink the metal an inch to the left.
"You could've stayed quiet," I tell him. "You could've kept your mouth shut for thirty more seconds. This execution would've been clean."