the middle of his black hair. He held up a photo of a
beautiful blonde reclining on a sofa. She was naked, with one hand propped
behind her head and the other dangling near her crotch.
Even though she put most swimsuit models to shame, she
couldn’t hold a candle to Farishta, Biff thought. “Let me guess. Douschka
Ovetschkin.”
“Smart guy,” Jimmy said.
“Any computer files with it? Disks? Drives?”
Loi shook his head. “Only this picture.” He motioned Jimmy
over to the locker, and Biff leaned back against a locker to wait. A photo of
Douschka showed up in the locker of a man he was pretty sure was dead, based on
Jimmy’s use of the past tense. What did that have to do with the theft of the
original digital files?
As he was mulling these questions over, a slim, blond
Russian who was at least two inches taller than Biff’s 6’2 walked into the
locker room.
Biff put his foot up on the bench as the Russian walked to a
neighboring locker and began to disrobe. “You know the guy whose locker the
police are looking at?”
The Russian shrugged. “To say hello. Puerto Rican guy, big
talker.”
As the guy changed into his workout clothes, Biff
established that he had belonged to the gym for about a year, and that he was
usually there around the same time a few days a week.
“Usnavy ever talk to you about his girlfriend?” Biff asked.
“Pretty girl. Showing pictures around.”
“That picture over there?” Biff asked, pointing to the one
Loi had placed in a clear plastic evidence folder.
“ Da . I mean yes.”
“He show it to a lot of the guys here?”
The Russian looked at Biff. His shirt hung open, displaying
a tank top with Cyrillic writing on it advertising a soccer team in Moscow.
“You are with the police?”
Biff nodded. He was, after all, there at Jimmy’s request. “You
remember anyone in particular who showed an interest in her?”
“Lots of guys. Very pretty girl, nice breasts. But married,
and not to this guy.”
“Really? You know who she’s married to?”
The Russian lowered his voice. “Mafia guy. Ovetschkin. I am
seeing at parties sometimes. But I don’t say anything.” He tucked his T-shirt
into his workout shorts and walked out.
When Jimmy was finished with Loi, Biff told him what he’d
discovered from the Russian, and then the check-in clerk came into the locker
room with a printout of all the clients who had been in the gym the last time
Usnavy was there. Biff looked over Jimmy’s shoulder and they scanned the list
together.
“I don’t see Ovetschkin here,” Jimmy said.
“But look there,” Biff said, pointing at a name. “Igor Laskin.”
From the printout, they established that Laskin and Usnavy
had been at the gym together on Friday morning. They left Loi in the locker
room and walked out to the gym, where Jimmy spoke to men and women working out.
None of them were happy to be interrupted, and only a few recognized a picture
of Usnavy. None had much to offer.
“So who’s this guy?” Biff asked Jimmy, when they were
finishing up. “Usnavy, you said? That’s a Puerto Rican name.”
“Come on,” Jimmy said. “You can buy me a Starbucks and we’ll
talk.”
“Just out of curiosity,” Biff said, as they crossed the
parking lot to the coffee shop at the shopping center entrance. “You ever
actually pay for any food yourself?”
“Not when you’re around. I’ll take a venti caramel Frappuccino
with an extra shot.”
Biff ordered the coffees and joined Jimmy at a small round
table to wait for them. “Spill,” Biff said. “Who’s the guy, and why did he have
Douschka’s picture in his locker?”
“Valet at the Odessa. Building where the Ovetschkins live.”
“That’s why you called me? Because of the Ovetschkin
connection?”
“Like I always say, you’re a sharp guy.”
The barista announced their drinks, and Biff picked them up.
When he returned to the table Jimmy said, “So Douschka’s humping the valet, and
she orders a set
beautiful blonde reclining on a sofa. She was naked, with one hand propped
behind her head and the other dangling near her crotch.
Even though she put most swimsuit models to shame, she
couldn’t hold a candle to Farishta, Biff thought. “Let me guess. Douschka
Ovetschkin.”
“Smart guy,” Jimmy said.
“Any computer files with it? Disks? Drives?”
Loi shook his head. “Only this picture.” He motioned Jimmy
over to the locker, and Biff leaned back against a locker to wait. A photo of
Douschka showed up in the locker of a man he was pretty sure was dead, based on
Jimmy’s use of the past tense. What did that have to do with the theft of the
original digital files?
As he was mulling these questions over, a slim, blond
Russian who was at least two inches taller than Biff’s 6’2 walked into the
locker room.
Biff put his foot up on the bench as the Russian walked to a
neighboring locker and began to disrobe. “You know the guy whose locker the
police are looking at?”
The Russian shrugged. “To say hello. Puerto Rican guy, big
talker.”
As the guy changed into his workout clothes, Biff
established that he had belonged to the gym for about a year, and that he was
usually there around the same time a few days a week.
“Usnavy ever talk to you about his girlfriend?” Biff asked.
“Pretty girl. Showing pictures around.”
“That picture over there?” Biff asked, pointing to the one
Loi had placed in a clear plastic evidence folder.
“ Da . I mean yes.”
“He show it to a lot of the guys here?”
The Russian looked at Biff. His shirt hung open, displaying
a tank top with Cyrillic writing on it advertising a soccer team in Moscow.
“You are with the police?”
Biff nodded. He was, after all, there at Jimmy’s request. “You
remember anyone in particular who showed an interest in her?”
“Lots of guys. Very pretty girl, nice breasts. But married,
and not to this guy.”
“Really? You know who she’s married to?”
The Russian lowered his voice. “Mafia guy. Ovetschkin. I am
seeing at parties sometimes. But I don’t say anything.” He tucked his T-shirt
into his workout shorts and walked out.
When Jimmy was finished with Loi, Biff told him what he’d
discovered from the Russian, and then the check-in clerk came into the locker
room with a printout of all the clients who had been in the gym the last time
Usnavy was there. Biff looked over Jimmy’s shoulder and they scanned the list
together.
“I don’t see Ovetschkin here,” Jimmy said.
“But look there,” Biff said, pointing at a name. “Igor Laskin.”
From the printout, they established that Laskin and Usnavy
had been at the gym together on Friday morning. They left Loi in the locker
room and walked out to the gym, where Jimmy spoke to men and women working out.
None of them were happy to be interrupted, and only a few recognized a picture
of Usnavy. None had much to offer.
“So who’s this guy?” Biff asked Jimmy, when they were
finishing up. “Usnavy, you said? That’s a Puerto Rican name.”
“Come on,” Jimmy said. “You can buy me a Starbucks and we’ll
talk.”
“Just out of curiosity,” Biff said, as they crossed the
parking lot to the coffee shop at the shopping center entrance. “You ever
actually pay for any food yourself?”
“Not when you’re around. I’ll take a venti caramel Frappuccino
with an extra shot.”
Biff ordered the coffees and joined Jimmy at a small round
table to wait for them. “Spill,” Biff said. “Who’s the guy, and why did he have
Douschka’s picture in his locker?”
“Valet at the Odessa. Building where the Ovetschkins live.”
“That’s why you called me? Because of the Ovetschkin
connection?”
“Like I always say, you’re a sharp guy.”
The barista announced their drinks, and Biff picked them up.
When he returned to the table Jimmy said, “So Douschka’s humping the valet, and
she orders a set
Similar Books
![Praetorian Series [3] A Hunter and His Legion](https://fs.dianahicksbooks.com/559646/thumbs/152x264/praetorian-series-3-a-hunter-and-his-legion.jpg)
