Genie for Hire Read Online Free PDF

membership to the gym on Collins Avenue, and
a thousand dollars in cash, mostly in hundred-dollar bills.
    He had no health insurance card that might indicate his
employer, and no business cards either. He memorized the man’s driver’s license
number then returned to the dining room and located Igor, sliding his wallet
back into his pocket as the bodybuilder flirted with Natasha.
    The stocky, older man who had bumped against Biff in the
locker room at the gym approached, and Biff readied himself for another
altercation. But the man walked right past him. “We have to talk,” he said to
Igor in Russian.
    “Excuse me, please,” Igor said in English to Natasha, who
pouted, but walked away. He turned to the older man and continued in Russian.
“What is so important it cannot wait until the end of the party?”
    “Not here,” the older man said, taking Igor’s arm and
steering him toward the restrooms. But instead of entering the men’s room, the
older man pushed open an exit that led to the service drive behind the shopping
center. The two men walked outside, and Biff, following, slid through the door
just before it closed.
    “What is it, Kiril?” Igor said, as Biff drifted behind them,
to a position just far enough away that he would not be noticed.
    Kiril, Biff thought. Was this Kiril Ovetschkin, the mobster
who had threatened Sveta?
    “There is a problem with Customs,” Kiril said. His Russian
was gruffer and more idiomatic than Igor’s; Biff assumed that Kiril had been
raised in the mother country, learning his language in a rural area, while Igor
had grown up in the US, learning the Russian taught in schools.
    “What kind of problem?” Igor asked. “Will it interfere with
the shipment?”
    “Yes, it will interfere,” Kiril said, in a tone that implied
he was speaking with a child. “The Italian had a heart attack last night. He
won’t be there tonight to sign off on the shipment.”
    “Motherfucker,” Igor said in English. Then he returned to
Russian. “What can we do? A heart attack, he won’t be back soon.”
    “You must go down there. Convince his replacement that it is
in his best interests to allow the AK-47s to proceed unmolested to Managua.”
    “Motherfucker,” Igor said again. “Fine. I will go. Tell
Natasha I said good night.”
    “I may tell her more than that,” Kiril said, with a leer.
“Now that I am a single man again.”
    Biff sensed a surge of testosterone in Igor, as well as an
effort to control his temper. “I will call you,” he said, stalking off into the
darkness.
    There was no sense following Igor; Biff knew his name and
address, and hadn’t planned to confront him at the party anyway. It was more
interesting to follow the older man back inside and see who he really was.
    Crowds parted wherever Kiril moved. The girl in the red
brocade dress nearly fell over when Kiril snatched a glass from her tray,
downed it, and shoved it back onto the tray. He stalked back to where Natasha
stood with her mother.
    “Hello, Natasha,” Kiril said, smiling wolfishly at the
teenager. “Igor sends his regards. He was forced to leave unexpectedly. But I
promised him I would look after you.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Ovetschkin,” Natasha’s mother said. Her
dress was too short for her age, which had to be at least forty, and too tight
in several places. “But we are leaving.” She wrapped her arm around her
daughter’s bare shoulders.
    So it was Kiril Ovetschkin. But where was his wife? Why had
he told Igor he was single?
    “But the night is so young, Maria Petrovna,” Ovetschkin
said. “And I hardly know your lovely daughter.”
    “We will come to visit one day,” Maria Petrovna said. “I
have not seen Douschka in some time. She is not here?”
    “She has gone to join her parents,” Kiril said, and there
was something menacing the way he said it, as if Douschka’s parents were dead.
    No wonder Sveta had been so frightened; Kiril Ovetschkin was
a dangerous man, an arms dealer