Genie for Hire by Neil Plakcy Read Free Book Online Page A

“You never look a day older,” he said, shaking his head when he
saw Biff. “How do you do it?”
    “Clean living.” Biff raised his orange juice glass in a
toast.
    “Like I believe that.” Jimmy sat down heavily across from
Biff as the waitress brought a tray over with their food. “Jesus, how do you
eat so much salt?” he asked, watching Biff layer the lox and cream cheese on
his bagel. “Your blood pressure must be through the roof.”
    “I like the taste. So listen, you know someone in the police
department over in Sunny Isles Beach?”
    “What are you looking into?” Jimmy asked. He wore a khaki-colored
button-down microfiber shirt of the type favored by hunters and fishermen, with
mesh venting and odd-shaped extra pockets.
    “A couple of Russians. One of them stole something that
belongs to a client.”
    “The photographer?”
    “I don’t care what they say about you, Jimmy. You’re a sharp
guy.”
    “I saw the report yesterday,” Jimmy said. “I figured her
office is near yours, you’d be involved. But all she said was stolen were some
computer files of photos.”
    “You know what kind of pictures she takes.” Biff stretched
his long legs out next to the table. He had left his pointy-toed shoes back at
the office, replacing them with his Nike cross-trainers.
    “No shit? Somebody stole some naked ladies?”
    Biff nodded. “Pictures of a certain woman whose husband
wasn’t happy with the way they came out.”
    “You think it was the husband?”
    “Sveta didn’t discover the theft until he came by demanding
the files.”
    “You have a name for this couple?” Jimmy pulled a pad out of
his pocket and slid a pen from the metal coil at the top.
    “Ovetschkin,” Biff said. “Kiril and Douschka.”
    “This just gets better and better.” Jimmy took a big bite of
bagel and washed it down with a swig of heavily-creamed coffee, while Biff
waited impatiently.
    “You don’t know who Ovetschkin is?” Jimmy asked, when he
finished swallowing.
    “I get the feeling he’s not a very nice guy.”
    “He’s a yutz, is what he is,” Jimmy said. “Thinks he’s a big
shot because he’s wrapped up with the Organizatsiya, because he’s got a
bundle of loose cash and a pretty young wife. But he’s really just a small-time
jerk.”
    “The Organizatsiya ,” Biff said. “You mean the Russian
Mafia?”
    “Whatever you want to call it. But Ovetschkin’s slippery.
The Feds haven’t been able to pin anything on him yet.” Jimmy took another swig
of coffee.
    “How about arms smuggling?” Biff asked. “You think he could
be involved in that?”
     Jimmy nearly dropped the coffee cup on the table. “I
thought we were talking about stolen pictures.”
    “I overheard something last night.”
    “I swear, you’ve got better hearing than my poodle. What do
you know?”
    “I was at the Marouschka in Hallandale Beach. Ovetschkin was
talking to a guy named Igor Laskin about a problem getting some AK-47s through
Customs. I think Laskin’s the thief I’m looking for.”
    “AK-47s? That’s some serious shit.” He wiped his mouth with
a paper napkin. “Laskin is an independent operator, but he reports to
Ovetschkin.”
    “Kind of like one of those network marketing things?”
    “Yeah, one of those, but with guns and drugs.” Jimmy
scrawled a name and phone number on a sheet from his pad, then ripped it off
and handed it to Biff. “Call this guy at the ATF. He knows more about
Ovetschkin than I do.”
    Biff took the paper and slipped it in his pocket.
    “I know that look,” Jimmy said. “You think you’re smarter
than the cops, you don’t need to talk to anybody. Yeah, yeah, don’t bullshit
me.” He pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number. “Hector? Jimmy
Stein. How you doing?”
    He listened for a minute. “Yeah, same shit up here. Listen,
I got a guy you should talk to. Private eye up this way who’s been nosing into
the Russian Mafia.”
    Biff finished the last bite of