Read Online Outsourced by Dave Zeltserman - Free Book Online Page A

Petrenko’s lips. “I was here, of course.”
    “Can anyone corroborate that?” Resnick asked without much enthusiasm.
    “Of course.” Petrenko stood up, walked to the office door, opened it and yelled something out in Russian. One of the three men smoking cigarettes looked back at Petrenko, tossed his cigarette to the floor and trudged into the office. The man looked more Neanderthal than human with his thick brow and a mass of black hair that left almost none of his forehead visible. Slouching forward, he ignored the presence of the two detectives and focused his stare in the general direction of Petrenko.
    “Ask him,” Petrenko demanded of Resnick.
    “Go ahead, beat it,” Resnick told the semi-Neanderthal.
    The man gave Petrenko a questioning look and then started stammering that Petrenko had been in his office all morning.
    “I said beat it.”
    The man waited until Petrenko gave him a nod before leaving the office.
    “Do you think any of those men working here will say anything different?” Petrenko asked. “So unless you have someone who will say otherwise, I suggest you stop this harassment.”
    An angry laugh exploded from Maguire.
    “Did I say something amusing?” Petrenko asked him.
    “You’re a goddamn coward, Viktor, beating an old man like that. Someone who could be your own father.”
    “No, he could not be my father.”
    “Why not?” Maguire winked in the direction of his partner. “You’re both Russian, right? You’re both Jewish, right?”
    Petrenko flinched. Muscles bunched along his shoulders as he took a small step towards Maguire. “I am no zhid ,” he forced out, his color paling to a milk white. Resnick held his breath, his hand moving to his service revolver. Petrenko stopped, almost as if waking from a dream. Unclenching his fist, he sat down behind his desk.
    “No offense,” Petrenko said to Resnick, a thin smile back in place.
    Resnick gave his partner a signal to leave the office. Then, to Petrenko, “You want to call me a zhid or anything else, go right ahead. I look at you as nothing more than a rabid animal that needs to be put down, and one of these days I’m hoping to get my chance.”
    “Is that a threat, Detective?”
    “No threat. Simply a statement of fact. I’m going to be spending a lot of time on State Street looking after these Russian store owners. I hope I get a chance to see you down there.”
    Once they were back in their car, Maguire turned to Resnick. “What the hell was that about?”
    “I took a long shot that we could bait Petrenko into assaulting you. Almost worked.”
    “Thanks,” Maguire said, his face reddening. “I appreciate the thought.”
    “You might have taken a punch, but in the long run it would have been worth it to put that psycho away, or better yet, have an excuse to put a bullet in his ear.”
    “Nice of you to volunteer me for something like that.”
    “I had no choice. He would’ve ignored any comment coming from me.”
    Maguire sat stewing for a minute. Shaking his head, he asked, “Why did he go mental over me calling him Jewish?”
    “In Russia, only gentiles are considered true Russians, Jews are considered something else. A lot of these so-called pure Russians like Petrenko are as anti-Semitic as they come.” Resnick paused, a darkness muddling his features. “To him, the money he extorts from these store owners is nothing, just loose change. He does it because he feels it’s his duty to exercise an iron fist over them.”
    Resnick found an open parking spot in front of one of the divey bars that lined Washington Street and pulled into it. “Lunch time,” he said.
    “I don’t think they serve food here.”
    “We’ll see.”
    Once inside Resnick ordered a double shot of bourbon and, after downing that, ordered another.
    “I don’t feel comfortable drinking on the job,” Maguire said.
    “Don’t then. This is just my version of a three-martini lunch. Something I need after dealing with Viktor